Inspiration from Nature

Wow, it has been over a week since I was on this site to write. SO much has happened since then. We have a new president elect, the days have become darker and shorter AND I learned to spin and dye yarn!!

There were 10 anxious fiber hounds gathered around the living room in Club dei Belle for the weekend, all hungry to learn. Marie, owner of Brooklyn Handspun, came up from the Big Apple to share her wisdom and experience. The "Queen" of spinning and dyeing arrives at Logan Airport resembling Rapunzel with a spinning wheel flung over one shoulder, 28 skeins of undyed hanks over the other and 3 bags full of raw fleece ready to take color.

We spun until sunset on Saturday with anticipation of splashing chemicals from one end of our work to the other. On Sunday morning we did just that. We drew our inspiration from what surrounded us. It was handed to us on Mother Natures silver platter.This time of year in New England it is brimming with vibrance everywhere. We were given permission to use her, and we did, filling our minds and our spirits with natures color palette. When the day was done we gave thanks to nature's mother, to Marie Carney and to ourselves. Each of us left with an arm full of dyed fiber dressed in our own interpretation of earth's pigments all ready for handcrafting. These beauties might become a pair of socks, handwarmers or a lace scarf but whatever their masters make of them, I know, they were truely created from the heart.

I Voted...

Yes, I was there at 6:30 AM. I wasn't the first in line but I was the second. One by one bodies stagger in, not yet fully awake, a Starbucks latte in one hand and a desire for change in the other.

At 7 am, they called me in. "Sixth precinct, to the left, give the first letter of your street name", I hear from the veteran volunteer with strong vocal cords that are loud enough for the 33rd person in line to get the message.

"A" is my letter. "A" for Atlantic Avenue. I am checked off and my, yes my, paper ballot is issued to me. I glance at it almost afraid to look at it fully like it's a document that was given to me by the secret service to personally deliver to the White House . Somehow my choice is all that counts today. I take a deep breath, and proceed to the booth. My hand is quivering, my heart is racing and I feel a little faint. Sort of like the feeling I get every time I go for a mammogram.

I set the elongated, white, crisp paper down and begin to read. Why is it all such a blur? Oh, of course, my glasses. I am fishing around in my clutch looking for my glasses thinking all the while that the veteran volunteer, with the loud lungs, is going to look over and shout out, "what are you looking for over there", and I will be embarrassed in front of my all my neighbors.

Specs are on and I am ready. First vote is Commander in Chief. My finger scrolls down the list.
The last name in the column is spelled out. That name spells change, youth, inspiration. It spells value, father, intelligence. It spells husband, eloquence, genuine. It spells strength, transformation, leader. It spells my vote. I have never felt so sure of my vote. I fill in the hollow oval in jet black ink. Hard and thick so that my choice is not missed. The rest doesn't really matter. I skim along the remaining columns. Yes, on not mistreating the greyhounds anymore.
On state income taxes, come on, if I want good schools, police protection, and the arts, I vote for it. On grass, a no brainer.

I am done. That took all of 3 minutes. I walk to the silver counting machine and submit my selection. I stand until the last quarter inch disappears. I am relieved. I am free. I am elated.

I have never felt more proud to be an American.