Quilting again

My (biological) sister and I have decided to take the Craftsy Block of the Month class (it’s free, so if you’re interested there’s no good reason not to do it!). We’ve both chosen mostly batik fabrics, though we have different color schemes. I’m excited.

I’m planning to learn some new and some faster ways to quilt, and machine piecing is fairly new for me, too. Besides, how hard can it be to make just two blocks a month?

Here’s my “badge”, and (if I can remember to do it) I’ll post pictures of my blocks as they roll off the sewing machine.

January (blocks 1 and 2)

It’s a bloomin’ wonder

I’ve been watching the dogwood outside the sewing room window all winter. For most of that time it was sticks and nubs, and a few white fluffs of duck feathers caught by the tree in one of our high winds. Somehow, those fluffs managed to hang on for the rest of the winter.

I can’t see them now, though, because the tree is on the edge of full bloom. This photo was taken yesterday, when the blooms still had that lovely light green tinge on them. Today they are snow white, and any duck feathers still tucked into a safe haven of twigs are well camouflaged.

All winter that tree looked dead; it was hard to believe that life would ever return to its dry, gray branches. Of course all it took was a wee shift in sunlight and a few drenching rains, and voila! Dogwood blooms bursting everywhere along newly greened branches.

I just need to remember this promise of supple life when my own leg-trunks and arm-sticks are stiff with winter, when my thinning hair grays by the day, when the cold air bites deeply into my bones.

Oh, of course I’ll never be 20 again (thank goodness!), but there is always life in one stage or another, everywhere I look.

It’s recognizing it that’s the big challenge.

Bluestone Farm on Public Access TV

Check out the Public Access (Comcast Carmel NY) segment on the farm!

I love you, honey

This year we added a special equinox service to our daily round of worship. It was a lovely balance of readings, prayers and music, and we ended with this prayer—

Let us bud forth. Let us spread out our branches bright and graceful. Let us be honey for each other. Let who we are and what we learn and what we be serve each other. Amen.

Let us be honey for each other.

As we said those words I had a brief vision of us greeting each other with “I love you, honey”, something like we used to do years ago when we curtsied to each other as we passed in the hall. The Christ in me greets the Christ in you.

Honey, of course, is the amazing food and gift of bees, who work tirelessly to gather flower nectars then work their bee magic to make the amazingly sweet and healthy golden treat we all enjoy on our biscuits and in our tea.

Honey needs nothing added to it (though I can’t imagine what one might want to put in there), and it lasts for a very long time. Stored with the right water content and in the right temperatures, it can last for years. Should something go agley with the storage plan honey can ferment, making it unfit for humans—yet bees will happily consume it themselves.

The flavor of honey, though always recognizable as honey—not cane sugar or maple syrup, for example—varies widely depending on which plants are in bloom when nectar is being gathered by the bees.

So … wouldn’t it be wonderful if we all became honey for each other. There would be an essential sweetness to everyone, yet our rich and necessary diversity would be maintained. We would feed each other, and ourselves. We would all be deliciously good and, when treated properly, our friendships would last a very long time.

It’s worth a try. Say “I love you, honey” to your sweetie, your children, your neighbor, your boss. OK, if you’re fairly sure “I love you, honey” would earn you a slap or get you fired, you should probably just say it in your head. Maybe we’ll feel just a little better about our own lives when we recognize and name the goodness in others, whether or not anyone actually hears the words.

Can’t hurt, anyway. I love you, honey, I’m going to smile at the mailman, our distant neighbors, the person behind me in the check-out line at the store. Maybe I’ll even give it a go with the sister I find so difficult or the government clerk who seemed so irritated at everyone who came to her window.

I love you, honey. The farmer’s namaste.