The Work of the Hands

I was born into a home that was busy with the happy toil of hand work. My mom was always making something. Drapes, a dress for her mom, or sister; Halloween costumes (elaborate), clothes for us kids. And when she needed a break, she would garden. A great, huge, hillside transformed rock by rock, tier by tier into a profuse symphony of rhododendrons, moon lilies, ageratum, ajuga, silver mound...and that was while she was pregnant with me. Ha! No wonder I am so motivated to make things. "Making things and selling them" was my first brainstorm as a kid of what I would do with my life. I started out making what I called "Islands". It was a piece of driftwood, or a lake stone, embellished with a miniature"landscape"- a bush (a tuft of lichen), a tiny deer or bunny, white glitter for snow. I sold them at the flea market and made enough to buy all my school clothes (I got to choose). Then it was macrame`, earrings, sand candles, wood burned plaques.Man, the 70's were fabulous for crafts. Point being, hand work is in our blood. Some are closer to it, but frankly; it is an element of lifes maintenance not only necessary, but honestly - therapeutic. The stitching, the weaving, the beading, the keeping of the hands moving....works out the kinks and the struggles, stresses of the rest of living life. Perhaps that's why our culture has become so pressed and ill--not enough hand work.

So there it is. And, here it is: Curried Myrrh's first order from Free People (beautiful catalog). I am blessed, and very thankful. I bet they would have loved my macrame`....