Life's riches other rooms adorn, but in a kitchen, home is born.
The attic purge continues, and the other day I came across this. My mother gave it to me a few years ago and of course I tucked it away, determined to finish the stitch work someday. When I mentioned to her that I'd rediscovered it, she told me that my grandmother gave it to her when she was preparing to move into a care facility.
It was started by my great grandmother, Pearl, who was a milliner and accomplished seamstress. In photos, she has a solid, serious, imposing air about her. I know she adored her daughter and dressed her in beautiful handmade clothes. As a little girl, Grandma was all bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and dark curls. Her dresses and coats spoke of how precious she was to her mother, who raised this little girl largely on her own.
I find thread to match, and begin to work on the fireplace. My stitches blend seamlessly with those my great grandmother started years ago (how many? Fifty? Sixty? More?) and this piece is a few steps closer to its destiny: a sweet piece of handwork, framed and adorning a kitchen wall. I can imagine how satisfying it will be, to finish something my great grandmother didn't find the time to complete.
It kind of makes me wonder about the unfinished projects I will inevitably leave behind, and the great granddaughter I'll never meet who will find it in her attic. She'll see me in photographs and wonder about who I was, then will take up her needle and begin to stitch.