An old neighbor and dear friend owns a little house across the water. Normally she rents it out, but it's empty this month, so we took the ferry there yesterday, she in her car below and me as a walk on. (Just to say, before you wonder, the entire day was spent with much social distancing care.)
It was 7:30 in the morning and only a handful of others were with me above deck. It felt strange and lonely. The city was shiny in the early light.
Stitching on this and listening to Jude's post, about being able to "find yourself in anything," warmed my spirit.
The night and morning until this point had been filled with anxiety, but that all drifted away as we moved through the water.
Her place is lovely. A tiny 1940's space that is sparsely furnished between renters, but everything that is there has been placed with care. The vignettes that she's created in nooks make magic. I made the piece above for her after my first visit, just after her mom had passed. It's titled, "The Light of Judy's Daughter" (more about the piece and her place here).
Even the light fixtures are enchanting.
The kitchen's reminded me of a crystal punch bowl.
When I commented on the sweetness of the draped window cloth, she said that she'd hung it there just for me.
She spent the day working on her garage and house maintenance, while I sat in the "sun room" area. A cozy sunny spot where sweet peas were sprouting amongst her flower and blue bird pots.
I stitched, drank tea and watched birds in the yard. The sky of this cloth was dyed in a class years ago. I remember not liking it much at the time. It's grown on me, and how perfectly Tina's cloths in the patched stripe near the bottom match.
When it was time to go, we said goodbye to her friends in the kitchen.
We were only gone seven hours, but it felt like a vacation, as time with her always does...
Such a rosy day.
