A Million and One Reasons Not to Post

In the hammock, under the tree, at dusk, in summer

It amazes me that four weeks could have gone by like lightning.

I've had so many reasons why I haven't been posting:  otherwise occupied finishing the kitchen, running around to two soccer practices and a game each week, trying to teach essays at school, state-wide testing, meetings, losing my camera (and deciding I hadn't lost it at all but that it was stolen), drama at work, meetings, a traveling husband, car repairs, birthday parties here and away, more meetings, and on top of everything, not actually finishing even one single sewing project.  Sheesh.

And as I'm thinking of all the reasons why I haven't posted, and telling myself something is better than nothing, I must admit to the biggest reason of all.  Who am I to post of anything I have or haven't done, especially when there are much bigger, worse things going on not so far from my own home?  Who am I to post sweet pictures of my own boys, when I know another mother has lost hers?

That's what they don't tell you when you have kids.  Well, honestly, there's a lot they don't tell you.  Many too gross to even mention in partly mixed company.  But the big thing?  That for the rest of your life, your heart will go walking around outside your body, and that there's nothing you can do about it.

The truth is I worry.  A lot.  Not just about the avoidable and unavoidable things I know will happen, but also about the things that may happen, that could happen, or that have horribly and unfairly happened to other people.  Not out of fear, but out of empathy.  If I am affected this much, and it hasn't even happened to me, how would I ever find the strength to go on if it did?  And yet, people do.  Everyday.

And the truth is, that strength amazes me, too.

Thinking of my Grandfather

Do people ever ask how you learned to sew?  So many answers swirl around my head, ranging from  "I still don't really know what I'm doing" to "uh, the internet" and "my grandma and my mom sewed, and I just grew up with it", but all that comes out is something mostly inarticulate that just hints at the edge of it.
Today I realized that after all this time, my grandpa was a big influence, too. 

Why is it only the left knees that wear out?

Growing up, my grandmother was an amazing seamstress.  Seamstress, I am not.  But SHE was.  Jackets, blouses, slacks, she made it all, and beautifully.  My grandfather, on the other hand, was known for his jeans.  They owned a shoe repair shop, and my grandfather had these enormous patching machines for sewing new soles onto leather shoes.  After retiring and selling the shop, he continued to work repairing and reselling machinery, and in my memory, always had at least one patching machine in the house.
He always worked in overalls, and when the knees wore through, he'd patch with pieces from other worn out pairs, sometimes replacing the entire front section of the legs.  Not because he couldn't afford new ones, but just because he liked to do it and could.  As we got older, the Franken-jeans became a family joke, and they still bring smiles when we get together.
I'm not at Franken-jeans yet, but THAT is what had me smiling today when I patched Ev's jeans.