We all like to receive gifts, but the ones that were created by the giver are especially meaningful. It’s the difference between an email and a handwritten letter that your friend took time to write on pretty notepaper, then rummaged around for a stamp, and went to the post office to send. Always good to hear from family or friends by any means, but there’s just something about familiar handwriting on an envelope.
In the sun room where I greet mornings I’m surrounded with handmade tokens. The top on a little side table that holds my coffee is a mosaic my daughter did. The blanket on my lap and the crocheted prayer shawl on the back of my chair are also her work.
Anyone who has tried counted cross stitch will appreciate the effort it takes. The angel picture above my chair was made by my cousin in Omaha at the age of 90. She had arthritis in her hands so I know it was a painful effort, but she did needle work until her last days, and gave it all away.
A collage on one wall was done by an artist friend. It’s a tribute to writers, with bits of news clippings, a picture of a woman holding a pen, and various other items.
Barnwood plaques with quotations on them, a braid of wheat, and a log cabin pattern quilt were made by a writer friend whose guide dog is as dear to me as she is.
A small shelf at the other end of the room is home to a framed poem about spirits among the cottonwoods on a ranch. The woman who wrote it, and did the background sketch, was an import who took to the Sandhills wholeheartedly, but the ranch has been sold. She’s widowed now, living near a brother’s family in Kansas, but a part of her stayed in my heart.
A decorated box holds meditations copied for me by a lady from South Dakota who fell in love with the Sandhills on a visit to my home ranch several years ago.
The seascape that my youngest granddaughter painted for me last Mother’s Day is propped below a plant that her mom potted, which trails across the front of the picture, giving the impression of watching the sea from among vines on the shoreline.
On a windowsill is a miniature sunset photograph taken by a writer friend from Norfolk, and above it hangs a dreamcatcher made by a lady who lives in Thedford.
A lot of love in such a small room, and these are just the handmade items. Nearly everything else in that space was a gift of love too. The work of loving hands brings far away friends close. Small wonder that when I begin to feel angry, scared, or confused, I go sit in the sunroom and come out healed.