When I was in the 4th grade we had to memorize a poem. Any poem. One of our choosing. My dad, the least literary man I’ve ever known, thought it important to teach me his favorite. A sports related poem– a metaphor for life, actually, couched in terms of the dynamics of football of all things. A football game to be precise. Like having your back up against your own 5 yard line and all of that. It was about how one IS in dire situations. Dreadful ditty but over the years I’ve rephrased it into my own venacular. It popped into and out of my consciousness during this past week. Because this was a week that needed grace and offered lessons that could not be avoided. Had to be embraced in fact.
Not a lot of changes from the last time–when was that?–but enough. And today it goes as a birthday gift to my daughter. Forty-two today. It was hard to finish, but it was important that I did so. Because she named it–Three Graces–and asked for it. And because today she needs this–not the cloth so much as the promise of grace bestowed.
that started as a play with over-dyed fabric and merged as three oddly shaped critters with one thing in common. Focus. The red dot. Focus. And I needed that too, this week, that red dot in front of me, demanding attention, disallowing wandering thoughts, insistence upon staying present. Right here. Right now. And it helped. Is helping.