Stitching
When I was eight, I rode my bicycle down a hill in front of Happy Hollow Elementary School with no hands. I hit a bump and the next thing I remember is the emergency room at Framingham Union Hospital. I can still smell whatever it was that they used to numb it and take the sand out of the wound. I had five stitches. It was just before Easter. I know this because the pictures of me from that year all have the big bandage on the chin.
Those stitches closed two sides of a wound in my chin. The stitches in my spine hold the muscle and bone together. The stitchers in my overalls made the knees of my overalls stronger. My work stitches color and form into endless stories and reflections. I get to look into the source that creates light and color and go far beyond all of the toxicity that has invaded the world for the past year. Although many people say that the pandemic, that wars, that plagues, that any number of apocalyptic events will come tous( and, in the scheme of things its likely that they will — after all, Troy fell despite Cassandra’s behests.
This year we will be doing a stitch meditation. A mending and healing of hearts and a creation of stitch, of mending, of color. Every mend is stronger than the fabric it holds together.
Carol LeBaron
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