Good thing
Trying to get on to write more for most of the day only to be distracted by one thing or another. I hate to leave the space here with a entry like 'No worry.' It is surely boring but a needed update so I don't forget.... Ummm. hm. Forget what? lol I sure don't know. But it feels like something I should remember everyday....
Steven told me today that his favorite smell is Christmas morning. I can remember when he was littler and he would come into the kitchen when I was cooking or baking and he would say, "What is that beautiful smell?" So sweet. I wonder what a Christmas morning smells like to him... It must be something special. I always light cinnamon candles before they wake up, maybe that's it. Or the lights warming the tree sap. And the boxes and paper. New electronic stuff has a certain smell, even the styrofoam packing... Maybe it's something more than scent but he senses it as 'smell' because it is such an acute experience. Like as in the expression, 'You can almost taste it..." I do know what he means. I don't, in my mind, have a direct memory of a particular Christmas morning. They all basically looked the same. But I do know what one smells like. To me.
I washed all the fabric I bought and it sits on my dresser folded so beautifully. Patient. I am getting the patterns ready for pinning and cutting and the material it will sit and wait. So much imagination in waiting and in the anticipation of what a certain thing will become. I have glanced at the fabric more than once today and run my hand over them, soft and clean, such pretty prints and I've even lifted the top one to caress my face and smell the laundry freshness of it. I love the idea of sewing now. I knew I would. I love it's possiblity. I love the creativity of it and the feeding it provides whatever my soul might be... It seems satiated with the activity. it soothes it's restlessness..
I will probably never have a potent memory of a particular thing I'll make in my life, but I will always know what it smells like. And how it's made me feel.
Steven told me today that his favorite smell is Christmas morning. I can remember when he was littler and he would come into the kitchen when I was cooking or baking and he would say, "What is that beautiful smell?" So sweet. I wonder what a Christmas morning smells like to him... It must be something special. I always light cinnamon candles before they wake up, maybe that's it. Or the lights warming the tree sap. And the boxes and paper. New electronic stuff has a certain smell, even the styrofoam packing... Maybe it's something more than scent but he senses it as 'smell' because it is such an acute experience. Like as in the expression, 'You can almost taste it..." I do know what he means. I don't, in my mind, have a direct memory of a particular Christmas morning. They all basically looked the same. But I do know what one smells like. To me.
I washed all the fabric I bought and it sits on my dresser folded so beautifully. Patient. I am getting the patterns ready for pinning and cutting and the material it will sit and wait. So much imagination in waiting and in the anticipation of what a certain thing will become. I have glanced at the fabric more than once today and run my hand over them, soft and clean, such pretty prints and I've even lifted the top one to caress my face and smell the laundry freshness of it. I love the idea of sewing now. I knew I would. I love it's possiblity. I love the creativity of it and the feeding it provides whatever my soul might be... It seems satiated with the activity. it soothes it's restlessness..
I will probably never have a potent memory of a particular thing I'll make in my life, but I will always know what it smells like. And how it's made me feel.
posted by SPOA | 2:21 PM
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