Fixes x 2

Yesterday I said there were a couple of areas on my pillow cover that I wasn't happy with.  You can see the fix for the first area in this picture (unfortunately I didn't take a 'before' picture)...

It's hard to take a picture of metallic thread, but trust me - the 'waves' in the water were stitched with silver metallic that gives a good effect overall.

Here is the 'before' picture of the second area I

was referring to...

The yellow stitches you see at the bottom signify my seam line.  Normally I keep my stitching inside that line somewhat so that nothing interferes with the actual seam.  This time I decided I wanted the embroidery to extend right to the marked border line - a fact I managed to totally overlook when I stitched this area.  Well, what to do?  I could either frog the entire area and start over, OR I could simply add to it, which is what I've done...

You should be able to click on the pictures to

embiggen them.

Here's another of the poems I found in Mom's book.  In my quest to discover who the author might be, the only reference that came up was that this poem was penned by Vida V. Young and was published in 'The Canadian Statesman' newspaper, dated Oct. 11, 1934.  This makes complete sense because that's the time period my mother was in the tuberculosis hospital.

THE THINGS I MEANT TO DO

I meant to make a friendly call

And let the neighbours know

We welcomed them into our town

And kindly interest show.

I meant to do it right away

But put it off somehow,

Till months had quickly passed away.

The house is empty now.

I had a friend, a dear, dear friend

So many miles away;

I used the little gifts she sent

And loved her more each day.

I meant to write and tell her so

Just put it off you know

And that is why this quiet eve

My heart is aching so.

Your friend still lives?

Then send that friend

A loving word today;

Perchance 'twill bring a soul fresh hope,

Dark clouds may drive away.

'Twill take a little time, 'tis true,

But other work can wait,

For sad the heart whose tender words

Are penned, alas, too late.

I meant to see a dear young girl

Whose friends were far away,

And warn her that the path she took

Would lead her feet astray.

The task was hard, and louth was I

Such warnings to begin,

And now the one I meant to win

Has reached the depths of sin.

So many things I meant to do

Through blinding tears I see -

The warning word, the loving deed,

The note of sympathy.

The things you mean to do, do now;

Oh, do not let them wait

Unless from out your quivering lips,

You breathe the words "Too Late!"