Wednesday, December 1, 2010


Nov 30. On this last day of November a dear young friend wrote on facebook that she had dreamed of me. We were together dancing in the snow with horses near us. A beautiful image for me to enjoy all day.
Cedar and I had a terrific breakfast of cheese, toast and grapes. Then to the bus stop with a new book to read. It is "The Family Under the Bridge" by Natalie S Carlson. Of our hero Armand we discovered he is an elder man of limited means. Of children he grumps, "Starlings they are. Witless, twittering, little pests." However, he welcomes adventure and I am sure it is upon this peg the tale will turn. One of the things Cedar and I appreciate about Armand is that he lives in Paris.
I knew the weather would be challenging so I decided to leave for Cass Lake at 1 instead of 2. My library program began at 4. Wallis came with me and it was fun to see her grinning from the back row. We had a small but appreciative group in the basement of the library. Some new faces and some old friends looked back at me. I had a good time.
I tried to stay up to greet Chey and Gene on their return from Seattle honeymoon but I was too tired. Under a dark sky with snow falling softly all around I slept and dreamed. I was caught up in a great task of creating a huge beaded hanging table. All night I strung beads.

Dec 1. In the morning I awakened with the great glittering cut glass creation hung before my eyes. The colors were shades of turquoise, amber and sparkling black,with silver and gold, too. It was designed to suspend a circular plate of glass. How beautiful it was. But I lamented all the hours of all the days lost in the creation of such a lovely, fragile useless thing.
I heard happy voices and got up to join Wallis, Chey and Lamaya. Soon Wallis was preparing breakfast and I held a cup of hot coffee in my aching hands. "Why do my hands hurt so much today?" I wondered. It was because of how I'd clutched the steering wheel as I'd crept toward Cass Lake the previous day. I remembered how I'd watched the great hands of the cold winter wind polish the ice before me. Then I'd held that hair thin beading needle all night. I rubbed my hands and told them, "Now we must drive home."

No comments:

Post a Comment