Last night was our first Christmas gathering with my parents, brothers, their wives and families. All of my kids were there including my daughters' boyfriends. My parents went overboard, as always. They just love everyone so much and love giving to those they love. We received some amazing presents, Santa shouldn't even bother coming to our house but I know he will anyway.
My favorite present was one large and two small framed beautiful needlework pieces of ART that my mother worked laboriously over when I was a teenager and she had a full-time job and an aging mother living with her, not to mention two other teenage boys and a husband and a home. She started it because it matched my room but I grew up and moved away and she continued with it. Now it is mine and it is beautiful and the pattern is so intricate and I am blown away that she gave it to me.
I recently started collecting needlework. I've done a lot of it myself but I usually do it as a gift. If I go to an estate sale I buy any halfway decent needlework, particularly those that are already framed. I visualize someone sitting and concentrating hard on making it, never knowing the ultimate fate but lovingly stitching away....What were they thinking or feeling? How much time did they put into it? Did they watch their children play as I do, sitting outside or inside, chatting away while counting or keeping track of the pattern? I know some people feel this way about quilts and honestly, I do, too, but there is something even more special about needlework of any kind to me. Mostly it is the idea of time. It takes time and dedication to make a beautiful picture and it takes commitment and persistence. That is the truth of so many things though, isn't it?