Last year my mom entered a blanket and a doll hat that I made for her in the local county fair without telling me. My pieces fared well, so this year I decided I'd just give her a small collection of six items to enter on my behalf. And this morning she texted me the results: six blue ribbons and a champion.
I don't want this post to come across as bragging because that's not what I'm doing. The placements are wonderful and I love knowing that the attention to detail and time and care that I poured into each piece was recognized, but it goes deeper than that for me. See, I grew up volunteering at the fair --in fact, some of my earliest memories are rooted in those humid August days-- just like my parents and my grandparents before them. I can remember the feeling of seeing those special people I saw just once a year. I can remember helping the judges in the clothing section --which my mom and grandma chaired-- and I can remember trotting out from my perch behind the table to retrieve lost balloons from the high ceiling above. The fair meant a lot to me then and it still does now, even though I haven't actually attended one since Abby was a baby.
So to see my name (albeit spelled incorrectly, but that's not a big thing to me) up there... it's like I'm there and connected to those people and my family and those memories all over again. And that makes me smile.
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