Nimble is not how I would describe any fraction of me, especially my fingers. In particular when I am sewing…
Funny, now that I consider it, because of the invention of the sewing machine my fingers have littletodo with any of the stitching process. So what is my problem?
Ah-hem. Let me start over.
Nimble is not how I would describe any fraction of me, especially my patience. In particular when I am sewing. I don’t line fabric up correctly, my tension is often set too high, I am hasty to use scissors- and how.do.I. wish duct tape was an acceptable textile binding!
Recently I have resolved to make N.H. a blanket. I’m going to attempt to duplicate Caleb’s kiki. Notice how I don’t say reproduce? That’s because I didn’t make his blanket.
One year our ward in Flagstaff was experiencing a baby boom, so the Relief Society made a stash of blankets for the upcoming arrivals. I remember receiving Caleb’s blanket:My Relief Society President (who was our birth instructor and also had a baby recently) and one of her counselors (who I visit-taught and loved very much) came to my cramped apartment, which seemed even more claustrophobic than usual by the looming moving boxes, sat on my floor, chit-chatted and bestowed Caleb’s blanket.
I didn’t use it for more than a play mat for months because Caleb seemed to swim in it. That is laughable now, seeing how his toes creep out at night from beneath it.
Another sister in that ward crocheted a white blanket with blue trim for Caleb which we used to wrap Caleb in for his baby blessing. We will wrap all our sons in that blanket for their blessings.
Blankets.
…writing this is helping me make connections, relative details.
Like, how even Emma has a blanket. It’s in Caleb’s closet. Stored with his blessing blanket. It was made by another sister, she was my nephew’s teacher at the time but I knew her and her husband for a very long time before that. She had heard about Emma through my mother. I received the blanket in the mail shortly after the funeral. It was a white crocheted blanket with an angel in its pattern. It’s a nice token.
Much like the crafted kimonos and caps donated to the hospital for birth and bereavement. I kept Emma’s pink kimono and cap; it is nice to have something that held her…
I guess blankets are important. Coverings are important.
They are an emblem. A type.
I’ll think about that more today.
(You can too, if you want.)
(You can too, if you want.)
And maybe, with this perspective, just maybe I’ll be more resolute to align my fabric, to find the right setting, and be more considerate and deliberate with each cut?
Hmm.
