First Sentence
Embroidery. . .the word conjures up so many visions and memories for me: crewel wool pomegranates flowing across an eighteenth century bedspread in Balmoral Castle; my grandmother's collection of tea towels, each heralding a new day of the week with precise outline stitches; the gift of a chain stitch horse head, lovingly made by my daughter in her seventh-grade home economics class; the delicate silk ribbon flowers that fill me with delight in the "Land of Wonder, Down Under"; the silver crane worked in silk by a Japanese student, shyly handed to me as I rushed to catch my plane in Tokyo; the look in my friend's eyes when I finished the crazy quilt landscape commemorating his parents; the assurance from my son that he loved the pink flowers decorating his new T-shirt and wore it anyway; the brightly colored yarmulkes lovingly embroidered by my friend for her son's Bar Mitzvah; concentrating on the priest's gold Read the first page
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