It was time, I said, to throw out my Victoria magazines. The pile was heavy. With two sacks full, I trundled them out to the shed.
Today I discovered I had forgotten one, June 1992. A time I needed to dream because that was all there was. I opened the magazine. A theme of white. I sat and read of white pear blossoms falling like snow and was soon enveloped in lovely soft poetry from the past, clouds of white lace used in many beguiling ways. There were pages of an all white wedding, sweet with children, maids and roses.
A story of a woman who collected lace throughout her busy life of four children and home, knowing that some day she would do something with the lace. She did. She makes lovely one of a kind lace dresses and blouses for brides.
I learned of a couple that changed their careers, and are now making a terraced, paradise herb garden on a sloping hill. Cookbooks are written; classes in cooking with herbs are given. Their dream grows.
I looked out my window. The ancient pear tree was in glorious full bloom. I could see the lawn as it slopes down to the water. I thought of my own small collection of lace in my attic and my books of antique poetry. I thought of the years I sewed for myself designing each piece from several patterns. Now my favorite catalog is called Soft Surroundings.
I raced to the shed and rescued me.
|On rescuing oneself.|