Exodus of Angels
A Novel
Beverly
Beverly loved the color white. It was more than a symbol of purity for her; it had something to do with simplicity. At 60 years of age, simplicity appealed to Beverly. She had raised five children and until her decision to attend college, had faithfully followed her husband Fritz across America more than once.
It was not an easy decision for Beverly to pick up and leave her friend and partner after nearly four decades of adventure. Chasing a dream is never an easy task to undertake, but Beverly and Fritz knew that a stifled destiny can never result in a happy ending. Beverly’s destiny was to write.
She left Fritz at their home on Maui, moved to Virginia Beach and enrolled in Regent University as a journalism student. For the first time in her life, she was on her own.
This new solitude fed her creativity, as well as being instrumental in forming her close personal relationship with Jesus Christ. As this divine friendship grew, Beverly began to dispose of all unnecessary clutter in her life and surroundings. Anything and everything that distracted her from her education and faith was discarded.
When it was discovered by her children that Beverly, in her desire to simplify, had tossed out her bed and was sleeping on a magnetic mat on the floor, fears of dementia began to surface in family conversations.
Beverly was kept abreast of the “poor old Beverly” talk by her son Albert and his wife Elizabeth, who had also embraced the less is more philosophy. This misdiagnosis brought the three of them frequent sessions of joy and laughter; often, when Beverly needed laughter the most.
Beverly had not seen Albert and Elizabeth for more than two years. She missed them dearly, as she did all her children. Letters and calls were fine, but they really just made her wish to hold them even more. She was feeling that way now, as she held her diploma - her eyes closed – alone in her pure white studio apartment; a thousand miles from anyone who really cared.
An odd combination of pride, loneliness, uncertainty and joy stirred within Beverly. A swirling stew of emotions which Beverly knew could only be quieted with a long walk and an even longer prayer. She left her studio at 7:23 A.M. EST on a glorious Saturday morning. It was May 1st, 1988.
Falcon and Bess
Falcon took a long drag off the last joint he would ever smoke. “I’m going to miss this”, he thought to himself; his gaze focused on the swirling wisps of pungent smoke rising from the tip. He exhaled and pinched the end of the joint, slipping the remnants into his shirt pocket. Whether or not he finished it was dependent on an event he had no control over; this being the birth of his first child.
Falcon had promised Bess, his young bride, that when their baby was born he would quit smoking (and growing) pot. Bess had quit smoking after discovering she was pregnant with her first child, but kept helping Falcon with the “dream garden”. They both knew that the last harvest would decide whether they followed their dream of owning a small ranch in Colorado or staying in Seattle. Neither wished to raise a child in the city and the thought of being just another “worker bee” scared them both more than the thought of getting busted – except for one thing – the yet unborn baby that was soon to be born.
Once the “bundle of joy” arrived, both Bess and Falcon knew their life of Rainbow Gatherings, Grateful Dead concerts and supplying Seattle with some of the most potent White Widow bud on the west coast would be over. It was a trade off they both welcomed and understood. Falcon would tell his children years later that Mom and Dad were stoners, not idiots.
Falcon turned the John Prine playing in the tape player down as the he answered the phone. “Hello”, he tried his best to not sound totally messed up. “Mr. Williams, your wife is going into labor. Everything looks fine.” “Thank you, I will be right there”, Falcon answered, sounding every bit as “normal” as any other expectant father.
Falcon hung up the phone, grabbed his keys and shut the front door to the apartment just as John sang, “it’s a big ole goofy world”.
Falcon was just turning onto Broadway from East Madison when Bess could wait no longer and gave birth to a 5lb 2 oz baby girl. It was 4:31 A.M. PST on May 1st, 1988.
We will start in the centre with the pulled satin stitch. This is just one variation on a stitch that can be used in a multitude of ways in pulled work.
For this stitch we will be working over 6 fabric threads. It is best to start at the bottom centre, although it is easier to count if you start nearest to one of the corners of the centre square. 