I have many wonderful friends. Some of them inspire me to be a better person, to become a little more like them, as I see in them traits I admire and desire to emulate in myself. Jonna Hayden is one person I am happy to put on a little pedestal (just a little one, so she can hop down easily since she’s always on the go and would be very unhappy to be stranded up there for long!). Her quest to share more beauty has inspired me all along, but today she had the grand opening of her own store, available anywhere there is internet.
The story behind the shop is unique, and inspiring, and I wanted to share it with my readers because I think it will help many of us open our eyes and look at the world around us with different eyes. At the craft stashes we all joke about being a dragon’s hoard. At the beauty we only dream of, but never release into this yearning world.
I hope that, like me, you will read her story, follow the link, and find a little wellspring of beauty in your soul that you can use to water projects of the heart. Make something. Gift it, sell it, send it out into the world on wings of opalescent dreamstuff.
Be beautiful.
Jonna Hayden writes:
“I’d like to share my Etsy shop with all of you today, and explain why it exists. The link will be [here]. But first–
Today is the second anniversary of my mother’s passing. We didn’t have a great relationship–in her later years, she became very angry, bitter, and reclusive, and was hard to reach in any meaningful way. Her fear of life and her natural introversion combined in a way that shrank her existence to her home, where she quietly indulged her many hobbies.
Despite my mother’s descent into an unhappy heart, she had *such* amazing skills–Her quilting was extremely precise, tidy to a fault, and prolific. Her crochet had perfect tension with the slimmest of threads. Her knitting was even and supple. Her stitching on any sewing project was impeccable.
In many ways, even though she became very negative later in life, I am who I am because of her. My sewing comes from her tutelage–her voice still rings in my head whenever I touch the fabric– “You can’t be a good dressmaker without your iron” and “take it out and do it again until it’s right” and “practice makes perfect”..her relentless demand that every stitch respect the fabric and the garment still drives me to this day.
You know that adage of “She who dies with the most fabric wins?” Well, I can tell you, that’s not winning. Not in the least. Because that means the fabric..and the yarn..and the thread.. and the beads…sat on a shelf and was never made in to the dream that came with the purchase. It never lived the life it was intended for, and wasted away in a box, not *becoming*….which is exactly what happened to my mom. She spent her years *preparing* for life…and not *living* it. She obsessively collected up supplies, for “some day”…and it never became TODAY. Her stash became a metaphor for a life not *lived*, of potential beauty that never happened, of shared joy never created. And that, over the *year* it took to empty her house of her enormous amount of “some day,” made my grief for her passing so much more difficult.
Which brings us to today. I have, over the last year, been doing small projects with supplies from mom’s stash–it’s been a slow process (because grief moves at the pace it chooses). Her *astounding* collection of beads has been the way ‘in’ for me–making small bits of beautiful things from her obvious love of the sparkle, and putting it back out in the world. This tiny act of making and freeing mom’s collection filled a need I didn’t realize I had–to put *Mom* and all her hidden beauty back out THERE..in the world that she feared so much, and in a way, release the pain that prevented her from sharing her quiet whimsy and immense talent. There’s a lot of her to let go, so I’m continuing to build things as the inspiration strikes, and I’ll let it lead me to what it wants to be. Right now it’s been pins and cushions..because that’s were it began, with me and mom.
………One of my earliest memories is her taking my hand….and carefully removing the bundle of pins that I pulled out of her pin cushion. She had dozens of cushions..full of bright sparkly pins, fascinating to this child’s eyes. Clearly I am finding solace in those early moments when I sat in wonder under her sewing table, collecting up the bits of gorgeous fabric, trim, and the stray pins that rained down like fairies, filling this tiny girl with dreams. Dreams that I will not let languish on a shelf. Thank you for the lesson, mom. I hope you found peace.”
