the hand-braided rug story
By the women in my yard.
Two mommas from Jubilee.
So, they show up with large black bags ... bulging black bags.
And they begin to pull from these bags some gorgeous colorful mats...hand woven lovely pieces, almost perfect...but not quite.
And the problem is , in the room behind me i have approximately 70 similar pieces...not exactly placemats , maybe bath mats...but until they are altered...we can't quite use them,..nor will we be able to sell them.
So as clearly and tenderly as possible, i explain what they need to do to "fix " these beautiful pieces...suggesting they haul them back home and "range sa",( fix them) and bring them back in a few days and we can buy them.
i don't think so.
Not leaving this yard ... no we are not.
"bring me some twoll / fabric" they said.
I obeyed, ran upstairs to the linen closet ( fabric supply getting low) and found a clean sheet about the right shade. Began tearing into strips. Obediently. Like, you really don't mess with a Haitian Momma willing to sit here and work until she can take money/food home to her family.
So here we sit. Even now. I am sitting on the driveway. Only able to type because i have obediently prepared the strips of cloth they needed. And while i watch them work ( i would help but my skills are sorely lacking for anything but tearing strips of cloth)...and i chit chat, and watch...i am a little bit in awe.
they are beautiful ,really. The pieces . They are odd and they are wild and if i had a shabby chic beach house i'd have to have one....or maybe i had a dorm room or maybe my daughter did....anyway...we'll take our chances...i have a feeling we won't be disappointed.
and they are beautiful...these women holding me hostage on my driveway.
God sees them. He knows. They matter so much , that to hold this busy white lady hostage on her own driveway is really no big deal.
He loves them.
And the white lady will pay them tonight.
( i love my life)