There was a car behind me. I threw up a mega sized thanks to her and to God for the honk. She could have kept quiet, and the fault would lay splatted on my forehead like the mark of Cain. But she saved me from my mistake, and we both left undented.

 

Some people feel ire at being honked at. This particular time I was awash with relief. I had not woken up that morning musing about the opportunity to bash into a Mercedes. 

 

"I paid my premiums this month. Why don't I get my money's worth and construe a little fender bender? Nothing to write home about, but enough to merit a trip to the body banger."

 

I made a quilt this spring for a woman to give to her daughter for graduation. It was a medley of baby clothes, softball tee shirts, camp sweatshirts and filmy dresses. I have mentioned it before. It was not the epoch of my sewing career, in terms of the joy I felt working on it, but as I eventually figured out it was not for me in the first place. So I kept slogging. She picked it up last week, and while I held my breath for her reaction she told me stories about each small scrap of fabric. It was a success. But a two days ago she texted to ask if I could fix a few spots. My heart froze. Look at it again? What had I done wrong? I had not relished the project but I had tried to sew with integrity. She arrived after forty minutes in traffic, and was polite as she pointed out three small spots where the seams were imperfect. I let out a sigh at the size of the restoration and we talked while I cleaned them up. I felt grateful that she trusted me enough to ask me to mend it. 

 

It can be annoying to have someone tell you what you did wrong. Or it can be fabulous. If we share the intention of interacting in ways that leave no scars, feedback about the gaffs helps better my aim.

 

 

Photo by Chara Odhner

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