Bring Into Safety: Save

Did you ever wish you could just leave all this behind? I'm tired of all this dark.

I finished a project using 2 old, moth eaten, jersey, boat neck tops. And there was this pile of left over strips. I did not want to throw them away; these shirts had such good mojo.



So I made miniature batts for pot holders. (I looove making pot holders. They are fast, easy, useful and they make great gifts.) I sandwiched them in between some muslin scraps, and criss-crossed them in place.



Years ago, tragedy struck, and I just could not bring myself to do patchwork anymore. More recently, I was struck with the urge to clean the sewing room of ufo's* and reminders of unhappy days. There was this pile of starry blocks from a 4 seasons quilt I was planning back then.



They became gifts I gave my friends on my birthday.



I still have one quilt to make, but that is a future post.

*unfinished objects

A Tale Of Two Speeding Tickets

She is a good driver, usually obeying the speed limit and being the slow driving jerk that everyone else passes. In 30 years of driving, she had been pulled over exactly once for speeding. And the cop knew her, so he let her go with a warning. But that was before.

They were driving home from a particularly difficult therapy session. Difficult changes needed to be made. To her detriment, she was doing everything she could think of that was physically, emotionally, and spiritually possible to make it better for the person riding in the car with her. Her resources, meaning her fortune and her energy, were rapidly depleting.

And she was lost, metaphorically and really. The appointment had been in an unfamiliar city; the way home was on country roads through unfamiliar territory.

"OK...this road goes to 104 which leads us home. Phew."

"Why are you telling me this? I don't need to know this." Scary tone, close quarters. Lately there has been much angry acting out. Tears welled up and spilled down to her chin. She tried to sniffle quietly.

Then she noticed flashing red lights and little bursts of siren. She pulled over.

After checking this and that, the officer informed her she had been driving 46 miles per hour in a 30 miles per hour zone. She hadn't even noticed she was in a town.

"Your not in a hurry to get to the basket ball game are you?"

"No, I'm lost."

"Have you ever had a ticket?"

"I had a parking ticket a couple of years ago."

"I can't let you off, I already called it in. But if I were you, I'd come and see the judge. Let her see your face, tell her the circumstances, she'll probably reduce it."

During the two weeks between the issuing of the speeding ticket and the court appearance there were two more difficult therapy sessions, much more angry acting out, another speeding ticket under the same circumstances, and the other person left to live with his sister.

She felt ripped open, vulnerable, raw. As if she were floating in a bubble, looking down on her real life. Ineffectual. On the never ending verge of tears. The object of pity. Lonely. Pathetic. A failure as a mother.

Then there was a court appearance.

She made friendly, chit-chat, small talk with a young man who was also appearing for speeding. He had lost an ear ring. She tried to help him find it.

What kept going through her mind was, "When I got this ticket, he was still here. I was still trying. Now he's gone." She sat down in front of the judge and started to cry. The young man rushed over with Kleenex.

"Oh...OK...I can tell this ticket is very upsetting. You've never had a ticket before. Times are tough for a lot of people."

She did her best to explain her circumstances.

"I don't need to know. Tell you what, I'll just change it to a violation of the local noise ordinance."

One down, one to go.