Beautiful Simplicity 9825…

21 Thursday May 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Crafts, Fashion, Mother, Poetry, Sewing

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Coming of Age, Elna sewing machine, Handmade, Nostalgia, Original poetry, Poetry, Prom dress, Sewing, Sewing pattern, Sewing room, Simplicity 9825

_{© Joan Currie – My mother’s sewing room with her Elna sewing machine.}

Simplicity 9825 by Joan Currie

I taught myself to sew
in my teenage years,
on my mother’s Elna machine
in a corner of our basement.

The sewing room was a hodgepodge
of fabric and notions
left there for the taking.

Abandoned pattern pieces
lay scattered across the big
Formica counter
beside boxes of straight pins,
thimbles, pinking shears,
measuring tapes.

Three deep drawers held
a jumble of thread spools,
button and snap cards, lace,
sequins in narrow tubes,
bits of tailor’s chalk.

The cupboards were crammed
with tweeds from the woolen mills,
velvets, tulle, corduroy,
and raw silk from her travels.

On Saturday afternoons
I slipped downstairs
with a Simplicity pattern
and my transistor radio,

and entered
that pulsing, glorious world
where a flat piece of cloth
became my prom dress.

Beautiful My Aunt’s Buttons…

17 Sunday May 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Crafts, Poetry, Sewing, Repurposing

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Buttons, Family memories, Handmade, Nostalgia, Poetry, quilting, Sewing, textile art, The Depression

_{© Joan Currie – Some of my buttons with seam ripper and scissors.}

My Aunt’s Buttons by Joan Currie

My maternal aunt
was the eldest child
of Depression parents.

She could make something beautiful
out of very little.

Her father’s worn wool suits
became braided rugs.
Outgrown dresses and shirts
became pieced quilts.
Old sweaters unraveled
for mittens and toques.

When she came to visit,
she gathered up my daughters’
too-small clothes
into her lap with delight,
then sat at the kitchen table
with her small scissors
and seam ripper,
taking each garment apart
with the care of a surgeon.

When she was done,
baby jars of buttons
lined my shelves–
sorted by color and size.

There were neat folds of fabric,
bundles of lace,
zippers saved for later.

Then came sweet afternoons
spent sewing rag dolls beside her,
with little dresses to match.

But when the remnant basket
was empty,
she would begin looking
toward our closets,
imagining what else
might be cut down, remade.

Nothing was entirely safe.

That was usually when
it was time for her to go home.

Now, years later,
I find myself sitting
by the sewing machine
with a seam ripper in hand,
saving buttons from old clothes–

the old baby jars
still full on the shelf,
still being used.

Beautiful Mother’s Day Tulips…

08 Friday May 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in beautiful, Flowers, Love, Mother, Mother-Child, Poetry, Reflections, Relationships

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Delftware, Flowers, memory, Mother's Day, Poetry, still-life, Tulips

_{© Joan Currie – Watercolor of pale pink tulips in my mother’s Delft vase.}

Mother’s Tulips by Joan Currie

My mother loved flowers–
tulips most of all.

I never asked why.
It was in her Dutch blood,
her Calvinistic sense of simplicity–
upright, unadorned.

On Mother’s Day
there were always tulips:
pale pink,
set in her Delft vase,
its blue-and-white surfaces
catching the light,
holding it quietly
beneath the stems.

I tried, sometimes,
to improve upon them–
those lavish arrangements–
variegated tulips,
blue hydrangea, white roses,
small bright globes of yellow–
but she would only smile,
as if to say:
not this.

She wanted the tulips alone.

Now, after many years
and other flowers–
peonies, lilies, anemones,
even the careful making
of paper petals–

I pass a market stall
and stop.

I bring home tulips,
pale pink,
and set them in her vase.

In the quiet of the room
they open,
and she is there.

For my mother.

Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers!

Beautiful Puzzling 2…

14 Tuesday Apr 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Lauren DiMarco, Photography, Poetry, Reflections

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Photography, Poetry, Lauren DiMarco, Imperfection, Original poetry, Doubt and Failth, Small revelations, Puzzle, Jigsaw puzzle, Missing pieces, Bloomsbury style, Rifle Paper Co.

_{© Lauren DiMarco – My daughter, Lauren, arranging the puzzle pieces.}

Puzzling 2 by Joan Currie

I brought home
a thousand-piece puzzle
from the library sale.

I sorted the pieces
by color, by edge,
and began.

A sail,
a spaniel,
a clock tower,
a child.

Then I saw
what was missing:

The sail’s belly,
the spaniel’s tail,
the clock,
the child’s upturned face.

I turned each piece
in my hand,
looking.

I felt a small anger–
that it had been given away
like this.

Still, I went on,
knowing
it would not be whole.

Each piece placed
meant fewer left.

And then–
they were there.

Not missing.
Only overlooked.

I sat with that
a long while–
how quickly
I had doubted.

How beautiful to discover the missing pieces!

_{Camont Puzzle by Rifle Paper Co. I just finished this one – high quality 500 pieces.}

Please check out my Puzzling Post (1).

Beautiful Touch Typing…

08 Wednesday Apr 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Aging, beautiful, Poetry, Relationships

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Aging, Body, Halda typewriter, Love, memory, observation, Original poetry, Poetry, touch, touch typing, typewriter

_{© James Currie – Swedish typewriter. The designer’s father was the Royal Surgeon.}

It seemed a small thing then, learning by touch. – Joan Currie

Touch Typing by Joan Currie

I first learned to type
on a machine with blank key caps,
working through a manual
until I knew exactly
where every letter and number lay.
That early fluency
has served me well.

Your body, too, I first
touched–memorized
blindly, in the dark.
Exploring each contour,
as if it were a map
I could follow by feel alone.

From your thick, curling hair
down the slope of your forehead,
to each familiar landmark–
the aquiline nose, the square jaw,
the wide sternum, the strong arms,
the soft pads of your fingers,
the smooth plain of your belly,
the steely band along your outer thigh,
the steady weight of your feet.

Over the years
you have shown me
how your body has changed,
but I still see it
as I first learned it–
certain, enduring,
and, to me,
handsome still.

My hands remember.

Beautiful Easter Dinner…

04 Saturday Apr 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Art, Baking, beautiful, Easter, Family, Poetry, Reflections

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domestic life, Easter, Easter dinner, family traditions, memory, Original poetry, Pieter Claesz, Poetry, still life painting

_{Pieter Claesz – Dutch Breakfast Still Life (17th c.)}

Easter Dinner by Joan Currie

I think of Easter dinner
when my mother was alive.

The sideboard bowed
under its burden.

We came to the table,
hungry from Lent,
and ate.

Ham glazed with maple,
potatoes in cream,
asparagus with Hollandaise,
eggs split and filled,
ambrosia–too sweet,
with coconut.

There was lemon pie
with its high, wavering crown,
carrot cake thick
with frosting,
and the small bright candies
we carried away in our pockets.

I am grateful
for that appetite,
for the unthinking plenty.

Now my guests call ahead–
no sugar, no dairy,
no this, no that.

I pause at the counter,
hand on the phone,

and say,
perhaps we’ll go out.

Wishing you a very Happy Easter!

Beautiful Magnolia…

12 Thursday Mar 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Art, Birds, Flowers, Garden, Nature, Poetry

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beautiful, Birds, Botanical poetry, Chinese Song Dynasty, Fleeing beauty, Garden, Impermance, magnolia, magnolia blossom, Nature, Nature and Poetry, Original poetry, Poetic reflections, Poetry

_{Magnolia and Birds – Chinese Song Dynasty}

Magnolia Blossom by Joan Currie

You have bloomed first
in my back garden–
O sovereign of pale flame.

Your receptacle, a golden crown,
royal, resplendent;
your lavish velvet robes,
pallid yet proud, spread wide
and stained with magenta
all around you.

Astonishing us–
magnificent, insolent–
you parade your brief glory.

Beautiful White Horse…

05 Thursday Mar 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Animals, Art, beautiful, Nature, Painting, Poetry, watercolor

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beautiful, Eleanor Farjeon, Poetry, watercolor, white horses

_{© Joan Currie. My White Horse watercolor. Reference photo by Jane Davies.}

White Horses by Eleanor Farjeon

Count the white horses you meet on the way,
Count the white horses, child day after day,
Keep a wish ready for wishing – if you
Wish on the ninth horse, your wish will come true.

I saw a white horse at the end of the lane,
I saw a white horse canter down by the shore,
I saw a white horse that was drawing a wain,
And one drinking out of a tough: that made four.

I saw a white horse gallop over the down,
I saw a white horse looking over a gate,
I saw a white horse on the way into town,
And one on the way coming back: that made eight.

But oh for the ninth one: where he tossed his mane,
And cantered and galloped and whinnied and swished
His silky white tail, I went looking in vain,
And the wish I had ready could never be wished.

Count the white horses you meet on the way,
Count the white horses, child, day after day,
Keep a wish read for wishing – if you
Wish on the ninth horse, your wish will come true.