Post Blog

[I wrote much of this last Sunday.] Well, for all the blog green lights Saturday morning, I didn't post much, did I? We didn't go to the beach. We instead went to a state park and picnicked by a stream that was so loud we could barely hear each other above the din. The banks had been torn up by the New Year's storm so there wasn't much of a place to spread out and get comfortable. We had a tricky time keeping the brie from falling into the dirt or into Rex's attentive maw, and my fantasy of a nap in the weak sunshine was dashed by damaged roots and boulders strewn everywhere. We had managed to pick up a very rich lunch and so a stroll on the nearby trail was out of the question. So we came home and retired to our respective crafts table, M to make a shadowbox in the garage, me to finish my pillow and pants projects and to start a potholder.

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I've been thinking often about Nancy's Vday blog acknowledging what a wonderful life she's created for herself and her family. I'm so glad for her, and so happy that she's taken time to be conscious of this time in her life. I have similar feelings about my life now too--M and I are in a good place in our relationship despite his extreme school stress. We both have much to look forward to and despite my descent into middle age (he doesn't quite qualify yet), adventure still awaits it seems, it wasn't left behind eleven years ago in my single New York gal's apartment.

I keep a mirrored picture frame that my aunt and uncle gave me on my dresser and have three photos of M and me in it that I rotate. Two of the photos are of us early in our relationship--I can tell because our hair is long and we're both a little thinner. And while looking at the photos tonight I thought that maybe I would never wear my hair like that again, never gaze at a blue New York light streaming into a window that I called my own and somehow that made me sad, a vision of a life I've left behind, a youthfulness that I can never feel again…but there's nothing I can do about that save for lay plans for more adventures, because obviously there's no going back.

M and I are definitely in stage where we're trying to absorb certain apparent future certainties, however. Not having children, a decision that somehow just doesn't go away once made, but seems to need regular revisiting. And the fact that we may not ever be moving out of the house we're now in. Looking at desperately needed new kitchen flooring the other day, he asked about what we would do with a new floor now since we really must enlarged the house in a few years. I don't feel like we're in a stage to make the decision that we'll never sell this house for another--he needs to graduate first--but I just can't commit to that path. Yet. Maybe indecision is what keeps adventure alive.

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Anyway.

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I had a wonderful time with Mom a couple of weekends ago. We visited the fabric store for supplies for my sewing class (which ended last night, but I've signed on for another four classes so I can work on a dress), and paging through the pattern books with her brought me back 30 years. Ahem, 35 years. It was nice to share creative project planning with someone, particularly Mom. We researched digital cameras for her trip to China in May, shopped, ate well. She brought down her latest batch of pottery, which is quite lovely. She left me with a beautiful green bowl just right for cereal or a splash of ice cream, and a chenille scarf she knitted for me, my favorite color of blue. I'm lucky to have such a great mom.

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I realized recently that I treat sewing like my writing. I love preparing for the project, buying pattern and fabric and notions, drafting up the first pages. But almost all of my projects are left dreaming in that stage, ripe in their potential, but unfinished. Because finishing means that I'll have to make a decision and cut into that beautiful green wool and ruin it for any other project. My lack of craftsmanship will show, logic and/or seams won't align, the finished product won't be fit to be seen in public. But for some reason, maybe age, this isn't as much of a threat to my ego as much lately. I've come to terms with the truth that I won't become an expert if I don't practice. And even if I practice it still might not live up to my own standards--but at least I'll get better.

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I'm off to a conference in San Diego on Saturday. A long week ahead.