Everyone has a story arc — the life we show, and the motivations we don’t. Secret dreams. Emotional debts. Celebrated wins and unnoticed moments.

Every story is part visible, part invisible. Some chapters we never share, can’t share, or choose to keep to ourselves — not even whispered in the kitchen. And then there are the stories we tell instead — to others, to ourselves — to protect what remains unseen.

This work is about both: the visible and the invisible.

This piece carries both kinds of stories. There are beads you can see, and beads you can’t. Some are transparent, others opaque. Trinkets layered over clear moments. At first glance, it looks like simple stripes. That’s the surface story. But those stripes are actually data: Peloton Power Zone outputs — resistance, cadence, heart rate. An invisible narrative, hidden in plain sight… if you know where to look.

Maybe I’m a folk artist, telling stories on fabric.

In October 2024, my friend Christy called with a last-minute idea — the best kind:
“Wanna drive to Greeley and see Ashley McBryde tonight? Bring Shannon. Three makes a party.”

Christy and I met in college at UNC in Greeley, so the night felt like a full-circle moment. We even stopped for a plate of Roma spaghetti — just like we did back then.

Ashley’s Light On in the Kitchen is one of my favorite songs — a tribute to the kind of friend who’s always there when life goes sideways.

Not long after the concert, life did go sideways. I started this piece feeling hollowed out — stitching hearts like bullet holes across the fabric. But as I worked, it shifted. I couldn’t leave the pain without also honoring the gift of friendship that held me together.

It’s my first piece using negative space — each heart a cutout revealing chiles on the lining, and tiny memory treasures tucked inside.

At the heart of it: two friends, talking in the kitchen. With the light on.

When my mom invited me to travel with her to Uzbekistan—a land rich in history, cotton, and the intricate art of iKat weaving—I couldn’t resist the journey. We explored vibrant cities like Tashkent, Samarkand, Khiva, Nukus, and Bukhara, each steeped in tradition and craftsmanship.

In Bukhara, I watched master weavers bring iKat patterns to life, their hands moving with precision, blending centuries-old techniques with contemporary artistry. Inspired, I purchased yards of this beautifully handwoven fabric, eager to experiment and merge my own artistic vision with this timeless textile.

Here, layers of beaded patterns dance across the iKat print, creating a dialogue between tradition and reinterpretation. The handle is adorned with a small trinket of an Uzbek man, a treasure found in a bustling outdoor market—an homage to the culture, people, and artistry that shaped this piece.

This work is more than fabric and beads; it’s a fusion of perspectives, a reflection of exploration, and a celebration of Uzbekistan’s enduring creative spirit.

Some moments are so magical, they stay with you forever. Taking my three kids to Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour were some of those moments.

The surprises began when I revealed to Ruth and Maggie that we were headed to Las Vegas for the show at Allegiant Stadium—an unforgettable gift made possible with help from my mom. Their excitement was electric as I surprised them at the airport and took them to the show.

Then, in Denver, Li Zhi and I experienced Taylor’s magic together. He crafted the perfect concert outfit—denim, bejeweled, shimmering under the lights. It was everything. After the show, I asked him what he thought. He paused, reflecting, and said nothing.

 The next day, with quiet certainty, he said:

“It was the best day of my life.”

I couldn’t agree more.

This stocking captures the joy of that night—the beaded details echo the dazzling colors of the opening fans, while our concert outfits and favorite songs are sewn in with friendship beads. It’s a tribute to the music, the memories, and the moments that made this one of the best days of our lives.

The inspiration for this piece came once again from the resin artist whose work had sparked so much of my own creativity. I echoed the shapes from her beads, creating windows in yellow silk, each space meant to be filled with beads. The vibrant yellow was stunning on its own, a bright canvas full of potential.

But when I began to fill the shapes with beads, something changed. The beads overwhelmed the silk, stifling its spirit. I tried again and again, pulling out beads, rearranging, but it never felt right. The piece wasn’t speaking to me, and I realized it was important to let it find its own voice—to allow it to express itself in its purest form.

Rather than forcing it, I chose to honor the remnants of those failed attempts. The beads stayed where they had fallen, an homage to the creative struggles we all face.

Then I decided to bring in real voices—my children’s voices. I asked LZ, Maggie, and Ruth to write down words that told the story of their 2023. Each of them shared their thoughts, their experiences. I traced their handwriting and sewed over their words in black thread, preserving their voices, their stories, and the passage of time.

This piece is not just a reflection of my own journey; it’s a testament to the stories of the ones I love—their voices woven into the fabric of this moment.

One evening, as I cooked dinner, Li Zhi sat at the kitchen island, absentmindedly doodling on a notepad. With each stroke of his pen, a pattern of interconnected squares emerged—a simple, passing moment, woven into our everyday rhythm of conversation.

After he left, I tacked his doodle onto the fridge, a small keepsake of our time together. But over time, I saw more than just lines on paper—I saw color, movement, and fabric waiting to take shape. Inspired, I transformed his design, layering and turning the squares to create a dynamic pattern. The bright silks, gifted by a friend and discovered as remnants from a garage sale, became the perfect medium—each piece breathing life into his spontaneous creation.

This stocking is more than fabric and thread; it’s a tribute to the quiet, meaningful moments we share with our children—the ones that seem ordinary at first but, in hindsight, become something truly special.

I like to take an idea and expand on it. This idea came from a blue and silver bead - a local artist made these beads with resin and I love them. I used her original bead to expand on a larger design in my own way. You can see her bead affixed in the design.

I wanted the shapes to be the focal point, so I did the same random bead pattern in each swoosh - like bead confetti. Honestly, I don’t love it. It felt lazy compared to times when I places beads in deliberate ways. However, the effect does mean the eye focuses on shape and color, and that was the point.

I worked on this one during a hard time at work. Work is done, and so is this project. That’s great! Ready to start new creativity.

Start July 25th, 2022

Finish December 16th, 2022

4 months, 21 days

This piece was born from an unexpected spark of inspiration. I was on the hunt for an original Tony Ortega chalk painting when I stumbled upon a local gallery featuring works by Monroe Hodder. I was immediately drawn to the energy of his paintings — the bold colors and dynamic brushstrokes. It ignited something in me.

I wanted to capture that same vibrancy, but through my own lens. The result? A fun experiment in energy and texture, as I mirrored Monroe’s movement with beads.

I loved the freedom of taking someone else’s art as inspiration, but then making it my own. Using leftover beads — bits and pieces that didn’t quite fit anywhere else — felt like giving them new life. There was something satisfying about using up what I had and finding a place for each bead to belong.

Part of this piece came to life while I was on vacation, on a quiet, secluded beach in Turks and Caicos. It was the perfect environment to let creativity flow, and I could feel the energy of the piece coming alive, alongside the peacefulness of the setting.

This project was more than just about the beads. It was about the creative process itself — and, in a way, it was a gift from 2022. For all the challenges it brought, it also brought this work, which helped me process and move forward.

Start April 3rd, 2022

Finish July 20th, 2022

3 months, 17 days

Years ago, I found a small collection of resin beads at a local bead show — vibrant, full of life, and unlike anything I’d seen. I went searching for more, only to learn the artist had passed away. Her sister was quietly selling off the remaining inventory at a little table.

It felt bittersweet to buy them — sad to know the artist was gone, but meaningful to carry her work forward. These resin beads became the foundation of this piece — a way to honor her talent and spirit.

I’m drawn to the deep color waves in the beads. They remind me of life itself: unpredictable, layered, and sometimes intense. I paired them with silk gifted to me by Christy (every stocking includes a piece of her) — a mix of textures that somehow just works.

This piece was also meant to draw inspiration from textiles I hoped to find in Otavalo, Ecuador. But the trip was cut short due to civil unrest. Still, I brought home a single handwoven belt from a market in Quito. It now crowns the top of the piece — a marker of where the story began, and a promise to return.

Until then, the journey continues — and so does the stitching. A new idea is already taking shape.

Start January 25th, 2022

Finish March 7th, 2022

1 months, 10 days

I drove to Santa Fe by myself and had a beautiful, restorative time. Visited a bead shop, went on a lovely run in the snow, and enjoyed Mexican Coffee on a cold day outside. Can’t wait to return.

Decided to memorialize the beauty of the trip and how good I felt one day while outside drinking a Kakawa Mexican Chocolate downtown. It was magic.

The letters are inspired by a visit to the National Gallery of Art with LZ in Washington, DC. We always find something amazing to think about and inspire us at the Smithsonians.

Start December 13th, 2021

Finish January 23rd, 2022

1 months, 10 days

During the pandemic, our work days blurred into endless Zoom calls—glowing screens replacing real-world connection, time slipping away in a loop of virtual meetings.

Like many, I found myself instinctively doodling while listening—swirls, daisies, dots, and scribbles filling the margins of my notebook. These small, unconscious sketches became a quiet act of rebellion—something tangible, something real in a world that had gone fully digital.

This piece is born from that need to create, to escape the screen’s relentless brightness. The colors are deliberately earthy, grounding me in contrast to the artificial glow of pixels. Each stitch, each mark, is a reminder that even in isolation, we can leave something behind—something made by hand, something that exists beyond the screen.

Mexican art has always brought me joy — the bold colors, the movement, the sheer aliveness woven into every detail. This piece was inspired by Otomi embroidery, with its joyful patterns and deep cultural roots.

In 2000, my dear friend Christy gifted us a large Otomi textile as a wedding present. I framed it, and it still hangs in my home today— a daily reminder of love, friendship, and heritage.

This stocking is a tribute to that memory. It blends the old and the new: fabrics and beads collected over time, scraps from past projects, and the energy of inspiration that feels both familiar and fresh.

2021 was a year full of everything — change, reflection, growth. And through it all, this piece became a celebration of history, love, and color — stitched together, one joyful detail at a time.

Start March 15th, 2020

Finish September 16th, 2022

1 year, 5 months, 21 days

Kacey Musgraves on repeat.

"You can’t find it, sitting on the shelf in a store.
If you try to hide it, it’s gonna shine even more.
Even if you lose it, it will find you."

Love isn’t predictable. It moves like rivers searching for the ocean, like flowers breaking through concrete, like melodies carried on the wind. It thrives in the unexpected, blooming where you least expect it.

I had pieces of bright silk that felt like this song—vibrant, untamed, alive. I stitched them together, starting with leaves unfurling from a single point. But soon, the design took on a life of its own. Shapes overlapped, hearts and petals intertwined, movement spilled beyond the lines. It felt wild, like love itself—uncontainable, ever-growing, beautifully free.

Love is a wild thing.

Start December 10, 2020

Finish April 15th, 2021

4 months, 5 days

This piece honors my best running companion, Michelle Allen, and the countless miles we've shared side by side. The design is an exact imprint of her Nike shoe tread—a testament to the footsteps we've taken together, the roads we've traveled, and the memories we've woven into every run.

Embedded in the fabric are fragments of our journey: public utility flags, shoelaces, beads, and bits of road debris collected from the streets of Broomfield. Each piece was gathered over time, tucked into a Ziploc bag as silent markers of our shared endurance, laughter, and unwavering friendship.

To create this tribute, Michelle captured a photo of her shoe’s sole, which I transformed into a high-contrast image. I carefully transferred its bold lines onto the stocking base, ensuring that her steps—our steps—would be forever stitched into this work.

This stocking is more than fabric and found objects; it is a reflection of the thousands of miles, stories, and moments that have defined our friendship—one step at a time.

Start May 18th, 2019

Finish April 1, 2020

10 months, 14 days

Every year, the Rocky Mountain Bead Society hosts a bead show—a gathering of artists, collectors, and creatives. It used to be held at the old Merchandise Mart, where rows of independent artists displayed their one-of-a-kind creations.

That’s where I first discovered a talented resin bead artist. Her beads were more than beautiful; they solved a challenge I often faced—choosing a color scheme. I don’t have an instinct for color, but these beads became my guide. Their hues and patterns led me, shaping my designs in ways I hadn’t imagined.

Inspired by one particular bead, I expanded its elements, layering textures and patterns, letting its influence grow into something uniquely my own.

A few years ago, I learned that the artist had passed away. At another show, her sister was there, selling the last of her work. I only wish she had known how her creativity sparked mine—how a single bead, made by her hands, carried its inspiration forward.

Start November 25th, 2018

Finish April 15th, 2019

4 months, 21 days

Finished May 2019!

I found pieces of boiled wool at a local bead expo handmade by a local artist. Bought one piece (wish I’d bought more) and used it as the top piece on the stocking. Followed the pattern down and then let it evolve into it’s own design.

Sometimes, all we need is a little inspiration like the piece of wool, which allows us to take an idea and expand on it. That’s what happened here.

Had so much fun doing patterns and layering beads. Layering is new for me and super fun. I’ll do more of it in future projects.

This one started with an imcomplete piece of upholstery fabric that I had picked up at Crate and Barrel years ago when picking a fabirc for a chair...the fabric is the butterfly at the top right. Then, I recreated each butterfly (in my own way, each is different) in different directions.  I added the bees and ladybugs because there was white space in between the butterflies, making it feel empty and I wanted them to come alive.

I added the bees and ladybugs and liked it.  Decided not to do a fully beaded abstract background, in other words, filling in the white space, because I perceived it would make the design feel too heavy and I thought the extra pattern would distract from the pattern in the butterfly wings.

Christy gave me a box of rainbow-colored raw silks. This is the result! This stocking is supposed to resemble papel picado, celebratory tissue-paper scissor cut garland from Mexico.

Both Christy and Mexico bring me joy. I love papel picado because it is delicate, fluttery, celebratory and intricate.

There are some jingly bells from pillows my mom gave me years ago that wore out, and I saved the bells and sewed them on. Now, it’s not only colorful but musical!

It’s time to move on to the next project, which I’m excited about. I have three ideas and plan to pick one tonight while watching NHL playoffs and sipping a celebratory marg. Mmm.

This piece honors both my family and my dear friend Christy, who adores all things Día de los Muertos. I’ve always been drawn to the way families — with all their quirks and tenderness — are deeply relatable. This stocking is a reflection of that connection.

Years ago, I loved scavenging upholstery samples — those small, richly textured fabric squares from stores like Hobby Lobby. I kept them in a shoebox, sifting through them often for inspiration.

One particular scrap reminded me of the shirt Eric wore on our wedding day. That’s where the story began: I made him first, then the rest of us.

At the time, I didn’t feel confident portraying actual faces, and I wanted to honor Christy, so I turned us into Día de los Muertos figures — a nod to the October traditions we’ve shared, like visiting the Longmont Museum together.

Each bone bead was handmade from Sculpey. The hot pink dress is the one I wore on our wedding day. Ruth appears here as a baby, with a little heart. Maggie, as always, is joy in motion. And Li Zhi wears a suit — just right.

This piece was inspired by my running friends, Laurie and Michelle. Every step, every stride, and every mile, I’m grateful for the friends who truly understand my two #stupidhobbies: sewing stockings and running.

Our tradition starts the same way every time — early mornings, before the sun rises, we meet in the darkness for a run. And, as we lace up our shoes, we repeat Michelle’s motto: “This is a stupid hobby.”

It’s become a mantra, a reminder that sometimes the things we love the most don’t always make sense. And the rest of the sayings? They’re the refrains from countless miles of conversations, shared laughs, and life stories — all stitched into this fabric.

Anyone who’s ever run will recognize the familiar symbols: a race bib number, a Garmin map, and the most famous intersection in running lore — Hereford and Boylston.

Thank you, Laurie and Michelle, for the miles, the memories.

There’s a myth that artists live in seaside towns, remote cabins, or tucked-away bohemian enclaves. But that’s not my story.

I live in Broomfield — a suburb. And in my opinion, the suburbs are underrepresented in art.

I grew tired of seeing only dreamy holiday scenes, faraway sunsets, and picturesque landscapes. What about the places most of us actually live?

This stocking is a portrait of our home — the kinds of trees that line our street, our actual bikes, and even our regular old mailbox.

It’s a celebration of the ordinary, the familiar, the deeply personal.

Because beauty isn’t only found in far-off places — sometimes, it’s right here in the suburbs.

At the Bead Show last year, I found these cool poly-beads from a local artist. You can see them here. There are four irregularly shaped ones. It seemed fun to build around them, so this happened. This design was a struggle with many creative blocks. Now that it's done, I like it!

Left, right, left. Sometimes we’re inspired and sometimes creativity is a grind. This one was the latter.

This one was a mix of leftover elementts I've been meaning to use, including pictures I printed onto fabric.  I also wanted to use up a bunch of beads, therefore, messy fringe. Why not.

The purple flower is an actual drawing from Ruth, so is the white stick figure, holding a found button she insisted on including.  Their names are sewn versions of their actual signatures from work papers. The toe of the stocking is made from a piece of upholstery fabric taken from JoAnn's or Crate and Barrel or somewhere.  

Anyone who gets chocolate at Fran's in Seattle will recognize the yellow ribbon around LI Zhi and on the handle. The buttons around the family pic are from years of saved buttons from clothes I've bought.

I got the idea for this stocking after a trip to Santa Fe with my friend Christy.

We saw all kinds of creativity there, including an embroidered pillow with birds and grasses. I made my own design, and added meadowlarks to the stocking.

Meadowlarks are my favorite bird, and they are also a favorite of my mom and grandma.

I used only fabric scraps for this stocking, and old threads. Nothing new here. Just a new way to put things on fabric.

So this one is finally done!  I made the R's out of scraps of so many things. Thanks to Eric for the finishing ideas, or it may have never gotten done. :-)

I love this bride and groom. Using fabric scraps, I wove an onion bag from Costco through and through.  

Then, I made the outline of the doll and stuffed each one solid. They feel substantial!  I added some details to make them a bride and groom - like a veil, a tie, and a bouquet of flowers.

I’ve always loved running the trails in Broomfield, especially in the fall. As the grasses dry out, they turn golden and brittle, whispering and crackling in the wind — like the landscape is alive and speaking.

One of my favorite spots is the Ruth Roberts Open Space at Dillon and Hwy 287. In autumn, there’s a pumpkin patch nearby that you might recognize — a quiet reminder of the season.

I wanted to capture the beauty of those wild, waving grasses — their movement, their texture, their subtle color shifts. This piece is my stitched interpretation of that simple, sacred space.

Years ago, my husband and I traveled to France with my dad to follow the Tour de France — one of the years Lance Armstrong won. We cycled legendary mountain passes and traced the route alongside the riders. It was an unforgettable adventure: a whirlwind around the country, full of grit, laughter, and breathtaking views.

While in Paris, we wandered through Montmartre and found a street famous for textiles. That’s where I picked up a piece of french blue fabric — a textile souvenir from a very vivid journey.

For years, the fabric sat untouched. Then one day, I started stitching beads along the pattern. And something shifted. The design came alive — textured, sparkling, almost humming with memory.

Now, every time I see it, I’m taken back to France: the famous climbs, the cobblestones, the time with my dad and Eric.

I found the fabric for this stocking in a special shop in Santa Fe, while travelling with my dear friend Christy. I held onto it for a long time, waiting for the right spark to bring it to life.

That spark came when my mom returned from a market in Marrakesh, Morocco, with a bundle of vibrant silk threads. The colors were bold and full of energy — instantly inspiring.

Blue felt like the natural match for the coral fabric, so I leaned into a single-color palette. The design is what I often doodle while on the phone. As I stitched, the piece called for more texture and movement — so I added vines, winding around the stitches using leftover fabric scraps to add an organic element to the geometry design.

The edge is finished with matte blue seed beads in a picot stitch — a delicate detail that might just be my new favorite finish.

This piece is a blend of places, people— woven together in silk, color, and memory.

This stocking was such a challenge. I found the large round button and had to sew it onto the fabric. Then, I started adding beads and patterns working outwards.

For about 2 years, I didn't like what I'd done and set the project aside. I finally came back to it after re-reading a line from a book by Robin Atkins, a beader that I admire.

Robin wrote something to the effect, "Just add some beads you like and keep going."  I did that, and finally finished. 

Pushing through the creative block was important and it turned out well in the end.

My grandmother was Polish. I wanted to make something to honor her, and the Polish are famous for papercuts. I decided to make a Nativity scene out of paper cuts.

I added beads for the stars in the sky.

My daughter Li Zhi drew the camel.

My son loves lions. He asked me to sew him a stocking with a lion.  Here it is!

I used upholstery fabric scraps from a furniture store to make the lion, and used leftover beads on the mane and face.

My daughter Maggie likes to draw. It's hard to keep all of her work, so I decided to put sew them onto a stocking. 

I copied her drawings, traced them onto the fabric, then couched the outline with DMC thread.  When she'd colored the drawings, I embroidered to match her coloring as closely as possible...staying inside the lines as she did and outside as she did.

For things like the heart, I used felt and layered it using the colors she used in her original drawings.

I bought a book called "One Bead at a Time" by Robin Atkins.  I got to work. 

I picked a few beads I like and started making patterns, then repeating them. This is the result of one of my first bead embroidery efforts.

When our kids were little, we had a family tradition called Donut Sunday.

Every week, we’d walk to King Soopers, and the kids would each pick out a donut — the highlight of their weekend. The tradition wasn’t just the donuts, though. It was the moment they took that very first bite. I’d always snap a photo. Over time, those photos turned into a time-lapse of childhood — a sugary-sweet record of them growing up, one bite at a time.

My daughter Maggie’s bite was always the biggest, the most enthusiastic — eyes wide, mouth open, joy unfiltered.

In this piece, Maggie’s hair is made from paint chips I found at the hardware store, hand-cut and sewn onto the fabric. Her shirt is a scrap of cloth from my friend Christy, who used the same material to sew a handbag. And the “a” in her name? That’s a mini donut, of course.

This stocking is another homage to our family tradition, Donut Sunday.  This is Ruth taking the first bite of her pink donut.

Ruth is made out of paint chips and the chips are sewn onto the fabric.

I learned something important while making this stocking. In the finish work, you sew the right sides of fabric together, then turn them inside out. As is turns out, the paint chips were fairly inflexible in the turn.

Oh well. Live and learn. Next time I use paint chips, I won't make a solid mass.

To celebrate our birthdays and years of friendship, my friend Christy and I took a trip to Santa Fe — a place rich with color, culture, and inspiration. One of the highlights was visiting the Folk Art Museum, where I was instantly drawn to a Guatemalan scarf on display.

The bold patterns and vibrant textures sparked something in me. I’ve always loved textiles from around the world — how they carry the stories of place, people, and tradition. Using brightly colored beads, I created patterns that echo the spirit of that scarf, filtered through my own voice and style.

This stocking holds particularly joyful memories — of Christy, shared adventure, and the creative spark that comes from being surrounded by beautiful things in the company of a dear friend.

Yet another stocking inspired by my trip to Santa Fe with my friend Christy. 

We bought the silk ribbon at the top at an amazing fabric store, and this stocking will always remind me of that trip.

This stocking is also my first freehand cross stitch. I used leftover threads from another project and began sewing snowflakes, then later added beads.

I returned to a set of patterns from an old magazine for this stocking. It's for my daughter, Ruth.

I made this stocking for my son LZ. This stocking helped me turn the creative corner. Afterwards, I decided I would never sew someone else's town again - I needed to do my own work.

I liked the simplicity and alternating squares of this pattern.

This stocking is, well, of a leaping Santa.

It's a pattern, obviously. I don't use patterns anymore, I'd rather design something on my own. But I didn't always have the courage to do that.

I went through a Quaker Sampler phase. I'm out of it now.

This is one of those stockings - a Quaker sampler.

I made this stocking for my mom. We both love songbirds.

This stocking is for my daughter Maggie. She's jolly just like this guy.

This is one of the very first stockings I ever made — back in college, University of North Colorado in Greeley, living in a shared house with my friend Christy.

It came from a pattern, but it was the beginning of something bigger — the first step toward finding my own creative voice.

I’ll always remember those nights: Christy and I, studying and cross-stitching, surrounded by textbooks and thread. We were the “crazy ones” — stitching when everyone else was out — and loving every minute of it.

This stocking holds all of that early energy, friendship, and the spark that started it all.

I liked the natural feel of the fabric and colors on this stocking.

This stocking wasn't always a stocking. I'd done the cross-stitch and made a bag out of it.  About 25 years after I made it, the bag was showing it's wear. I removed the sewing and turned it into a stocking.

I started this piece 30 years ago. Well, time happens.

I do love patterns. This white and blue snowflake stocking isn't my original, but I still love it.

This stocking is enormous in real life.

I found a pattern I liked, and worked this on 22 count fabric. I didn't realize how big it would be. It's about 3 feet high and it took me about 4-5 years to complete (with other projects in the middle.)

I made this stocking for my husband-to-be Eric. I made it on a long car trip from Texas to Colorado. 

This was one of my first freehand stockings - except for the header.  I did the swirls by myself, and I did this one in high school.

Needless to say, this one is pretty old.

This is a cross-stitch pattern of angels I made for my brother, David. He's young and cool, seemed like beautiful angels serenading him was realistic.

This stocking was another Quaker pattern and I made it for my dad.