When I plant myself in the chair to write this silly blog I do so without an agenda or thought or care in the world (as is evidenced by the ridiculous rambling that usually takes place here.) Every now and then I journal something vaguely related to stitching, and, if I'm really lucky, I'm able to take a digital photograph that doesn't make you want to gouge your eyes out because of its lack of proper lighting, focus, and/or composition.
This blog has always been a total escape for me. I get to let it all fly without worry that y'all will find out what a boob I really am and that you will continue to let me play in your sandbox. I would love to tell you that every single episode of my life has unfolded as I've related it to you, but all I can say is "There might be a little bit of embellishment or exaggeration here and there."
The last several days I've been thinking a lot about perception and legacy and contribution, and it occurs to me that if I read this blog I would think that it was written by a self-indulgent, air-headed, tunnel-visioned spoiled woman who hasn't a clue as to what's going on in the world. There's no mention of the troubles that are hitting this globe left and right, and subjects that are so eloquently talked about on other sites are normally left unsaid here.
I can't come close to the lovely tributes that have been posted out there in Stitchy Blogville about the loss of Judy Harper and Lisa Roswell, but I can try to echo the sentiment of sympathy for the families that are left to mourn their passing.
When our stitchy world loses someone, whether it's a designer, teacher, friend, mom, dad, sister, brother, son, daughter, or fellow stitching pal because of illness or accident or natural disaster or another tragic circumstance, this thing of ours is changed forever. I didn't know Judy or Lisa personally, but I knew and loved their work and I mourn their loss with others that also might never have known them. I tried to articulate this to Aunt Chrissy yesterday as we talked about the sadness that the families must feel today, but all I could come up with was some idiotic rambling about the profound impact that stitching has on thousands of people who might never meet. We stitch and blog and read and laugh and talk and sometimes never have the opportunity to tell someone how much of a difference they've made in our lives.
I suppose that all of this is the result of my continual astonishment by the connection that I feel to other stitchers out there who either write to me or laugh at me or encourage me or challenge me to clean up my act. I've never laid eyes on you, but somehow feel that we've known each other for a million years and that if you walked in my front door I'd know how you take your coffee. Is it strange that I stalk and follow your lives and feel like a mother hen clucking over her brood?
So today I'm thinking about the families of Judy and Lisa and I'm hoping that they know how many of us are sad for them and are sending our prayers and thoughts their way. Sometimes it's nice to know that your loved one mattered in ways that you never could have imagined, and that they will be missed by people you've never met.