Hot cross buns,
Hot cross buns,
one ha’ penny,
two ha’ penny,
hot cross buns.

Some things are better for being temporary. Warm weather came to northern Indiana yesterday and I, as I pushed my convertible top into the trunk of my roadster, rationalized that a warm day with budding crocus seemed even sweeter when contrasted with the ice and snow that has recently melted. Those are the kind of thoughts some folks have when they can’t overcome inertia and move to a more temperate clime.

I headed to the dentist with an ache in my jaw. After an x-ray, he ordered Penicillin and scheduled me for gum surgery late next week. That was the bad news. The good news is that there is a store nearby that fills antibiotic prescriptions for free. Sun warmed my face and wind tangled my hair as I drove there. However temporary my lower teeth might be, I was determined to do what it takes to enjoy them for as long as possible.

While waiting for the pharmacy to fill the prescription, I browsed the grocery department and there they were—hot cross buns. How could I forget their heirloom taste of currents, raisins and spices? How could I pass up the chance to enjoy them for the fleeting amount of time they appear each year? They are like the budding crocus. They are here temporarily and that makes them even better—kind of like life. As Gleason said, “How sweet it is.”

(The new masthead image is from photographer, James E. Miller, Willowgreen.)

In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too)
those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively
have prevailed.
[Charles Darwin]

My two grandmothers (Katherine and Gertrude) were friends. During the 1930s, they quilted together weekly at the same little Methodist church in Peru, Kansas. Katherine had the reputation of being the finest needle woman in the county.

In her later years, Katherine’s mind drifted away, and her weekly quilting skills became less and less adept. Afraid that people would start to notice Katherine’s decline, Gertrude stayed after the quilting bee each week, picked out her friend’s stitches and resewed that portion.

I cherish the quilts that are products of my grandmothers’ loving collaboration. It wasn’t until I was older myself that I studied the quilt and said to mama, “From the style of stitches, I’d say this looks like it was quilted by mostly one person.” That’s when mama told me about Gertrude’s lone, loving quilting sessions. For me, that makes this a true friendship quilt.

I was inspired to write about collaboration after reading Janet Riehl’s interviews on Riehl Life.

Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle,
and the life of the candle will not be shortened.
Happiness never decreases by being shared.
[Buddha]

From last Friday through Sunday, my gratitude built with each passing experience. Starting with pre-conference activities like coaching sessions and the afternoon as a volunteer in the vender room, I grew in knowledge, confidence and fullness of heart. Friday evening’s keynote speech by Heather Summerhayes Cariou (Sixtyfive Roses) inspired us all as she recounted her memoir-writing experiences, and encouraged us to tell our own stories. Saturday and Sunday were filled with educational sessions, luncheons, open mike night and a closing address by Mary Gordon Spence (Finding Magic in the Mundane). After it was over, those of us who stayed to fly home on Monday met for supper and an effervescent discussion of our experiences.

Speaking of the mundane, while I was shoveling snow this morning, I decided I needed to fill my larder in case I get seriously snowed in so I headed to the grocery about 6:30 a.m. Mary Gordon’s speech came back to me as I browsed the produce. I doubt that I’ll ever shop for groceries again without thinking of her story about making a list according to letters in the alphabet. I’ll also never sit down to write without remembering those magical few days in Austin. Thank you Susan, Peggy, and all you other inspiring women who each now own a piece of my heart.