I made a quick decision Thursday, late, to fly to Boise on Saturday for my Uncle Bill's memorial service. His death hit me hard for several reasons. It seemed it took me a long time to appreciate him and that was a lesson in—well, I almost said how people change—but really I think in how age often reveals the real person. Under his bluster, which faded away as years went by, was a man who cared deeply about his family and friends, and in old age found ways to express it. He was my last uncle, the last, closest link to my father. The survivor and, though shaky and frail in recent years, clear-headed and still clearly the patriarch of the family. His daughters planned a remembrance both moving and true and filled with the humor he would have so enjoyed. My plans for the weekend were put aside and I am so very glad I went. I will catch up.
Meanwhile, here on the home front, I am getting quilts ready to show and working on the next. I continue to tweak the studio. The cutting table, which I located under the stairs, was not lighted well enough. I thought we still had a hanging light I bought many years ago for my first studio space in our old laundry room. Ray unearthed it from the shed and after I cleaned it up, it looked almost new. It does the job perfectly.
And hearts. I think I am finally loosening up and getting to where I really wanted to be.