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My online journal of stitchy chores and the occasional hockey talk.

2017 Finishes

1. Now I Know My ABC’s (Winter theme) by Blackbird Designs. Finished Friday, January 6, 2017


2. Sew Bands by iStitch Designs. Finished Friday, January 13, 2017


3. Les Grande Pensée excerpt. Finished Friday, January 20, 2017


4.Spring For Rabbits by The Gentle Art Sampler Threads. Finished Sunday, February 12, 2017


5. Teacup Mice by Margaret Sherry. Finished Tuesday, February 14, 2017


6. New Years’ Magic by Brooke’s Books. Finished Thursday, February 23, 2017


7. Les étiquettes des bocaux (Jar Labels) Blue Teacup by Véronique Enginger of Les Brodeuses Parisiennes. Finished Thursday, March 2, 2017


8. Les étiquettes des bocaux (Jar Labels) Yellow Teabag by Véronique Enginger of Les Brodeuses Parisiennes. Finished Friday, March 3, 2017


9. Les étiquettes des bocaux (Jar Labels) Clothespin with Flowers by Véronique Enginger of Les Brodeuses Parisiennes. Finished Friday, March 10, 2017


10. Luck 2017 Flip-It by Lizzie Kate. Finished Sunday, March 12, 2017


11. Now I Know My ABC’s by Blackbird Designs (summer version). Finished Friday, March 17, 2017


12. Basket by Lizzie Kate. Finished Friday, March 24, 2017


13. Love by Lizzie Kate. Finished Sunday, March 26, 2017


14. My Wurk by At The Hop. Finished Thursday, April 6, 2017

Number of Finishes By Year-

1. 2008 Finishes -10


2. 2009 Finishes- 21


3. 2010 Finishes- 49


4. 2011 Finishes- 26


5. 2012 Finishes- 35


6. 2013 Finishes- 7


7. 2014 Finishes- 19


8. 2015 Finishes- 61


9. 2016 Finishes- 50


10. 2017 Finishes-

Thursday, December 25, 2014

The Most Beautiful Thing 2014

I found this story online years ago, and every year for the last several years I've shared it here and on my SanMan Originals message board. I love this story for it imagery and its' message and I hope you do too. 

The Most Beautiful Thing
Author unknown

The sides of the path were covered with white snow, but in the center, its whiteness was turned brown by the tramping of hundreds of hurrying feet. It was the day before Christmas. People rushed up and down the path carrying bundles, laughing and calling to each other.

Above the path, the long arms of an ancient tree reached up toward the sky. It swayed as strong winds grasped its branches and bent them toward the earth. Down below a haughty laugh sounded, and a lovely fir tree stretched its thick green branches, sending a fine spray of sparkling snow toward the ground.

"I should think," said the fir in a smug voice, "that you would try a little harder to stand still. Goodness knows you're ugly enough with the leaves you've already lost. If you move around anymore, you'll soon be quite bare."

"I know," answered the old tree. "Everything has put on its most beautiful clothes for the celebration of Christmas. Even from here I can see the decorations shining from each street corner, and yesterday some men came and put the loveliest lights on every tree along the path - except me, of course." He sighed softly, and a flake of snow melted in the form of a teardrop and ran down his gnarled trunk.

"Oh, indeed! And did you expect they would put lights upon you so your ugliness would stand out even more?" mocked the fir.

"I guess you're right," replied the old tree in a sad voice. "If there were only somewhere I could hide until after the celebrations are over, but here I stand, the only ugly thing among all this beauty. If they would only come and chop me down," he sighed sorrowfully.

"Well, I don't wish you any ill will," replied the fir, "but you are an eyesore. Perhaps it would be better for us all if they came and chopped you down." Once again he stretched his lovely thick branches. "You might try to hang onto those three small leaves you still have. At least you wouldn't be completely bare."

"Oh, I've tried so hard," cried the old tree. "Each fall I say to myself, 'this year I won't give up a single leaf, no matter what the cause,' but someone always comes along who seems to need them more than I do," and he sighed once again.

"I told you not to give so many to that dirty little paper boy," said the fir. "Why, you even lowered your branches a little so that he could reach them. You can't say I didn't warn you."

"Yes," the old tree replied. "but they made him so happy. I heard him say he would pick some for his invalid mother."

"Oh, they all had good causes," mocked the fir. "That young girl, for instance, colored leaves for her party indeed! They were your leaves!"

"She took a lot, didn't she?" said the old tree, and he seemed to smile.

Just then a cold wind blew down the path and a tiny brown bird fell to the ground at the foot of the old tree and lay there shivering, too cold to lift his wings. The old tree looked down in pity and quickly let go of his last three leaves. The golden leaves fluttered down and settled softly over the shivering little bird, and it lay there quietly under the warmth of them.

"Now you've done it" scolded the fir. You've given away every single leaf! Christmas morning you'll make our path the ugliest sight in the whole city."

The old tree said nothing. Instead he stretched out his branches to gather what snowflakes he could so they wouldn't fall on the tiny bird. The young fir turned away in disgust, and it was then he noticed a painter, sitting quietly a few feet from the path, intent upon his brushes and canvas.

The fir turned back to the old tree and said in a haughty voice, "At least keep those bare branches as far away from me as possible. I'm being painted and I don?t want you to mar the background."

"I'll try," replied the old tree. And he raised his branches as high as possible. It was almost dark when the painter picked up his easel and left. The little fir was tired and cross from all his preening and posing.

Christmas morning he awoke late, and as he proudly shook away the snow from his lovely branches, he was amazed to see a huge crowd of people surrounding the old tree, ah-ing and oh-ing as they stood back and gazed upward. Even those hurrying along the path had to stop for a moment to sigh before they went on.

"Whatever could it be?" thought the haughty fir, and he looked up to see if perhaps the top of the old tree had broken off during the night.

Just then a paper blew from the hands of an enraptured newsboy and sailed straight into the young fir. The fir gasped in amazement, for there on the front page was a picture of the painter holding his painting of a great white tree whose leafless branches, laden with snow, stretched upward into the sky. Down below lay a tiny brown bird almost covered by three golden leaves. And beneath the picture were the words, "The most beautiful thing is that which has given all."

The young fir quietly bowed its head beneath the great beauty of the humble old tree.


From my house to yours, we wish you the happiest of holidays and the most blessed of new years!




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Respectfully submitted,

C. 

1 comment:

elenamac said...

Merry Christmas!!!!

Love
elena