When I was 10 or 11, I asked my mom to teach me how to embroider. I read incessantly and often my heroines from long ago days sat and worked with needle and thread. Little Women, Eight Cousins, the Little House books, Anne of Green Gables - the characters in those books were my companions.
My mom gave me a piece of fabric - I wanted to make a hanky (again, the idea came from my books because we always used disposable tissue.) She had some transfers and helped me press the design onto the cloth, then showed me how to make the stem stitch, lazy daisies and french knots. I remember working on it downstairs in the cool basement during a hot summer.
When I found this little square in my sentimental trunk, I could see myself, bent over my stitching, and I felt the satisfaction I felt then at learning something new, the joy of creating.
When I was a young mom, I rarely sat down without something in my hands - cross stitch, crewel work, embroidery - but I lost that over the years. Now, I'm feeling the urge to embroider again - to thread my needle with beautiful colours, to feel the rhythm of the needle going in and out.