I rescued these years ago.
Ten blocks.
A quarter each,
and she gave me a discount because I used the word “rescue”.
Some see tatters.
Hard times.
Worn slap out.
I see stories of resourcefulness and making do.
A special kind of creativity, if you ask me.
Stories of homemade dresses.
and flower gardens lovingly tended.
Stories of birthday cakes
and piano lessons
and biscuits with butter and syrup.
I’ve said Yes to Jude Hill’s latest stitch-a-long, and I’m thinking about doing something I’ve never done before: turning these blocks into a book for Calder Ray . . . mostly because if I make a book, the fetching back side fabric becomes a page and doesn’t remain hidden. The story is already forming . . . a boy who walks on suns and moons, who eats stars for breakfast, lassoes them in play and lets them give him a bath, even if it’s not Saturday night.
These are things my brain is thinking, you understand, plans my brain is making so it can be comfortable knowing how everything is supposed to go before I even thread the needle. Isn’t it funny that in all the trips I’ve made around the sun on this beautiful rock, my brain is always surprised to find that its best laid plans are subject to change once my hands pick up and get going . . .
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