The indigo vat waited patiently and yesterday I realized it was ready. But last night the raccoons got into it.
Knocked it over .
It's been so long, and I was just about to get to it.
For a moment I felt sad.
I've a lot of blue scrap here though, and I have decided to make a quilt for my son. The Boy. So a lot of the scrap will get used. Many blue squares are piling up. It will be a summer blanket. Simple and blue. The kind I used to make in simpler times. It will probably take me the year to finish it. Leaving me with less and him with something useful.
Thank you raccoons, for reminding me I have enough. For now.
I imagine that someday, sometime, what I expect to happen just might not. For now, I am grateful to have these ripening tomatoes. And the reassurance of their continuing.
I stitched this early this morning. It is not a 9 patch, but I really like these colors together. I am looking and thinking how one thing might replace another. How that might be less obvious over time. And simply seem like continuing.
Today, while making a birthday card for my brother, I stopped.
Noticed how a thought folded gives it new form.
I think I will write:
"Evolve. Keep changing."
He will be 60 this round. Like the Man, he will always be younger than me.
I posted a question on Facebook last night. Is blogging dead? Because I have heard a lot of folks talking about that lately. Almost 100 responses. And very interesting. Yes and No and everything in between. Not dead but it has become old is what I came away with. I am considering what getting old means. Often we speak of something becoming old. I think it might simply mean useless. Or at least less useful in the context of what's new. Maybe we project that on ourselves when we use the word as well. I am simply considering "old" today. As a word and how it is used. Considering change and how vital it is. Considering the form of what we do and its use. Considering all of these things.
And a note to self: Now that I am older I feel more useful in a way.
From here...since it seems to me that the tendency to lean implies flow and sympathy with that.
I find myself taking the opportunity to condense what I have here by putting, now stitching, one thing that I might like a lot over another that I need to let go of. In this way nothing is really lost, but there is less. At least it seems that way. Therefore feeding my tendency to crave more space. And the tendency toward being obsessed with one thing becoming another. Over and over.