Weaving Threads

The book that we talked about over the weekend was Dropped Threads, Marjorie Anderson and Carol Shields' book on what women aren't told.

The book was a good enough read, though there were no true insights for me. My own lack of enthusiasm for the book had to do with the stories all being told from the perspective of white, middle-class, middle-aged to older women. While what they said about what they wished they had known as young women was interesting, most of the voices were the same, and in 2006, we've heard those voices before.

But the book did spark conversation for the four of us gathered at the cottage as we each revealed what we wished we were told as we grew into young women. Over the weekend, the four of us weaved our own threads by sharing a bit more of ourselves.

The most revealing of all to me was not what each of us said, but how each of us felt about the absence of a friend. This is our book club member who did not come with us this weekend. Her husband passed away suddenly five months ago. We wondered if she would leave her teenage children for the weekend and be alone with four women. Not surprisingly, she bowed out.

At various points over the weekend, each of us acknowledged we would have opted out too if we had been her and wondered aloud how our friend was doing this weekend. One of the women came up with the idea of making a wreath with Fall foliage. But when huge wet flakes of snow started to fall from the sky, we realized everything outside was wet and we would be giving our friend a bunch of wet, soggy leaves and twigs. And besides, we conceded, a wreath is too reminescent of death. So we moved on to the idea of making a door swag, like a bow, and decorating it with tiny figures of mermaids, a motif from our friend's favourite book.

We went into town to buy the supplies. When we got back to the cottage, we were exhausted from the town excursion and our hike. No one felt like doing a craft. We ate and drank instead. The next morning, we realized we had to make the swag, clean up, fit in another walk, go shopping at the specialty stores, then drive three hours home. We abandoned the swag altogether.

On the way home, we went to a country store that sold special jams and sauces. We bought a selection of condiments for our friend to share with her children. We put them in a basket, stood back and nodded. This was a much more appropriate gift to let our friend know we were thinking of her. It was not contrived - we happened to be in the store so picked up a few things for her too. It was something she could share with her family. It was the kind of treat we know she would like. The basket of goodies looked prettier than anything we could have made ourselves.

And so the weekend was not only a discussion of the individual experiences that women have, it was also a shared experience in expressing concern for our friend in a subtle and natural way that would not embarrass her. Despite our initial impractical grand scheme, we ended up doing the right thing.