It's About Time - Getting Satisfaction

I did a lot of thinking after I posted that last entry.  Mostly about how much I self-edited, removing things I felt deeply but was fearful of putting out there in the world because depression is - and seemingly always will be - a taboo subject.  There are some great tweets about that attitude -

I figured out why I am so vibrantly aware of things these days - I'm running out of time.  I have more of my life behind me than I do ahead of me and while I'm good with that (honest!) I've got this whole stupid list of things to do "later", when I get the money, when I will be able to enjoy it, when I have the time (as if!) or some other BS rationalization.  It's time to do it now.  Money will always be a prohibitive factor, but the lovely silks I've been collecting for years are going to get CUT UP and made into a wonderful wall piece.  The beautiful Moda French General hexagons I painstakingly pieced and hand sewn are no longer in the "when I think of what I want to do with them" pile because I cut and bound them and they now look wonderful on various coffee tables in my family room.  My treasured damask and vintage linens are being used on my dining room and kitchen tables and YES I SAID THAT are getting food spilled on them and thrown in the washer and used again and again and I love it. 

I recently made 2 table runners as gifts for the newlywed children of friends. I did the registry gift thing for their bridal showers, but this time I felt like I wanted them to have something more meaningful - well, meaningful to me anyway. Both brides are mature, free spirited women who know themselves well.
I heartily regret machine quilting these runners with variegated thread - while it seemed inspired and dashing at the time, every sin you make with variegated thread screams. I backstitch to anchor starting and stopping points and damn if every time I did it the color of the thread would change just enough to look like a schmeariblik. Once I was on a pale yellow stretch of fabric when the thread turned a dark violet and MAN was that way too much contrast - it looked like I took a Sharpie pen and drew lines, for Pete's sake. This is not to say that I haven't done just that - I have a large and colorful collection of narrow Sharpie pens just for a similar  purpose. I touch up those areas when a bit of white thread pops up out of nowhere, a rogue bobbin thread that doesn't exactly match needs come camouflage - that kind of thing.

I now spend evenings embroidering wool felt ornaments that I consign to a nearby quilt museum. I love those things - each one a little creation that will go live in house of someone I'll never meet.  I used to keep track of where my Mother's quilted runners and wall hangings went when we sold them in my husband's shop. She loved hearing about the ones that went to London or Italy or Germany or Pennsylvania. Now I understand why.  Putting pretty little bits of yourself out there in the universe is a very satisfying use of time. I want my time now to be filled with more of that, whether it is making something or reading something or any one of a myriad of other things that are satisfying.  Time is much more my friend now than ever before, and all because I've been learning to use more of it to satisfy myself.

Peaches and Perseids

Such melancholy days these are.

Two of our closest friends married off their sons within 24 hours of each other. I made 2 table runners as wedding gifts, and machine quilted  them as I hope they will be used well and tossed in the washing machine. (I'll probably never use variegated thread again in my life, though, but that is another post.) The weddings took place this past weekend and I officially became "the old lady who cries at weddings".  I've seen those boys go from diapers to tuxedos and shared the adolescent angst (and behavior) with their parents, so it's easy to see how I get weepy when I see them walk them down the aisle or have that "mother and son" dance.  The harder moment for me is when the father of the bride gives his daughter to her future husband.  I flash back to the moment my dear Dad let go of my hand and placed it into Joe's, and my heart just aches.  Life is precious and fleeting.

This from a blog post a few years ago:

I didn't know it at the time, but the last time my parents came to Gloucester for a visit was during the Perseid meteor shower of about 1998.  We had friends who were members of a local beach club so we were able to troop down to the beach with a hibachi, wine, dessert and sand chairs to make a perfect evening in a perfect setting even more....perfect.  We had a marvelous supper, topped off by Mom's peach pie made from peaches picked in our own backyard.  Dad was the official peach peeler (he's a hound dog for peach pie) and Mom could whip up a pie so effortlessly it was all done in a blink.  I can still remember the setting in vivid detail, but I can't conjure up the taste of Mom's peach pie.  It's been too long and while my own peach pies are pretty good (from good DNA) they aren't hers.  They aren't from peaches in our own backyard, they weren't peeled with love by my Dad, and ..... well, you get the idea. We watched the sun set and the stars come out, the moon rose perfectly between the twin lighthouses of Thatcher Island, and the meteor shower began.  It was an experience we all talked about for years to come. 

We had to prop up those peach trees with lumber because the branches were so heavily laden with fruit they would otherwise break. The trees have since died off, and while we planted two others only one took root.  A few days ago Joe walked in to the house with three little peaches from our 'new' tree.  First fruits. Upon realizing it wouldn't be enough to make a pie or a cobbler or a crisp, I flashed to my memory of Mom and Dad in the kitchen, Dad peeling peaches and Mom working magic with pastry. Perseids and peaches will forever be twined together in my heart. 

Who knew such a powerful and priceless memory was being made that night? I have always "felt" things so deeply - my mother even said I was her most moody child. Sometimes I'm barely convinced I have any skin at all. Like so many others who have struggled with depression I was shocked and anguished by the death of Robin Williams. He was such a brilliant and talented man, but even all his resources were not enough. Mindful that building resilience is important, I've been trying to live more vigilantly and find things to rejoice in, to celebrate and savor. I'm trying to block off the voice in my head that constantly admonishes, "You should be doing -----" when I just want to sit and sew or embroider or read for an hour. (I have found it to be wonderfully enriching to put a stopper in that damn voice once in awhile.) Added bonus - I had the presence of mind to save one of those peaches to eat when I sit on the back porch and look for Perseids tonight.  Life is good. 

1-800-RATIONALIZE

With the multi-whammy of additional, unexpected income taxes due, an expensive major appliance "shitting the bed" (Joe's favorite saying and I've just picked it up because....it's so.... accurate), finding out the source of my knee problems is a torn meniscus and the upcoming one year anniversary of the loss of my Dad all rolling up on me.........well, I kind of had a meltdown. "Kind of" in the sense that I didn't actually throw anything (hey, I've grown. Besides, I don't wear high heels anymore and I'm out of spackle) but everything else cut loose in a peri-menopausal-chronic-pain-grieving-hormonal rage of tears, angst and depression.  My dark Irish side can throw down with the best of 'em.

So what to do?  I needed to drive.  Serious "get out of Dodge" driving. That isn't possible here because it's too congested and populated. No wide open spaces and long reaches of road and open sky.  This therapy always worked for me when I lived in Nebraska but in Massachusetts - well, it's not happening.  I still wanted to make a road trip and maybe do a little retail therapy ( a logical response to a cash-strapped crisis, right?) and pick up some Kaffe Fassett fabric I've been coveting for, oh, years.  Seriously coveting.

[caption id="attachment_2521" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="I did not buy ALL of these....just some...."][/caption]

Normally I would call my sister Pat before embarkation. Pat is the queen of rationalization.  You can call her and ask her about anything  and she will give you really good reasons to 1) do it or 2) buy it.  What I came up with would pale in comparison but I think it was pretty respectable in a dark, depressive kind of way.

Mother's Day is approaching.  I was not blessed with motherhood and my mother has been gone many years but I'm still pissed off.  She was 69. Pancreatic cancer.  (Insert "f" word here....)  Those of us with infertility and failed adoption issues have always found MD to be a trauma-inducing "holiday" that personally guts me like a fish.  When life gives you lemons, make lemonade - right?  I started thinking about all the MD presents I've never received, all the cards and flowers and - well, that adds up to some serious cash, right? So, feeling sorry for myself, I felt free to go ahead and spend a little of what my husband and/or kids would have spent.  Bingo - rationalized.

I had a lovely time at Portsmouth Fabric getting overwhelmed by bolts and bolts of amazingly beautiful fabric.  That alone made me feel better. Quilters will understand how that works.  I even had some laughs with the staff as a siren kept sounding in the distance and we couldn't figure out what it was until some guy stuck his head inside the door and said, "I think that is the siren from Seabrook!"  (Local nuclear power plant. I am not kidding.)  I stood there and thought about where I was and if there was indeed a core meltdown I'd be dead pretty fast.  Then I kept shopping.  What better place to be?  My husband and family all know I love them - we never separate without saying so - and I'm pretty much right with my Lord.... so I kept shopping and discussing (with the shop ladies) where the nearest bar with the best food was just in case it really was the "end of time" or something. I figured I'd fare pretty well at my judgement if my Mom saw me with a vodka tonic in my hand - she'd claim me in a minute just to have a sip or two. Or three.

Then I drove back home and listened to another podcast from Pray As You Go.  You have got to love the Jebbies, they come up with some really good stuff.  Anyway, I did a lot of thinking, a lot of sorting out and a whole lot of mental housecleaning. When I got home I made a new sign for my sewing room and put a copy of it in my bathroom.



It's out there.  It's all around me.  I have a feeling it would save me a lot of the time I spend worrying - AKA threading beads on a string with no knot at the end. I'm going to find joy every day.  Wish me luck. I need some joy.

PS - here is a great start.  I never watch these things but for some reason I did this one. WOW.

Caine's Arcade

Resolving to Not Resolve

Beginning week 2 of the furlough from work.  I had no overwhelming plans for what to do or  make, finish or start but I think I have set a new record......low.   Since the Bernina is still in a different repair shop,  I'm left with way too much time on my hands to ponder the purchase of a 2nd, used machine.  I feel guilty just writing it about it - it seems like such an extravagance. But as to the long list of other things I could be doing?  Aside from cleaning out my closets and delivering an overstuffed car load of clothing and miscellaneous household goods to the local food pantry thrift shop.... nadda.

The one thing I have accomplished during this unpaid, stress filled furlough is epic sleep. Maybe it is a reflection of the exhausted state that most of us function in year round, or it could be a symptom of depression.  Probably an unhealthy combination of both but I flat out refuse to guilt myself about sleeping.  Sleep is wonderful, blissful, and free -  and I feel it so deep in my sore bones. Before he left for work this morning, my husband came in to our bedroom to kiss me goodbye.  He leaned over and saw that my electric blanket had timed  off, and flicked it back ON.  What a stellar guy.  I rolled over on my side and just faded off for another hour or so, and it was bliss.

I have also had time to read blogs and admire what others are working on, doing, or surviving.  The woman over at Toddler Planet has my heart in the palm of her hand.  Go over and visit, send her your very best energy, love and light.   The older I get the more I seem to know people who are suffering and  struggling with health issues.  If you do not know about Caring Bridge free websites go and find out now.  You will probably need one someday for someone you know. They are a marvelous and  remarkable way to keep family and friends updated and  involved without causing stress to the one who is ill.  We have a CaringBridge page for my Dad and it warms my heart to see my cousins and aunts and uncles leaving him little notes of love and support, telling him what they are doing, etc.  I'm not sure that Dad comprehends it when we read him the entries but I can tell you that we,  his children,  have taken such comfort in reading those guest book entries.  It is a wonderful thing.

I have one week of furlough left and I have resolved to resolve.....nothing.  I live with enough demands on my time, my pocket, my sore bones and my spirit. I'm going to watch Downton Abbey every  time it is on television.  I am going to read and doze and take a couple of obscenely long showers and use some French soap I've been saving up for something special.  I am special.  I am using that lovely soap on my tired body and I will  inhale the fragrance and I will allow myself the pleasure of rest with no demands.