There’s the joy of becoming reacquainted with the sewing machine that was a gift from The Engineer on our first Christmas some 42 years ago, paid for with winnings from two radio contests. And the joy of using that sewing machine to make gifts – four long, skinny quilts to grace the holiday tables of my children, my mother, and my brother. The joy of (re)learning that while I like learning new techniques from others, I do not like following patterns. Makes me scratchy, irritable.
There’s the joy of having a roof that holds under the constant onslaught of viscous thunderstorms and torrential rains. The joy of watching the flood waters stop four steps short of coming into the house.
There’s the joy of tissues with lotion woven in. Of Mother mixing me up some of Mama Helen’s special cough syrup that uses only 3 ingredients: Maker’s Mark, lemon juice, and honey. The joy of a text that comes from my daughter while I’m in the doctor’s waiting room promising to take care of me while the antibiotics do their job.
But neither the raging weather or the raging sinus infection dampened the joy of being with family. The joy of hearing my daughter sing at Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. The joy of hearing how the younger generations intend to get after the future while swapping stories from the past that give roots and clues. The joy of laughter and camaraderie that become our heritage and history.
I took the Storm-at-Sea to enjoy the joy of stitching . . . but I didn’t get much joy done on that front.