A thread.

A needle.

A gift from my mother’s mother...

History hides in the smallest of places. Tiny threads that run through my veins, that ran through hers, and now wend back, through the fabric of my own life, to prick me with grief and joy.

So, this tin...
It’s been sitting in my bookcase for a decade, since my mum, Jude, died.

This is Jude and me - a LONG time ago!
After she died I started, kind of obsessively, patching my old clothes (all my clothes are old).

I made the patches obvious and beautiful.
Jude was a brilliant seamstress. She worked in the costume department at Melbourne State College for a while.

She tried to teach me but I was hopeless!! (Sewing, cooking, diplomacy...)

Her mum, Rene, was also great.

I’m like the dead end of the domestic skills maternal line!!
But then, after Jude died, I started all that sewing.

Then one day, while checking out an exhibition at the Sydney Biennale, I suddenly understood what I was doing:

I was MENDING!!
I bought my own tins.
I filled them with my threads and ribbons.
And I started making medals - my kinda medals - for the people I think really deserve them.
But back to the first tin. The one that was Jude’s.

I took it off the bookcase and opened it.

Oh!!
These are lil samplers made by Mum!!

And maybe by Grandma!!
Every now and then, when I fossick in the tin for a thread I don’t have in my own tins, I find something new. Or old.
Thanks for reading. Hope this encourages you to find the silver and gold in your iso day today.

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