My family, my garden

I've been thinking lately of what is most important in my life. During difficult times, these thoughts always seem to be foremost. Day to day stresses seem to become trivial. My garden is my therapy. Feeling the earth between my hands, planting beautiful flowers, is time well spent and food for my soul, allowing me time to just work and not think at all.

Knitting is therapy as well. Creating something useful and beautiful with just two sticks and some yarn. Just last week, my daughter and I spent an evening with my niece, Amy. We taught her to knit. The look on her face when she realized she was actually knitting, is something I will never forget. She was so excited and proud. And so we carry on, mothers, daughters and now granddaughters sitting with sticks and yarn, creating useful and beautiful sweaters, mittens, scarves and of course, slippers.

When my mom was young, knitting and sewing was taught to all young girls in school starting in kindergarten. Each day, their accomplishments were carefully stowed away in shoeboxes to be brought out the next school day, to begin again. My mother brought her sewing box with her when she came to Canada and used it to keep her treasures safe. I remember when I was small, she used to let me go through the box and look at all the things she kept in it. A jar of buttons (which in itself I could poke through for hours), darning needles, small trinkets and costume jewellery. The thing I remember loving the most in the box, was my Mom's crocheted gloves she made to wear on her wedding day. Now the box has been passed on to me and in it I keep my Mom's precious gloves, yellowed and a little bit torn from a small girl playing with them, but ever as beautiful as the day they were made. And here they are.