A friend offered me free fabric. No catch, just a gesture of benevolence. Such a windfall of gorgeous material with which to create quilts ignites generosity in me as well. To do otherwise would be to clog the dam. I heard of a worthwhile charity, and thought I could use some of the newly gifted cloth to whip something up. Plus there is a wedding this month. That is always a fertile occasion for bringing fabric to fruition. 

 

The fact is, the machine I use is itself a gift. Friends contributed to a fund last year to bless me with a Bernina. How could that not elicit a cascade of bequeathing? When it comes right down to it, the electricity that powers the motor is a boon too. I guess I could make a lame claim to paying a utility bill. But truthfully I cannot pretend to deserve the marvelous and invisible force that lights the night sky. 

 

Recently my voice went away. In its place came a gravely substitute from another octave. The preschoolers were jovial enough, either not noticing or caring about the change. I drank copious cups of tea with lemon and ginger, and tried to lure my larynx back into service. But it reminded me of the fact that the ability to sing is itself without price. For as many times as I have studied the diagram of the voice box while waiting for my otolaryngologist to enter the room, I still have but rudimentary understanding of how it works. I think about a song, and sound comes out. It would be dicey to assume credit for a capacity I cannot explain. 

 

The part that surprises me, though, is how much fun it is to be part of the conveyor belt.