Three gifts from Past Me

Last week I was hand-stitching a Cornflower block, and when it came time to add the squares, I was very pleasantly surprised to find the above two prints alternating as the squares. I cut these fabrics weeks ago, forgetting exactly what I had used to make up these blocks. I smiled, began sewing the squares onto the diamonds, thrilled for the inclusion of more than one print as the perimeter.

That one moment stirred further considerations about decisions made previously that later bring great pleasure. How often do I rue mistakes from the past, but rarely might I ponder the blessings reaped by those actions. How innocuous was my choice to use two fabrics for this block, pretty dang happenstance let me say. But in noting this, two others come to mind, one for the garden, and one while writing.

A couple of years ago I planted Sweet William seeds in three locations, two of which were easily impinged upon by deer and other critters. In all three spots the plants have thrived, but only in one have copious blooms managed to emerge, while in the other two, flowers are usually pounced upon as soon as enough of a flower appears. Last year I let weeds grow near the threatened plants, a few flowers opening. The weeds acted as a disguise and again this year Sweet Williams are filling usually picked over flowerbeds, happily co-existing with invasive weeds.

Pinks and purples in various shades make up the Sweet Williams. The yellow flowers are attractive in their own weedy ways.

As for the noveling, I'm still reading through the second part of my current series. Despite so much of this tale in the grasp of Future Me, if not for Past Me's bravery to simply write what was in my heart, I'd not be considering plot twists, character inspirations, or story arcs. Nor would I have taken the necessary steps toward healing.  And for that, Past Me requires a hearty appreciation, as well as a strong hug for her courage to set caution aside and delve into an ethereal realm via fiction. That takes faith that following my heart won't cause further injury.  And guts to remain in this reality when at times it seems so damned difficult.

I could have ripped out plants, planned a boring block, not bothered to write. Giving myself a few props reminds Present Me to heed the course regardless of how silly, futile, or outlandish it seems. Sometimes the most important kindness starts with ourselves. I can see Past Me nodding vehemently, then shrugging, scuffing her shoe on the ground. Keep sticking it out, she seems to say, and enjoy those flowers for me.