It involved a flight home from Budapest last fall.

And my favorite cardigan.

Cabin pressure + gel pen= sad day for said cardigan.

It's been wadded up in a ball ever since.

Until today.

This:



Became this:



Back in Tomball I snatched these sweet hand-stitched flower patches off of an worn-out apron that was among some of my great-grandma's things. I knew I wanted to use them for something fun and special. As I stitched around each blossom and leaf, hiding each and every ugly ink stain on the cardigan, I wondered at the fact that my Mammaw's fingers, her sweet precious fingers, had one day sat and stitched around these very same shapes. She traced them, cut them out, and connected everything together with that perfectly tightened blanket stitch. Our hands, separated by almost a century, worked along the same fabric's edge.

Oh sweet Mammaw, guess what? Your silly little great-granddaughter is now strutting around Europe wearing your apron flowers on her back!



I think she's get a real kick out of this.