Thursday, June 4, 2020

Comfort in Needles


Some handwork that I'm doing

  Not that kind of needle.  Sewing needles. I've never tried the other kind.....well, until recently.  I sliced my thigh open with a very sharp seam ripper about 2 weeks ago.  I don't know what kind of needle was used, but 8 stitches were used to sew me up and some kind of needle was used to make my leg numb.  

But then, that kind of needle did actually give me comfort too.  I just don't want to make a habit of it.  Today was day #3,465 in captivity and I am in no hurry to get out.  In fact the more I stay in, the more I want to stay in.  I've been experiencing mild panic attacks when I drive more than a few miles away from home which, fortunately, I don't have to do very often.

My early birthday gift to me: a wicker sewing basket

There is something about the tools used in hand sewing that just gives me comfort and calms me: thimbles, needles, thread, those little tomato pin cushions... .I love them all.  I'm not sure why it is but it has always been that way.  I remember when I was a little girl, I used to love to look at the crafts section in the Worldbook Encyclopedias that we had.  The section - it may have fallen under folk art - included quilting, dollmaking, patchwork, etc.  It just always fascinated me that something so beautiful could be made with such few and so little tools.  I remember that my grandparents bought me a wicker sewing basket for Christmas or for my birthday and I used to carry that thing around with everything I needed to make clothes for my Barbie dolls.  To this day, if I'm in a fabric store, I always have to check out the sewing baskets.  For a little early birthday gift to myself, I just bought a wicker sewing basket and use this beautiful fabric featuring tuxedo cats, that I've been hoarding for years to make a basket liner.  

When I wake up in the middle of the night panicked, when I've had a rough day at work, when I feel sad, helpless, or alone and when I feel happy and thankful, I pick up a needle and sew.  

Monday, June 1, 2020

At my window.

Pappy Decker - missing since 5/24/2020
I'm still here. Still working from a 6' x 6' space in my bedroom. 

I've seen a lot of things in my 10 weeks in this space: a new fence being built by the neighbors across the way, 2 working horses being delivered to this new pasture, a barn being built, 3 people buried in the graveyard across from me with one of those people being the husband of a friend. This friend is in a nursing home and was unable to attend the burial in fact, there were only 5 people at the burial.  I didn't know that it was going to be this morning and I watched while being present in a zoom meeting that talked about how it was very likely that I will still be in this space months from now.  I'm really hoping that the 4th graveyard burial will not be a friend of mine who I just found out, was placed on hospice over the weekend.

Last Sunday, my kitties knocked out a screen that I hadn't secured and escaped.  Mrs. Bobbins was sitting right outside the window, Oreo was waiting for me on the deck, and Thimba was hiding - terrified - in the weeds beside the deck.  But no sight of Pappy Decker.  We've talked to all of the neighbors and everyone in the valley knows that he is missing.  He's such a friendly, happy cat that I'm just afraid that someone thought he would make a good pet (he would!) and decided to take him for themselves.  As much as I want him back, I just want him to be happy wherever he is. 

Right now the wind is whistling making my curtains flutter and blowing the American flags adorning the Veterans' gravestones to attention. It is sad and beautiful at the same time.

Unsettled is how I feel.  Not sad, not happy, not apathetic, just unsettled. On the surface, things are starting to feel the same but they really are not the same, nothing at all. I feel helpless - that's what I feel.  It is hard to talk to someone who refuses to listen or listens from only their perspective.  I certainly don't know how it feels to be automatically assumed guilty or dangerous or deceptive simply because of my color.  I know how it feels to be assumed to be stupid and irrelevant because of my gender and my age but I don't think that compares.  Why protest? Protest, not riot.  Because if we don't, it is assumed that we are all ok with discrimination and racism.  And we are not ok with it, we are not ok at all. 

My gosh. All I want is for us all to quit killing each and hating each other.  That, and I want my cat to come home.

Busy summer

So much for keeping up with this blog! Seems like there is always something to do and for that, I am very grateful! We finally have rain - i...