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I woke up first this sunny Sunday morning, tiptoed into the kitchen in my nightgown to put on the teakettle, then back into my room to get my new stitching project.  As I was reaching for the scissors, I spotted the project I was working on when I stopped working…when Mom died.  It is the wonderful poem “High Flight”, written by John Gillespie Magee, Jr., a young Royal Canadian Air Force pilot in WWII,  that I need to finish and frame for Daddy.  It is about 2/3 done, and with just a little diligence I should be able to have it finished by Christmas.  So I gathered it up, too, cozied in on the couch with my teacup and stitching projects and got started.

I wish I could say I just settled back into the routine, but I didn’t.  I don’t see as well as I did four years ago, at least close up, so finding the holes between the threads was more of a challenge.  The skill is still there, and the progress I made still feels good.  The soft snoring of Chance, the world’s best lab-mix rescued dog, added a level of comfort that I didn’t have before.  I had nearly an hour and a half of peace before Lily woke up and joined me on the couch.

Then the questions began:  “What are you doing, Grammy?” “How do you do that, Grammy?” and (my favorite), “Can you teach me to do that, Grammy?”  Of course I promised to teach her — but not today — and told her that it was my Grammy Pender who first taught me to embroider when I was four years old.  Somewhere in my things I still have the little doll tablecloth and napkins with the giant running and lazy daisy stitches I did so proudly sixty years ago.

I worked about two hours this morning (without a car, we didn’t go to church) and made visible progress.  I feel as though a missing piece of “me” is being stitched back into place, and I am satisfied.

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