Good Times

I walked into the kitchen at work recently and the song Sweet Caroline was playing. It's one of those songs that requires group participation. I mean really, how can you not? Things you may already know about me. I'm an introvert. Groups are not my comfort zone. I am a terrible singer. Truly awful. You'd only know that because I told you, not because you'd actually heard me. Yet, there I was busting out in song. Not well, but with enough enthusiasm that others joined in. Thankfully others joined in. In the moment it was a pure camaraderie. It was joy. It was silliness. It was what "in the moment" should feel like.   

A person can go through life without feeling safe. Safe to express themselves, safe to be themselves, safe enough to know what feels right, safe enough to take a stand, to know what they like and what they don't. It's possible to feel mostly good about a situation and still not feel safe. Telling yourself it's good, that you're happy, that all is okay, when not all of it is. Talk about a major disconnect. 

I find myself in a place in life where I feel safe and centered. I feel that in my heart. Let me preface this by saying I've done a hell of a job being independent to the point of isolation. Not a win exactly. If nothing else, it's given me time to grow. I'm a pro at making do, doing without, and being okay with it.

Here is the lesson. I don't have to go without, all of my needs are being met. Maybe not exactly on my timetable, but they are met thanks to the big guy upstairs. I'm only as alone as I chose to be. Alone is not a punishment for things I did or didn't do. Alone can be entirely comfortable. Forgiveness is an inside job. Read that again. And here's a biggy - it's okay to let people be there for you. Just like it's okay to be a little silly and sing in public. Being good is not a requirement. Being open to it is.

Like A Quilt

I've been getting back to some quilt projects that I started long ago. So long ago I can't even remember. At least two sewing machines, three houses, over maybe ten years, perhaps more. Anyone's best guess. Those quilt blocks have waited patiently, and Lord knows I considered pitching them a time or two. Mostly when I was packing to move to one of those three houses. It's been so long that when I bought fabric to do borders, we had to look at reproduction fabrics to find colors that coordinated. Many things, including color palettes, change over the years. 

Now I look at the blocks and see where they will never lay smooth, where my pressing was not neat, where the points are off. Where my seam allowances were too generous. I am not the most precise quilter.

 

Life is like that, I've had some bumpy patches, areas that got knotted and frayed, pulled out of shape. There were parts that were broken and had to be reassembled. There were times all went effortlessly. Times I was, metaphorically, packed away in a box only to appear years later. 

I'm still not the most precise quilter, or person for that matter. I am a work in progress. Sometimes my tension is off, those who sew get what I mean. Things get messy then. Other times I come apart a bit at the seams. It may take a while for my colors to coordinate again, but all I need is a little help with that. 

In the end, this project will be a thing of beauty, soft and warm. It will hold stories in the layers of fabric. Much like we hold stories in our layers. Those layers need the light of day and gentle smoothing. They need acceptance for what they are not, and appreciation for what they are. So, I keep working on this, knowing it's far from perfect. Perhaps that adds to it, rather than takes away from it. Take the pieces life gives you and make something out of them. May they be soft to the touch, bring warmth and comfort. Much like a quilt.

Snow Memories

It's a snow day. That brings back memories. I love a good snowstorm. I don't love driving in it. I'll admit that makes me anxious. I do love baking during one, watching it snow, reading by the fire, cooking something yummy. Sipping some wine. Hot cocoa with marshmallows, or whipped cream. Maybe both. 

I miss the days when I'd race to Blockbuster to rent movies if I knew school would be cancelled and the kids would be home. I remember making cinnamon rolls for them, lining up all the mittens, snowpants and hats. I miss walking in the snow with my dad at night. There is just something about the quiet, the company and the beauty that is so special.

Then there is another memory, that was just an everyday event, until hindsight gave it new perspective. That moment when your special someone turned into the driveway coming home from work. That feeling of relief they made it safely. I see cars drive by at dusk and I miss one coming home to me. I'm pretty sure that feeling is part of the rest of my life. 

Funny how the rest of your life sneaks up on you. How you used to play in the snow, now you worry about slipping and falling in it. I'd like to go sledding again but admit it sounds scary. I still make snow angels whenever I can. But only when no one's looking, because the getting down and getting up part is not pretty. What are the things you love to do, but only do when no one's looking? Those things need pondering. Lift them up, hold them to the light, examine them. Cherish the memories and perhaps make some new ones. I think we should.