Never Was it Clearer

Hello, friend.  It’s so good of you to come by.  Make yourself comfy and let’s visit awhile.

Once upon a time, a long time ago I was attending a clinic for vacation Bible school teachers.  Many Southern Baptist churches came together to discuss the curriculum and tricks and tips for working with primary ages.

One of the attendees was of advanced years and explained that she understood how little ones had trouble getting the scissors to go the right way because at her age she had trouble getting the scissors to go the right way any more

Once upon a time I was young and feisty.  That statement was funny to me.  But it’s always been in the back of my mind.

Now . . .

Never has anything reminded me so much of how I am aging than these past several days of cross stitching.

I can so completely relate to what that sweet lady was saying.  Now, I have problems with my back and neck which cause some tingling in my finger tips.  Never have I known how difficult it is to maintain a firm grip on an embroidery needle until now.  My fine motor skills are less than they used to be.  When I can manage to hold on to the needle it just won’t go in the right holes.

Never have the symbols on a black and white counted cross stitch chart looked so much alike to me.  Now, it seems like it’s never been easier to be a stitch off and not realize it until two or three rows later.  I keep a sharp pair of embroidery scissors and a seam ripper at hand at all times.  In floss as in yarn you rip it, rip it, rip it.

Never have I been more aware of the difference in my vision since my cataract surgery last November.  Needing to see close up for stitching and needing farther sight for reading the pattern can be tricky.  I look like I’m playing soulful jazz on a silent trombone as I slide project and pattern into the right visual range.  (And forgetting you are wearing magnifying glasses can be almost thrilling when you look up into an out of focus world.)

My crocheting callus has a companion now.  I’ve poked my fingertip with the needle so many times it’s starting to toughen up.

And yet . . .

I’m constantly reminded of how grateful I am that I have sight.

That I am able to pick up a needle or needles and create.

That my need to rip it, rip it, rip it is more and more often met with resigned patience than frustration.

That the perils of old age which were so humorously shared (and received) by that sweet soul are thought of with understanding more than nostalgia.

That you decided to stop by and share your time with me today.  Thank you for coming and please come again soon.  After all, you never know what you’ll find in . . . Granny’s apron pocket.