I've been trying to do some sewing on Katie's quilt every night. I am, surprise...surprise...a little bit behind schedule but slowly chugging along with it. Katie asks me about every other minute when it's going to be done, poor kid. After I put the kids to bed and chase all the toys, dishes and laundry back where they belong, I sit down at the kitchen table and pop open the big tupperware container I've got all the bits and pieces of the quilt stored in. About thirty seconds after I open the container, I hear the pitter patter of feet. Nope, not the kids. Not that they don't make frequent appearances to stall bedtime just a little bit longer.
No, it's His Royal Highness Himself, Sir Benjamin Baadaabooty. He patters in and hops to the table and settles himself down on the lid. Always on the lid. I'm sewing some little squares to the big squares at the moment, and will be I think forever, and I do them in a chain link fashion so I'm not constantly snipping the thread. As I sew, the pile at the back of the machine gets bigger and bigger. Baadaabooty eyes this and occasionally reaches out to pat it with a paw. At some point he decides it's perfect and he gets up and claims a new spot...smack dab on top of all those sewn squares. He spends the rest of the sewing session glaring at the fabric as it comes through the machine and piles on top of him until eventually he can take it no longer and he gets up and goes back to the lid. He and his silly little ritual never fail to make me smile.
My time spent at the sewing machine is time I spend on me. While the actual product isn't mine, the process nourishes my soul. And Benjamin's quiet company has become part and parcel of the entire experience. The humm of the sewing machine, the kaleidoscope of colors in the fabrics, a cup of tea (or a glass of wine) nearby, and the crazy fluffiness that is our cat all work together to bring me back to myself.