Full Circle
When I was a girl and lived half way up that hill, my grandma spent half of every year with us. Although Grandma Emma lived to be almost 90, and I was almost 30 when she died, she was always very old, to me. She was bent over and was slow in her movements and her face was seamed with wrinkles. She spent her time puttering with this and that. One of the things she did was sew quilt patches together. She had trouble threading the needle and would often ask me to thread the needle for her. I was really pleased to do this small task, but I think I felt very smug about my eyes being so good that I could see to thread the needle and Grandma couldn't. It seemed to me that I would be different when I finally would join the ranks with the "old" people.
And now I must be "old!" I don't feel that old but I have trouble threading a needle, and I don't have a granddaughter living here to thread the needle for me. This morning I decided to take a couple minutes, which is all the spare time I had then, and sew on that button that I've been meaning to get to for several months. I grabbed the shirt and the button I got the needle and the thread and got situated to work on the task.
I couldn't thread the needle! I didn't have five minutes to spare to get that needle threaded. I had to put the button in the shirt pocket and hang the shirt up again and put the needle and thread back on the sewing chicken without even starting that little chore. When I have an extra half hour, maybe I'll try again to thread the needle
And so I've come full circle, from the young girl threading the needle for Grandma to the Grandma needing the young girl to thread the needle for me.
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