Two nights ago, I awoke to a star filled sky, the milky way clearly in view with a small moon and the fresh night air. I walked out on my deck and drank it in. Then I saw a shooting star and thought about a star dying and remembered that a friend gave me a packet of star dust. And, I treasure that gift that he worked so hard to extract from a fallen star. I began to think of gifts I treasure.
Friendships and family are always high on my list, and friends are a gift to be sure.
Imagine having your family members sitting on your table, each and every one a gourd. It gives me joy every time I look at them. They were painted by my daughter-in-law Laurie.
My friend Kendra came Sunday and brought a quilt of her’s that I admired. I quilted with her for the year it took her to make it and asked her for the pattern, called jewel box. She couldn’t find the pattern so we plotted the pattern from her quilt, measuring and gageing the somewhat complicated construction to produce strings of “jeweled” squares on point. I treasure time spent with her and it pleases me that little scraps of rescued material can turn into make something bigger and beautiful, and useful, too.
Another gift I treasure is this crystal bottle with a silver lid filled with the sand, given to me by my neighbor Jan Stewart, upon my husband’s death. An ode to time and assurance that I would find myself and be grounded again some day without him.
There are other gifts, polished glass my grandsons brought to me from glass beach. A batik stamp my daughter brought me from another part of the world. I treasure her letters and writings from Egypt. Greeting cards from both my son’s and things they made for me over the years. A kaleidoscope necklace from my oldest daughter but more than that, her unique ability in rescuing others, people and animals.
I spent two days weeding in the yard to the sound of chirping birds, the smell’s emanating from the soil and the sun beating down on my head. Heaven.
It kind of amazes me when I think about the things I treasure. Most of them have no great value. See what a few moments in starlight can trigger? The poets call it magic. But, I can hear “corny” emanating from my machine.