It’s been a busy time, but then perhaps that’s just how my life currently is; between grandkids, words, fabrics, etc, blogging has fallen to the wayside. I’ve considered writing a post, then my attention is focused elsewhere. Not that I’m complaining, merely noting that August is around the corner, 2017 halfway over.
There’s much on my mind, and truthfully nothing takes precedence over another topic. When writing, I’m fully immersed in The Hawk. While sewing I’m pondering the next project. When entertaining grandchildren, I’m reminded at how fleeting are these days; The Burrito and Little Miss are quite a pair of two-year-olds, but weren’t they just babies? Yes and no, which is basically how life actually is. We think a particular moment will last forever, but suddenly another presents itself, and what felt so permanent is merely a memory. I wonder if in ages past, did people feel time slip so quickly, or did the lack of manners of documentation free those folks to revel right where they were, permitting them to fully grasp all that was within their scope. Granted, much of that was hard work, physical labor that many nowadays partake of as a hobby, which is a huge luxury. Still, I’m curious, able to free up my time with appliances I probably take for granted that my great-grandmothers and their grandmothers would have killed for.
In the old days, who had time to blog? Sewing wasn’t for personal pleasure, but to make sure no one went indecent or froze to death. Looking after wee ones was part of raising a family, as families weren’t spread out as they are now. And writing fiction? Only for dreamers or those with wealth, or a patron or two. But time does pass with speed, blurring the lines of what was and what is and 1950 is now nearly seventy years ago, what? Recently my husband acquired some CDs of Hank Snow and the Louvin Brothers, those recordings all from the fifties. Yes, the tunes do sound dated, but when my hubby and I were little, that decade had merely just come and gone. But we’re not young anymore, ahem, and neither are those songs, the men who sung them all now dead. Would they have blogged about their careers, could they have imagined social media even?
When I have a minute, like I do now, these queries cause me to, well, take a moment to write up an entry. A little introspection is a good thing, putting into perspective all the blessings of my life and how that life is shaped by what happens today, memories accumulating at a rate that at times makes me tremble. The brevity of my corporeal existence, even if I live to be one hundred, is staggering, and no amount of novels written, quilts pieced, or even grandkids loved will lengthen my days. Well, being happy will probably tack on precious months or years, however what occurs during those days is what lasts in kindnesses shown, other lives benefiting. Perhaps these musings are the results of my own aging process, but I’m thankful for the awareness of how precious is my life and what I’m able to accomplish within it. This day is a gift; make yours just as beautiful and significant in your own way.