Stitching a Life

Sometimes I feel like a piece of thread strung through Lily who is the sewing needle, the vehicle. As we walk around the variety of city neighborhoods we are slowly over the days months and years stitching a huge patchwork quilt made of all of these little hellos and slow building relationships. Each person we meet is another stitch in the quilt keeping things friendly and keeping us cozy and warm.

Francine and Jeff who live down our street, who we met through our dogs, gave us the fallen apples, they gave us a washing machine left in an apartment. They delivered it to us and Bill and I just hooked it up! I am so excited. Our machine used to spit lint and rust onto the clothes.

The only way I can understand and forgive my mother and others is to see them as mentally ill. On most days I see the whole world as a mentally ill. We're all on planet psych ward. We're all the walking wounded.