One of the things that a pretty wonderful life allows me to think is important is good sheets.  I know you're sort of somewhere else when you're asleep, but I think your body knows, during recharge mode, when stuff feels really right.  Personally, I prefer white sheets ... partly because I just like white cotton fabric ... and a little bit because they can be bleached and blued back to pristine.  And, I like to sew a lace edge on to the pillow cases ... always on the look out for beautiful old lace, like sheets, real lace just gets better with time. 

I have a little project brewing on the back burner.  We have more top sheets then bottom sheets in the linen closet ... I am going to use that mellow old(ish) fabric to make a new dust ruffle ... and ... some more lovely pillow cases with this vintage lace.  Inspired by the bella notte collection of bed linens ... like these photos from their site:

And ...
I've been thinking about Clarkston, Georgia ... last stop on the transit line East of Atlanta.  Refugees from the hottest hellholes currently active on the planet have some incredible how found their way to Clarkston.  Recycled people ... who need rest ... the tired and poor huddled masses yearning to breathe free ... wretched refuse ... .  Four visited there last week and sent pictures home ...

... because I love to cook, and we love to experiment with different cuisines.  Sometimes the ingredients are very difficult to track down.  Four was pumped about this market ... she said food stuffs from all over the world could be found here and the prices didn't seem to be inflated.  That's my girl ... looking out for me.  L and I talked about visiting over there ... not too far away for a day trip.  She also told me some of the stories of the people who have found their way there.  Tragically brutal stories.  So ... I started my little internet search of all about Clarkston Georgia.  And ... it's complicated. Not everyone is thrilled with the influx of ... these lives.  The mayor has (apparently) ruled that only America games can be played on the City fields ... ummm, baseball not soccer.  Lotsa squawking.  I come to learn about this with a bias ... the fact that these people survived the physical, emotional, spiritual hailstorms visited upon them seems to me to be a modern day miracle ... a whole pile of them stacked up and dumped smack dab in the middle of the Bible belt strikes me as significant.  And ... it didn't take any searching at all to see people expressing fears about what sort of stink these people may have brought along with them when allowed access through the golden doors. Interesting.  Complicated ... .
I wonder how the miracle people in the Bible were received ... lepers for example ... my Granddad lost a couple of finger parts on his left hand somewhere along lifes way ... it was creepy until it just seemed like his hand.  I can sorta understand the sides of this, and there are more then a few ... too many to just make a box and put this in it.  I'm thinking of a woman ... maybe about my age ... birthing and tending her ten children, fixing meals, mating socks ... living, loving ... in her home her babies and her husband were killed for accepting the Christian faith in a place with no room for an American god ... she was left for dead but somehow survived.  I don't know her.  I do know that being victimized doesn't not necessarily make one a lovely person.  My daughter had the impression that she was a good woman.  Is everyone of those refugees as awesome ... doubt it ... I'm not so sure about everyone in my own little church ... okay, honestly, I have surprised myself choosing "bad" behaviors while wishing for opportunity to behave even worse ... . These guys may have brought violence previously unknown to this small Southern town.   I don't know. I know my heart  reaches towards a mother with empty arms.

I'm thinking about ... recycled.    I'm thinking of these souls  ...  too good to just throw away, presenting themselves with more then frayed edges and holes caused by harsh treatment  ... messed up, definitely imperfect ... I mean, how do you get to here, a relative paradise, from there, hell on earth, and what is left of the essential you ... what does one do with that?
And, what is our response to that amazing set of circumstances.  These lives tell stories that I think we are supposed to hear ... maybe ...