I looked around in my mother’s greyish station wagon, and waited until she came out. She had gone into a store to buy some yarn to weave a blanket for someone close to her. Finally she came out with the wool bags and got into the car.. 

“What took you so long?” I ask, trying to keep a calm tone.,” said her mom.

“Well, Sally, a woman needs to take her time while looking for her materials.” Mother says calmly. 

“I-I. I knew that!” I said in an angry tone and folded my arms. 

“Well, we need to go home. The dogs can’t feed themselves, right?” Mother chuckles trying to change the subject. “Okay. Fine, I will feed the dogs when WE get home. Okay?” I say with blankness. 

When we get home, I get the dog food and pour it into our dogs dishes. 

“Mother, I have a question.” I say with curiosity. 

“Sure, what is it Sally?” Mother asks sweetly as can be while she starts to make lunch. 

I take Saturday mornings with the smell of fresh bread and the sound of the rain hitting my roof. I weave together hot cocoa after long ski days and the gentle Touch of my mother after crashing my bike. I tie together early foggy mornings and the feelings are my favorite songs.  I finish it off with hot bowls of soup during times of illness and the joyful sensation of Christmas spirit.  I weave these feelings over and under each other to create a sweater that when I wear it comforts me and makes me feel safe and warm.

 

My fabric would capture me. It would be filled with love, intertwined with adventure and euphoria. The braids and weaves of hope. I would capture the feeling of the sun gently rocking you awake in the morning. The feeling of grass tickling in between your toes and the light sound of sprinkles on a tin roof. I would make a shirt- no a sweatshirt- out of my fabric. It would be both stylish and functional. The feeling of a big hug when you need it most. It would have the feeling of home. The smell of my mom’s legendary zucchini bread and the sounds of family banter. My sweatshirt would symbolize the important things to me, it would be a reminder of my friends and family, a pick me up on an eh day, and a sense of calm. It would be composed of my mom’s love and laced with my dad’s humor. It would have dashes of sister arguments- I mean disagreements- and bundles of determination. It would also have those important qualities to remind me to stay true to myself.

“Harper!” Grandma called me. 

“What Grandma?” I called back as I thumped down the steps, jumping over the last two as I went into the living room where Grandma sat in the old rocking chair. 

“Why, there you are dear. I was just about to call you again.” She sat up a little straighter in her chair, it creaked and groaned as she changed her position. 

“I was wondering if you were ready to help me begin your creator cloak.” She started organizing the papers that were stacked on a brown coffee table in front of her. Her black glasses shined in the light. She had on her lilac shirt that went nicely with her brown hair that was very slowly going gray. She suddenly jerked her head up to look at me.

“Are you looking at my hair again?” she said while running her hand through her shoulder length hair. I could just barely hear her mutter.

“Oh, I really am getting old.”  To change the subject I said,