Sunday, October 17, 2010

Not mine.

After taking a few days off in Maine, Friday was a day of work. My new apprentice (thank you, God) and I wove a 6'x9' blue jean rug. We wove straight through lunch. I love working with someone who works like I do.

From october

I was in kind of a hurry today, so I couldn't wait for the sun to get around the house. The rug is now packed up and ready for its trip to Toronto, Ontario.
Miss Puss approves. Right, Miss Puss? You do approve, right?
Oh, forget it.
From october

On Saturday, I took another day off......I KNOW....unbelievable, isn't it?
But I did it.
I did it for love.
From october

(I still want some of these undies, I'm serious)

I am a fool for my 4 grandkids. I tell ya. So I took three of them to the local art center, for a workshop where they learned to make their own puppets. It was a big hit.
From october

Then we went to Applebee's for lunch.
Then back to the art center for the puppet show called "The Firebird", put on by the Puppet People.
From october

Spending time with them just makes me feel good. They keep me on my toes.
From october

They keep me up to date with what is really important.

From october

While I am weaving, I often think about my three daughters. I remember them as children, and I am in awe of them all grown up. I recall how devastated I felt when they were old enough to leave home and go off on their own, to college, then to careers, and ultimately, families of their own. Children are a wonderful thing, but they weren't mine to keep. But the joy, and the love, continues on, with their children. Family.
From october

On Children
Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.


Anonymous said...

I adore the poem. And LOVE the photo of your granddaughter with the puppet next to her face. Frame it, my dear friend.


Sharon said...

Beautiful poem - beautiful post. Thanks!!!

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Because every thread counts