It’s a Happy Sunday
As cloudy as it is, I have a good amount of zip today. I think it was the peanut butter toast I had for breakfast.
After I had taken apart a 1950s photo album, there was a box in the attic that was niggling me. It was the size of the box that apples used to come to the grocer’s. It was plump full. It was half full of crochet patterns. Some from Grandma Schafer and just as many of mine. The other half of the box was full of counted cross stitch patterns. That box was heavy.
I pulled it over to the attic stairwell. I took out multiple stacks and put them on the steps. As I backed down the steps, I kept moving the stacks down, one step at a time. Mission accomplished.
I touched each pamphlet, each folder and each book. I have a stack of counted cross stitch to look through. The crochet patterns are in the recycling bin. I tried as late as this last Christmas to crochet. Optimally the left hand is the tension control while the right hand has the crochet hook. I loved crocheting, but . . . that was then, this is now.
I have patience and wisdom. My life today is not an accident. I didn’t stay in the darkness of the stroke. The light I have each day refused to surrender. That ditty is from a quote of John Mark Green.
This afternoon when looking out the kitchen window, I saw Jan, our neighbor, working with her four year old in their drive with an old pedal tractor. That took me back to the times Megan and Nicholas would be with Dennis and me. Oh for the love of memories.
With that I take my leave. ♥