August 27, 2014

It was just a little scrap of lace, evidently dropped while rummaging through quilt fabric yesterday. Then too, maybe not—but I’m getting ahead of myself here. Every fall, I get the urge to start another quilt project—nesting instincts maybe? You know, with winter coming on. So deciding on some throw pillows for my bed, I carefully cut out all the pieces.

While I sewed, I have to admit that now and then I saw a little something, you know, peripherally—that side vision you’re hardly aware of, but that somehow niggles at your awareness. My subconscious blew-it-off as being just a scrap of fabric I’d dropped while cutting, so I ignored it.

I brought my newly sewn square to press at the ironing board and while I waited for the iron to heat, there it was again. That piece of lace. It moved! All by itself! Now I’ve known for awhile that my eyes play tricks on me on occasion, but this was no trick—that lace moved a good six inches across the rug!

And then I saw it. A tiny—and I mean tiny pink tail. The lace had a tail. Hmmm. Really? I watched quietly, waiting to see what would happen. After a long pause, several minutes at least, it happened again. The lace began a slow but steady inch-worm crawl across the carpet, heading in the direction of the kitchen heat register.

“Would you like some help with that, Miss Bitsy?” I asked quietly.
Silence. The lace sat motionless again. After another long pause, a tiny brown face peeked out from under an edge. Tatiana.

“I’m not Bitsy, Ma’am. I’m Tatiana…" squeaked a tiny voice. "...And I was hoping you didn’t need this little piece of lace I found. My mama can sew this on a pretty dress for me… I know she can.” Her eyes were dewy with worried tears, tiny whiskers trembled and as brave as she tried to appear—all two inches of her now standing tall, the lace abandoned, she shivered in fear.

“Tatiana… I am always happy to leave your mama scraps of fabric and lace, and yes, you are most welcome to have this one too, but your mama wouldn’t like it if you took it without asking—that’s not how we do things. I suspect she has already taught you better.”

Her tiny head hung in remorse, a wee tear dripped off her pink nose. “I’m sorry, Mama Hare… I shouldn’t have sneaked into your house and tried to take the lace without asking.”

I picked up the slip of lace and held out my palm to her. “Jump on, wee girl. Let’s go see your mama. You’re forgiven and I’m sure you won’t do it again. If there’s something you need, just ask politely. There’s usually something we can do to help each other.”

Shyly repentant, she climbed up for a ride to MouseHouse. And just as expected, a worried Fivelina was looking out the door as I approached. I gently held the wee girl and her piece of lace up to edge of the eave where she could scramble off and run to her mama.

“Sorry Ma’am… sorry for the mischief and trouble.” Fivelina said softly.
“No trouble, dear Fivelina…” I replied. “Parenting is full of adventures and hiccups—for all of us.”

Now back to my quilting…