THREAD

I am sure you will get tired of the “I am packing” blogs, but hang in there with me.  I had Bill get some totes out of my closet.  One is full of doilies.  He asked, “What are you ever going to do with all those doilies?”  I showed him some I had pulled out and told him those could go to the Thrift Store.  They were ones I had bought here or there.  “But what about those?” he asked, as he nodded at the still almost full container.

“These are special.”  I touched the doilies made with white thread, red thread, gold thread, and pink thread.  Those doilies are made from threads that …

“What color thread would you like your teacher’s doily to be?” mom asked.  We stood there, looking at all the colors.  Each year, in elementary school, my teacher received a handmade doily.  I picked the color and mom crocheted a gift.

“I have some thread that needs wound into a ball,” grandma would say.  I would be all excited because I made a whole nickel to wind that skein of thread.  Hey, don’t sneeze at a nickel.  Back then five pennies would buy a lot of candy! Out would come the chair that the skein fit on.  I would fold the paper wrapper, which had been around the thread, into a sorta circle.  Taking the end of the thread, I would wrap and wrap and wrap.  My fingers would get tired.  I would begin to think this was a lot of work for five cents.  And then, all of the thread was in a ball.  Ready for grandma to use.

Rabbit trail:  I was going to insert a picture of someone winding thread and had to laugh.  There are videos on how to do this.  Videos!  What happened to common sense?  I knew how to wind thread into a ball as a kid.  The skein fit over the arms of that one chair, you made a small ball with that wrapper, and you kept going around and around until the thread was wound into a ball.  My goodness, it is not rocket science.  Videos!  What is this world coming to?

Back to thread.  “Why am I keeping all of these?” I said as I touched those doilies.  “It is all about the thread.  My mom or my grandma has touched each of these.  Skein after skein.  Ball of thread after ball of thread.  And I can see my grandma, sitting silently, crocheting another doily that she would give away.  I can see my mom, counting stitches and keeping us kids under control, as she made an armchair set.  (Don’t laugh.  It was/is a thing.  Look it up.)  Each with thread wrapped around their finger, as thread became a piece of art that would sit under a lamp or a vase or a clock.  Or given to an elementary school teacher.  Or given to a granddaughter/daughter who would one day say, “I am keeping these because the thread has been touched by either my grandma or my mom.  It is all about the thread.  Thread that ties generations together.”

Thread that ties generations together.  Sorta like the Word of God.

Your word, Lord, is eternal; it stands firm in the heavens.

Your faithfulness continues through all generations;

Psalms 119:89-part of 90