"The Time To Be Slow" John O'Donohue

I'm trying to do some slow stitching every day.  Even if only for a few minutes, a few stitches.  I have pieced backgrounds for two small quilts, but that's as far as I've gotten with sewing fabric together.   My mind is like a butterfly flitting from one flower (thought) to another.  I have no idea what day I'm on most of the time, or what day it should be.  Took me quite a while this morning to realize it is Sunday. The unreality, the dislocation, the inability to focus... I'm sure I'm not the only one in this time of 'stay home' Covid-19 days that's dealing with this.  

Woke to Marlee trying to burrow under me because we were having thunderstorms.  Now the winds are really wreaking havoc, ahead of a cold front.  We've had a couple of days with temperatures in the upper 70s and 80s, it brings to mind the recurring thought that this is shaping up to be a really strange Summer.  Even those temperatures are strange for this time of year here.  We have some more daytime temps of 50s and 60s coming up after today, with upper 30s for a few nighttime temps.  Seesawing, just like my thoughts.  

This is the time to be slow, 
Lie low to the wall 
Until the bitter weather passes. 

Try, as best you can, not to let 
The wire brush of doubt 
Scrape from your heart 
All sense of yourself 
And your hesitant light. 

If you remain generous, 
Time will come good; 
And you will find your feet 
Again on fresh pastures of promise, 
Where the air will be kind 
And blushed with beginning.

John O'Donohue (From Benedictus)

First Day of Spring

I really didn't think life could get any stranger than this last year (2019) was for me. I was wrong. These days are really, REALLY strange---and scary. Marlee and I are knee deep in fabric and 'social distancing', 'staying at home' for my protection and every one else out there. I try to be fully present to all that each of these days hold, no matter how desperate and dire the news is with each new day.

“Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen. Repent just means to change direction — and NOT to be said by someone who is waggling their forefinger at you. Repentance is a blessing. Pick a new direction, one you wouldn’t mind ending up at, and aim for that. Shoot the moon.”

- Anne Lamott

It's Been A Year Since

Randy died.  What a strange year, full of extreme changes in my life, it has been.  I'm still quite numb, and still slowly finding my way in a new landscape.  I am beyond grateful for all of the loving support I've received over this year, debts that can never be repaid. 

Marlee and I are well.  Needless to say, I don't know how I would have made it without my Marlee.  She has been, and is, my main anchor.  She keeps me from drifting totally away on these seas of uncertainty.  What does one do without a little four-legged to keep one on some sort of daily routine?  She is definitely a creature of habit. 

I still have my love of fabric, but I haven't been able to focus long enough to really do anything with it.  I still pick up pieces, and lay them down again.  I hope to be able to gradually find my way back to playing in the fabric.

It's unbelievable to me that we are heading into Spring 2020.  We are having 60s temperatures all of this week, and the Daffodils and Forsythia are in bloom.  I'm focused on embracing each day as it comes, one day at a time...