My Day

I'm a mother, aren't I?

My day.

My daughter is somewhere over the Atlantic, on her way to Italy for two weeks.

I don't quite have the words. I'm so proud and pleased that she sees beyond her here and now, and wants to experience another country as more than a tourist, even if not quite immersed - she's doing a photography class.

I'm empathetically and parentally (but not parenthetically) nervous for her: how to find the shuttle to the train station, meet her friend from London, find the D bus to the hotel. I know though from experience that the nervous anticipation is so often unfounded. You do find the bus, you do get to your hotel, you do get to where you need to be, when you need to be there.

I went to Europe for three months when I was nineteen, before the internet, before cell phones and text messages. My parents had to rely on my occasional collect calls and retain their sanity and not throw a nervie, so I guess I'll have to be equally stoic.

It's only two weeks after all.

Meanwhile (because the battery in my nook died just before the denouement, while I was being suitably decadent [my day!] reading on a chaise longue in the sun) beading.

A right angle weave bail that I saw on a round bead, but which works nicely on a marquise bead, and probably would equally on a teardrop.

A little dull though.

This one, not so much. (I'm quite pleased).

I had only the vaguest of plans (bell-shaped, using long oval beads), making it up as I went along.

If I'd put more thread on the needle, it might have more stuff around the bottom (and still may if I don't get side-traced by something else), but I like it well enough to call it Finished.