Too Long a Wait

It has been a tumultuous year for me, in every aspect of my life. I've stopped writing entirely, though I have published some work and am very grateful for that. I've stopped wanting to sew and make quilts, the desire to do so absolutely dead in the water: all those boxes of bright fabric, with their deep jewel colors, like treasure consigned to the bottom of the sea. When I write in my journal, it seems full of self-indulgence and self-pity. Then I remembered that there is a place where I can "recover" at least some vestige of a writing self: here on this blog. Hopefully more writing will follow. I am now a caregiver to a lively little person who has been living with me nearly a year. For anonymity purposes, I am going to call her Thistle. The work of bringing Thistle into this household and adjusting to having round the clock care of a small child, has been one of the most intense challenges of my whole life. Yet when I see her bloom and be happy, and laugh wholeheartedly, when her life is protected as it should be in the "bubble" of childhood sweetness, I feel glad. Whatever I have given up for her is more than worth it. I have been able to knit, which is the sole creative effort of this year: tackling a very difficult shawl pattern (all lace, which occasionally has to be pulled out) and a blanket for Thistle. Somehow my mind still wants to link threads, knot disparate pieces together, make something beautiful to be in the world, to have an existence beyond me. So it seems my creative life is not dead, just embers right now. I hope to write more and perhaps together we will see my creative life re-bloom. Thanks for listening!