When a friend would comment on something mom had made, a cake she had baked and decorated, a garment she had sewn, a sweater she had knitted, he would draw himself upright and say, with just a tinge of pride, "My wife built it."
Dad died the same month I started weaving. He didn't live long enough to see my brother Don grow into a successful man, turning his childhood dreams into reality. He didn't see me turn weaving into my career, my passion, my life. He wasn't able to enjoy my travelling around North America, even as far as Europe, Great Britain, Scandinavia several times. He wasn't able to see the publication of Magic in the Water or any of the Big Projects.
I hope that if his spirit checks in to this reality from time to time that he will drop by when the latest Big Project goes public, draw himself upright, smile his little smile and say "My daughter built it."
An early Father's Day post...