I went to Missoula on Wednesday to help Mom and Dad a bit with some financial stuff and to enjoy a good visit. The wind while driving was really something in places and it was hard to keep the LilyB on the road at times going over and again coming home yesterday. It has been a busy week with several new customers and I am so thrilled and thankful to have the work. It feels really good!
A wonderful, talented quilting friend shared this poem with me. It is by Marge Piercy and it has stayed in my head since she sent it to me yesterday so I wanted to share it here with you. I keep reading it over and over . . .
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.