I spent few hours this afternoon sitting before a fan, sewing patterns on a piece of white cloth, with Nerina Pallot singing in the background about Idaho, Sophia, heart attack and war. Interestingly, each time she reads an inspiring book, she writes a song about her thoughts.
I was never good at sewing. When I was in primary school, the girls had to do cross-stitch during art lessons. I was so hopeless at it, the teacher made me weave rattan baskets with the boys.
I am still not good at it but I am beginning to find it therapeutic. Moving from one stitch to the next has a really calming effect on me. (Maybe because I don't have to use my brain very much.) The boys are surprised that my tolerance level (for noise and their squabbles) becomes elevated when I am sewing. I even stay unperturbed when they test my patience.
Now I can see why the sweet old grannies knitting on their rocking chairs always look so calm and contented.
In case you’re wondering, this is part of a batik project. The piece of cloth will eventually be dyed in black and the hand-sewn patterns will remain white.