Throwing hay while time permits

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Mug rugs!
 

Family is coming this weekend, so I'm trying to finish up some projects before their arrival. Yesterday I sent out one Halloween quilt as well as a table runner and coasters. Then last night I completed the machine quilting on another blanket, attached the binding and today I'll finish the binding, then add some hand-quilting. Meanwhile I'm getting to grips with a new phone and pondering my next novel. Time waits for no one, let me just say.

But there is a beautiful sweetness in what might sound like a hurried rush; last night I took a half hour break at my sewing machine when I received a video call from one of my sons-in-law on behalf of my eldest grandson, who needed help with filling out a family tree for school. Propping the phone against the throat of my machine, I answered questions while my grandson interviewed me, then wrote the responses. I shared stories of growing up on a farm; steering a pick-up set in neutral while my dad tossed hay from the back to the cows in winter and making bottles for abandoned calves then gripping for dear life those bottles as the greedy calves attempted to rip them from my hands. I wasn't much older than my grandson, which I impressed upon him, although I don't know if he could imagine doing those tasks, yet that was my childhood, which I haven't considered in a very long time despite setting my latest book on a sprawling ranch. I might have left the farm in my early twenties, but that farm remains deep within me.

The table runner; ironically I grew up in a house with five paneled doors. Special thanks to my husband for his assistance with this photo.

The last question was how had the world changed since I was his age; technology was my answer, our video call the perfect example, yet again that went right over his head, just as having a telephone in our house meant little to me when I was seven years old. But I clearly recall in those days thinking 'In the future when people talk on the phone, they'll have screens and be able to see one another!' And now we've had that ability for more than a few years, crazy.

But old school methods still rule; one can't send a quilt through video calls. I might publish my books online, but writing them remains a butt in the chair process, typing out one chapter at a time. I'm grateful to grasp both ends of this spectrum of time, appreciating ways of the past while incorporating futuristic elements when possible, but being mindful of the dross; not every shiny related to tech requires my attention, nor do I cling to ancient manners of life that are truly outdated. And I hope I can share with my grandkids that sense of knowing how one's history relates to and matters in where we are right now, the twenty-ninth of September of 2022. Amid devastating hurricanes, tragic wars, and those seeking freedom from oppressive regimes, may we all remember that showing and sharing love is the fundamental key. That will never change regardless of time's passage.

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