As Grandmother, I was recently invited to the DC area to babysit grandchildren while very intent parents set up house for their temporary move.  (no photos because I never knew how to take care of young ones and be a photographer at the same time)

As Mother, I found myself adding a day to that DC trip to hang out with my daughter before the gig of babysitting and before she was to leave on her trip.  We didn’t have any real plan, maybe some sightseeing, a dinner in the evening with friends, and lots of chatting and laughing about this and that.

sitting on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial

No worries. This girl knows how to relax; here along the Potomac River.

her DC place

If you look carefully, you can see a cable and maybe, the window cleaner’s foot.

view from deck

As Knitter, I became reflective.  Leisure is as leisure does, after a day of sightseeing, we were setting up our bedding.  Scurrying about for blankets here, sheets there, and rummaging through her ‘stuff’, we came across a gift I had made for her years, ago!

There is something about running across one of your projects.  Especially if you forgot about it and especially if you made it for someone else.  There is the moment you try to recall the making of it, where did the pattern come from, what was the motivation behind it?  What worked, what didn’t work, and why didn’t that effort remain in your memory?  It’s kind of like visiting life after your death.  What tangibles of your personal touch remain on Earth?  What can be identified as evidence of your passion and what you thought so important?  What artifact(s) did you leave behind?  Why did they remain?  Did it/they change anyone or anything?

Excited to revisit that drawstring bag, pattern from Vogue Knitting Crochet 1994 and when my daughter was otherwise occupied in her ever-so-busy life, I stepped back into that era when I crocheted that bag and gave it the photo shoot it deserved.  Here it is in all its whimsy as I happened upon it, hanging in her collection of ‘catch-all’.

Of course, there is always the other’s point of view.  I can’t help but wonder what she thinks every time she looks upon this now tattered, certainly stretched, but otherwise heartfelt hand made item that was gifted to her those many years ago.

How lucky am I to have the kids in the same location (well, at least for one year.)