A few months ago I purchased a globe similar to this at a craft store. To be honest, I am not sure what the purpose of the first one was, but I thought that it looked nice and I have since used many of them around my garden in various settings. Some are just sitting on top of empty planters, helping the pottery to look as though it may be in use with a kind of purpose that just isn’t apparent. Others though are stuffed with moss and native ferns taken from my dad’s property near the coast. Those I hope will grow nicely onto our two douglas firs, but I am not too sure yet about the empty others and their fate. I probably would have bought more of them if I could have, but I have to admit, with the largest being $10 I just couldn’t see spending much on them at all so I went to the DIY idea.
My globes are more like topiary basket/planters. I’ve used willow branches from my own yard and a few pieces of wire. In my former life, before I was a housewife with a pituitary tumor in “watchful waiting” mode, I’m not too sure I could have seen myself doing this kind of thing, but I really am a believer now when it comes to art therapy and illness. Nothing seems to have made me happier during the last few years than my silly little craft projects. The key is too remind myself daily that it isn’t my whole life, it doesn’t have to be my whole life, but is can be an excellent painkiller.
Besides, I have to admit that weaving today reminded me a great-great-grandmother I never knew. My grandmother says that she used to sit in the corner weaving baskets and she wouldn’t talk much. Of all the blanks spaces in my geneology, this woman is part of my darkest corner. Some people will tell you that it doesn’t matter who you are related to, but when you are a young childless woman, in the prime of her life, loved and striken with rare genetic problems that appeared out of nowhere, you will leave no rock unturned, and you will look even into the darkest of corners for clues. I won’t find peace in a bottle, or in a capsule, it starts here.