I am putting off writing a blog about Oradour-sur-Glane because it will be hard to capture our feelings without being mawkish. I have never used that word before. I hope it means what I mean.
So this morning I drew my October entry for The Sketchbook Challenge. The theme is Cabinet of Curiosities. I had lots of ideas, but most were beyond my skill set. Looking at some pictures online, I read about someone collecting a coffee measure to use in a future mixed media project.
Well, that reminded me of Betsy Blount, a friend and colleague I haven’t seen in years. Once, on a trip, she bought me a wooden coffee measure. This was in the 1980s. I still use it almost everyday, and thus, I think of her that often. Being ADD, I don’t act on those thoughts, but she is still a great inspiration to me.
Then I thought about other small, unexpected gifts I have received over the years. I thought of ones that showed me someone had looked through all my bluff and seen a glimmer of the real me. There have been quite a few, but I am still limited by my skill set for my drawing.
This is my sketch.
It includes my flower tattoo that my daughter gave me for an early 50s birthday. She told me Steve had said I’d never do it, so naturally, I did. I also knitted the entire time. The artist loved that.
The circle pin was the rage when I was a teen. The aunt who gave it to me always seemed to find the perfect gift for me. She, too, was a bit of an outsider in the family. Maybe she felt that connection with me.
Before I went to Australia for an extended stay, friend Rachel organized a little send off for me and brought a journal for everyone to write travel advice. It became my special travel journal where I recorded the best about a wonderful, life-changing adventure. It always shocks me to discover I am liked. Bad childhood there.
Meghan lived in Colorado so I saw her rarely. One Mother’s Day she sent me two knitted dishcloths. My baby had learned to knit. It was such a gift that she would share even a tiny bit of my passion. I cried all day.
While in France, the only green thing we ever saw anyone eat was lettuce or basil. By the time we settled in our seats for the return flight, I was craving green veggies. I told Steve I would kill for a head of Broccoli. The night we returned he served me one for dinner.
I hope my little skip down memory lane has triggered some pleasant thoughts in your mind. I’d love to hear about them.