It's February 8 . . . Mark your calendars!

Everybody's talking about something . . .


and it isn't what's for dinner,



or the weather,



or the miracles of modern stain removal,



or the economy,



or the latest technological advances,



or the unbelievable antics of their adorable cats,



or what they did over the weekend,



or even Jessica Simpson's weight gain,





it's . . .



wait



for



it . . .




Needles!!!



But they're so small! Why would people be talking about needles?

I know, right?

Because it's February 8, and thanks to Marjorie, I recently learned that it's the Japanese festival of "hari-kuyo" -- literally translated as "needle memorial service."

Basically hari-kuyo is a religious festival born out of an enormous respect for daily objects, particularly objects of work, and is thought to be hundreds of years old. If a needle broke, the seamstress would save it until February 8, when it would be taken to a Shinto shrine or Buddhist temple where they would lay their needles to rest in something soft like tofu, make offerings of thanks for the service of their tools throughout the year, and pray for improved sewing skills and fewer broken needles in the year to come.

Burial with full honors for broken needles and bent pins!

I think it's amazing, because without needles, where would all the women be who devoted untold hours of their lives to making things like this


very old hand-pieced quilt block


for their families' warmth and comfort,


vintage dish-towel


vintage dish-towel


vintage dish-towel

the beautification of their homes,


vintage hot pad


and perhaps most importantly, their own sanity?

How do you think I came to be a needleworker?

I stayed home raising three children, of course.

So without needles, my life would be very different. Because learning to use a needle is the place I started. There would be no Small Works, no quilts, no life in crafts at all. And there would probably be a lot of bald patches where I would have torn my hair out over the years. I'm not sure what I'd be doing now, but I would have missed out on a whole lot of soul-feeding in a lot of tiny stitches.

Next time I break a needle, I'm going to show increased respect.
(or at least not swear.)