Each morning I place my breakfast upon a placemat, which sits atop the dining room table to protect the wooden surface from moisture. Generally, I pay no heed to the placemat, focusing only on gulping down breakfast. A few days ago, though, I paused to gaze at the mat and was stunned by the intricate pattern of the weaving. It is a woven "rag" placemat with strips of cream, green and burgundy rags which are held together by perfectly matched threads interwoven between the rags.
In the "olden" days, these placemats would have been made by hand because everything was made by hand. I imagine that now these placemats are made in some factory somewhere by a so-not-human machine. However, I have concocted a fairy tale that has women sitting around a campfire, weaving to their hearts' content while telling the generational tales that go hand in hand with such gatherings of women. They work in pairs; one weaves the rags, the other binds the mat with the threads and, in the end, they have this spectacular piece upon which I set my plate of food.
The images in my mind surrounding this placemat-making gathering of women are sunny, happy images filled with the lilting sound of their laughter. In the background, their children play happily with hoops and sticks, their giggling mingling with that of their mothers. The fathers are in the fields, toiling for the family and all seems to be perfectly balanced in this world.
Naïve of me to dream about such a place and time, I know. Sometimes I can't help it because it is the simple things that touch my heart these days...
Like when my daughter unexpectedly crosses the room to kiss my cheek and say, "Momma, I love you so much!"
Or when my former husband stops me in my tracks by saying, "I can't believe how grown up our daughter is getting. You have done a good job with her."
Or when I am with my family, laughing about the stupid things that we think are funny yet no one else gets.Or when I spy a quiet moment between a couple that has no clue that anyone is watching them. And, in that moment, he leans toward her with a smile that I know is only for her and she smiles back. There is that exchange between lovers that happens between no one else and I get to witness it.
Or when I get a phone call from my mother saying, "I am so proud of you."
Or when I am able to write fluently, effortlessly and passionately.
Or when I am able to sit in a coffee shop listening to one of my many talented singer/songwriter friends belt out the music of their soul.
Or when my daughter spouts off with a seemingly out-of-the-blue tangent quote that sends me into fits of laughter every time.Or when I place my hands upon someone and feel the Universe charge through me, into them and bring them the peace they are seeking.
Or when a friend calls to say, "Ang, I am thinking about you. I love you."
Or when I get to see an artist's impression of the world in their painting.
Or when I can sit with my best friend, listen to him drum and know that, in this moment all is right with my world.
And, this morning, as I stared at the placemat, envisioning the merry women who lovingly wove it just for me, I realized that in that moment everything was right with my world. And, better yet, in every moment - from one moment to the next - everything is exactly perfect.
In the "olden" days, these placemats would have been made by hand because everything was made by hand. I imagine that now these placemats are made in some factory somewhere by a so-not-human machine. However, I have concocted a fairy tale that has women sitting around a campfire, weaving to their hearts' content while telling the generational tales that go hand in hand with such gatherings of women. They work in pairs; one weaves the rags, the other binds the mat with the threads and, in the end, they have this spectacular piece upon which I set my plate of food.
Or when I am with my family, laughing about the stupid things that we think are funny yet no one else gets.
And, this morning, as I stared at the placemat, envisioning the merry women who lovingly wove it just for me, I realized that in that moment everything was right with my world. And, better yet, in every moment - from one moment to the next - everything is exactly perfect.
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