Finding The Right Steps To The Dance

The house is quiet now. The bustle of the morning over, as two young ladies argued over the bathroom. The dogs have both settled, Rylie, now teaching Molly about the "School Time Vigil" that will end later today with girly giggles and wagging tales. My morning routine is shuffled a bit, but in a good way. I should be able to have a nice, quiet time to work. The morning is cool still and the smell of coffee and candles surround me..........it's too quiet.

The first day of school is always a time to reflect. The girls are much older now and the memories of me taking them into their classrooms before I needed to leave for Brimfield flood my head. This year holds also a bit of sadness. It's been a year now since I received a call , letting me know that my dear friend, Mark lost his battle with cancer. I still keep him close as well as the memories. He was like a brother and I miss his teasing. He was always good for a late night phone call to share something silly, and my girls adored him. He loved New York and the Adirondacks dearly and tried very hard during the last four years of his short life, to make it back to what was his heart's home. He is still near, very much so. We had a pact long ago, that the first one to leave would somehow let the other know that they were near. He has, several times, in ways that only he and I would know and understand. To some, it may be silly or they would brush it all off, but for me, these things bring a comfort, knowing that he is beside.

Monday morning, I reminisced as I worked about all of this. The phone rang and a cheery voice on the other end asked if there was Folk Art going on at my place. It was my colleague calling. We are both fast at work for a show at the end of September and remembering the adventures of Brimfield. My heart is smiling and I do hope that that I can go home to Brimfield, where it all began for us eight years ago. Time marches, girls become young ladies, we keep loved ones alive by never forgetting and with it, in the very core of my being, my art grows. The dance moves as it should, shaped in tradition by steps learned long ago along with new steps moving as life does, ever forward.