Word: needlepoint
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...five years from now, Rather, 55, answers quickly, "If God is good to me and with a little luck, yes." Ten years from now? Hesitation. "Gee, I don't know. It's a young person's game." On the chair next to him in his office is a small needlepoint pillow with the saying ALWAYS IS NOT FOREVER...
According to the Ribbon Project newsletter, "Participants may applique, batik, embroider, hook, needlepoint, paint, quilt, silk-screen, tie-die, weave, reproduce photographs, use iron-on fabric paints...to tell this nation that we love the earth and its people...
...group of women sit quietly chatting, their heads bowed over needlepoint and knitting, in the gracious parlor at Bourn Hall. The mansion's carved stone mantelpieces, rich wood paneling and crystal chandeliers give it an air of grandeur, a reflection of the days when it was the seat of the Earl De La Warr. In the well-kept gardens behind the house, Indian women in brilliant saris float on the arms of their husbands. The verdant meadows of Cambridgeshire lie serenely in the distance. To the casual observer, this stately home could be an elegant British country hotel...
Within the troubled mind of Sara Jane Moore, 52, there lies a dichotomy. As a radical marching to her own confused manifesto, she was sentenced to life for trying to kill President Gerald Ford in 1975. But there is also apparently Sara Jane Moore, the needlepoint-loving homebody. Securely imprisoned at the Federal Correctional Institution in Pleasanton, Calif., she seems to be the model of middle-aged matronliness. Says Moore: "I'm just a typical little old lady in her fifties." And in her jail cell...
After the batterings of Selma and Viet Nam, several assassinations and summers of psychedelic overload, the country needed a warm bath and a bit of soothing. What it got instead was a fresh, hard needlepoint shower from the ranks?indeed, from the home. It was a little too much. Doors slammed, windows rattled shut. The national circuits had temporarily shorted out, and, in the prevailing gloom, the feminist torches looked less like beacons than