From Ariel

Yesterday I got a charming thank-you from my niece Ariel, with these words on the cover of the card: I am beginning to learn that it is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all. Laura Ingalls Wilder. Thanks, Ariel, for the reminder.

I'm picking up in my office, where I find a piece of paper carefully cut with scissors (Aaron) and a discarded hole punch (Nora.) I'm thinking about how those two love to climb the stairs to the studio and office to what, for them, must be a kind of special place. The basket of scissors, including the amazing pinking shears. Markers. Bits of fabric. Pink erasers. A disappearing purple pen.

I always watch a little too carefully as little fingers explore my precious objects, but something in me realizes the importance of exploration and color in a sacred area. What really matters is the sense of creation for little ones. So, another resolution for the year: to have a special and large studio box just for them. Kid-designated adult supplies, the real things. Inexpensive pinking shears, lots of paper, fabric pieces with snowmen and tractors, those paper punches like scrapbookers use. Stamps, for sure. With a cleared off area close by where they can flop on their bellies and draw.

And one story: last time Aaron was here he plopped on my sewing machine chair, a tractor seat from IKEA, how could he not be drawn to that. He quickly studied the sewing machine and said, "How do you play this game?" and just as quickly managed to put his finger under the needle. The machine wasn't turned on, he must have positioned his finger just right under the needle point. There was much crying, as he tried to wiggle out the trapped finger, getting a fresh poke with each wiggle.

At some point in my yard sale shopping, I'm sure I'll find a sewing machine just for him and he'll learn that the sewing machine is his friend.