Beautiful New Memories
My perspective on everything keeps changing, from moment to moment, especially after the events of September 11th (which, synchronistically, was my brother’s 53rd birthday). More of my “stuffed” layers continue to come to the surface. Just like that glass of milk, suddenly another layer is up and out and “onto the table,” so to speak. Then it’s time to clean up the mess.
I’ve stopped blaming my mother, for the most part, for what occurred during my childhood. The realization is slowly growing that, while I cannot change what happened in the past, I am the initiator of where I find myself–now.
One day I was writing in my journal about all the nasty crap that came between my mother and me. Somehow, though, it got turned around, and I wrote and wrote and wrote about the lovely, fun, positive qualities she had.
She was the best of the best in the kitchen, for example, from the main course to all sorts of cookies, cakes, pies, and puddings. (As I write this, I can almost taste her chicken-feet soup, with the wide egg noodles. Yum!)
The real fun was when she was on the sled, with one of us on top of her, hanging on for dear life, as we flew down the hill, between the two big elm trees, past the machine shed and the corn cribs and the pig shed, out into the open pasture, heading towards the creek. What a ride!
“Let’s do it again!” we’d plead.
And the fun we had as a family at the local roller skating rinks.
How come I wasn’t able to bring all these beautiful memories into focus for so many years? Why wasn’t I able to appreciate her? She was one smart, talented, caring, hard-working gal!
I’m still weaving baskets, nearly fifteen thousand of them to date. I ship them to shops in four states and am thankful for the dollars they bring in and for the avenue of creativity they allow me to express. One might say I’m a “basket case.”
All the hours of weaving, with no thinking required, leads me into an almost hypnotic quiet time. It’s an ongoing opportunity to let go and relax, trusting that a beauty which is “deep within” will surface and find expression in my creations.
Gradually, I’m learning to see my baskets (and myself) as “love made manifest.”