The day has not been forgotten by my SIM card.
Rather, there were smiles and emotions washing over my face to be had tonight in January, waiting for me since June. My SIM card had been holding them for me all along. Passed along from my Blackberry Bold, to my PC at work, to my external hard drive, to my Mac, and somehow synchronized back into my phone, I found this:
My RyeDye and I went to the Philbrook Museum of Art that day and were happily surprised to find a community “recycling clothes” project.
Loaned sewing machines, recycled buttons, lace, silk screening options, and a number of other treasures lined the tables that were set up in the middle of a room big enough to generate stellar echos.
We found a pair of heavy cotton chinos or pajama pants somewhere inside a mountain of donated clothing piled on the floor. We split them in half and each took one leg to create a bag.
Rylee used recycled buttons and lace, and inverted hers so the small opening was on top, thus producing a youthful, fun bag. It was easy, breezy, and so…her.
I kept simple lines, but cut long strips and braided them together for the handles, and visited the silk screening station. I have a habit of being all Eddie Bauer or Talbots in many of my approaches. It’s a curse. I truly just don’t know what I would do with lace. I could never pull it off because the weirdly uncomfortable look on my face would distract passers-by so that they would hardly notice that I had attempted to add notions and accents in the “frills” category.
Back to my bag. I placed a star where we live, and the three small red stones where Hubby’s mom, my parents and Rachel, Drew and Quentin live. (fyi – Rachel = eldest child; Drew = her Hubby, Quentin = my brother).
The Philbrook is a rocking museum. The event was perfect. But my time spent with RyeDye, side by side on our respective Burnina’s, was a beautiful moment I won’t forget.
And my SIM card, obviously, is helping with that.
P.S. That photo was taken on our drive, under an oak tree. The locusts were humming and the blotching light patterns are preciously reminiscent of that hot summer day. I feel warm just looking at it again.
P.P.S. I posted this photo on Facebook last summer, and got a short sweet message from my father. He wrote, “I like being a small red stone.” I grinned when I read his tender-hearted note. Dads can be really cool sometimes.