Sewing the lining in the womans overcoat that has warmed me for the past 25 years, I look at the hopefully three-quarter point birthdate of my life, (that started with the birth of the forties), and thank my mother and father for teaching me all they knew. Dad teaching me what was taught to him by his father: To play the violin, trombone and trumpet, to build with hammer, screwdriver, lathe, bit-and-brace, jig-saw and cross-cut, and to hunt, fish and garden, if none of my lessons proven to be profitable. (like my ancestors) My mother, daughter of generations of textile workers, taught me to knit, sew, cook, mother and sing. I am sad to report that I did not pass on many of those skills to my own children, while I am happy to say they, and their cousins, developed many skills of their own, no thanks to me. When Dad was ninety, he was still gathering drift wood and lathing it in the garage, while when Moms fingers grew too arthritic to knit, she took up needle point. As I await the arrival of my third grandchild, I look at the blue-bunting that my mother knit for my daughter, that her son may also wear. So much handed down to us? So much we hope to hand down before we depart. Imagining Peace Making, as I imagined it in 1945, when a United Nations was formed. Still, still, still, united we could stand, while divided we will surely fall.
Posted on: Sat, 10 Jan 2015 22:55:52 +0000
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