While entries have been few, I’ve been sewing up a storm; English paper piecing has become my go-to fave, while hand-quilting remains the evening distraction. Paper piecing truly lends itself to recent travels, and I find it’s a great way to start the morning, what with no words being written. Just today I started this block; it might sit on the kitchen table a few more days, then I’ll tuck it away with another made solely from scraps. I’d like to fashion an entire quilt of these from leftovers, a long-term project with no concrete date of completion.
I felt that way about The Hawk, then found The End earlier this year. But shortly after that novel wrapped up, Mom got sick and…. Suddenly everything felt half-baked, like my life was prematurely tossed in the can alongside my mother’s. Or more rightly how I saw my life; maybe I had become complacent, not in that I’d finally finished a very long story, or that grandkids had become my focus, or any sort of reason or mantra that now seems trite. Trite isn’t the correct word, but that’s apropos as well; I feel like a scattered jigsaw missing several key pieces. And what I’m discovering is that those pieces aren’t magically going to turn up under the sofa or behind a bookcase. They are gone for good and the puzzle that is my life will eventually adjust to their permanent absence.
I’ve lost loved ones before; my brother, my dad, a dear friend when I was quite young. I can’t put my finger on why Mom’s passing has so rattled me, or there are too many notions for one to be outstanding. We are so temporary, just fleeting blips along a timeline, like single stitches within a quilt or solitary sentences inside a novel. Or maybe a speck of water, bumping into another, forming raindrops that I would love to see fall from the sky. It’s autumn, and while a deluge is drenching the East Coast, California would love a little precipitation. Yet even our endless summers don’t last forever; everything changes, including the most stalwart people and ideas. We are here for brief moments, some no more lasting than the blink of an eye.
Then you blink again and the beginning of one season heralds another, and quilt tops go from patchwork to paper piecing and novels sit in hard drives while ideas for others linger in my mind. And Mom sits there too, that’s where she now dwells. Photos are reminders, but I can’t speak to her or receive emails or letters. It’s weird how our brains retain certain facts, but our hearts ache for other manners of reciprocation. Yet there’s nothing doing; can’t find those puzzle pieces, can’t go backwards. We can only go forward, even if it’s so damned temporary.
Losing Mom has been like losing my right leg, and now I’m facing an uphill battle to reclaim my footing. I’m not sure when I’ll post again, because there’s only so many grieving entries I feel capable of writing. But good awaits on the horizon; a little brother for The Burrito, more quilts certainly, maybe another novel, ha ha. Previous sabbaticals always brought me back to blogging, so until then wrap your arms tightly around those you love. And if one is missing, blow them a kiss and keep on walking. The smooth plain might appear far away, but is often closer than it seems.