Maintaining one's heartpeace

A selvedge reminder of what matters most.

Lately I've been in a sewing jag- the previously mentioned long-neglected quilt is almost done, heaped on the sofa alongside my granddaughter's quilt; I switch back and forth between them in the evenings, hand-stitching the binding on one, hand-quilting the other respectively. In the mornings I've been working on EPP blocks, nearly wrapping up another in the Cornflower Quilt collection. Yesterday I pulled out my bag of Christmas fabrics, rummaging through them for binding prints; two Christmas coasters require that last element, while six others need to be fashioned into basted mug rug sandwiches. I cut five WOF strips, sewed them into one long piece, pressed it and now it's a matter of putting the walking foot back on the machine, then attaching some binding to whatever is ready for it. This is what I do when I'm not actively working on a novel.

Of course there's the garden, but in a way right now it mostly takes care of itself, other than watering and harvesting tomatoes, blackberries, and flower seeds for next year's planting. We've had some gorgeously sunny days, once the marine layer burns off, yet after a while outside, I scoot back into the house; I have always been an inside gal, while my younger sisters preferred the outdoors. Maybe if we get a boatload of rain this winter, I'll slightly lament not spending all my time in the sun. If that happens, I'll greatly rejoice over the precipitation, probably with some sewing in my hands.

Perhaps I'll be seated in my office, stealing peeks at the rain from an easterly facing window while writing; I have so many ideas for autumn, it will be fascinating to see what shakes out onto a document in what will be weeks from now. Our sunshine is already acquiring that late summer appearance, and when the sun does flit from behind morning clouds, we see it has moved south along the tree line; September is just around the corner, all the grandkids back to school. We may see two of them this weekend for a brief visit, my bestie also coming our way. No big plans with that intriguing collection of guests other than tomato and berry picking, boys helping their grandpa harvest green beans while a dearheart and I sip cups of tea, noting how our lives have evolved after forty years of friendship.

Tumultuous times grip this nation, people suffering around the world. There's nothing new about it, which in a way is sadly staggering, that for whatever reason the human race cannot rise above what divides and instead embrace what binds. I can't write enough words or sew quilts to change the world, but I am able to keep within myself a focus that protects from being pulled into the abyss; that focus is gratitude. Just from all detailed above, there is so much for which to be grateful.

Far more could be stated about this topic, perhaps I'll revisit it. For now I'll wrap my arms around it, appreciating the peace. Yes, the world is going to hell in a proverbial hand basket, but that's been the case for a very long time. Yet at this moment, which is all any of us truly possesses, a choice can be made: peace or anger. Gratitude or dissatisfaction. Grace or.... For me, grace defines. And by embracing grace, the anxiety stirred by what I can't control slips away, enabling me to concentrate on the beauty, the good. Then sharing that good with others. I won't change this world, but perhaps my grandchildren will, or their descendants. My role is to instill in them, and all I meet, the choice of peace. And that peace has to start inside myself.