Would you look at the cobwebs in this place?! It has been so long since I have posted in this blog that the only way I could find it was to log into blogger and I was surprised to even remember which platform had been hosting my blog. There has been little to document here because my needles have been dormant. Creativity can not thrive in an environment filled with stress, uncertainty and ill health.
So, what has happened in the past two and a half years? Lemme see......The date of the last entry was June 2022 so I would have still been living in Ottawa at that time and in the depths of pandemic mania. Everyone else seemed to be working from home, nurturing sour dough and kombucha, and I was drowning in pharmacy pandemic related craziness and about to suddenly lose my beloved Labrador, Maggie. Her loss was unexpected and set me back on my heels in a way that, to this day, I could not have foreseen the heartbreak that still lingers. A few months later came news that we would likely be moving back to Nova Scotia which was what I wanted, but was difficult for many other reasons. We moved in July 2023 and I took an extended break from working because I was so broken emotionally and physically from dealing with the pandemic as a health care worker, the relationship my partner has with alcohol, and several life events that happened in recent years.
Through most of my life, crafting has been my saving grace. The rhythm of the thread and needle through the even weave fabric as I cross stitched was my version of meditation for hours on end. My mind would still as the stitching allowed me to process my stresses and worries. This time though, my mind was so broken that I could not concentrate enough to pick up the needle and thread to create. I found no joy and calm at the thought of putting together threads and stitches to see a picture come together under my fingers. I tried to spark the urge by joining crafting groups, but the ability to lose an evening or a whole weekend to stitching was gone. Can you imagine being able to walk by the door to a craft supply store and not go in? To not be interested in going in? Yeah, I would never have described myself as being like that until these past few years.
I reached a tipping point recently. I was in constant physical pain because of hip and shoulder issues, feeling burnout coming on again (not that it had really left yet) and my partner was hitting rock bottom in his alcohol abuse. My life was falling apart on all levels and I was numb to it all until the death of a friend shook me awake. I said no to the disaster that was my relationship with my partner and I said no to the crappy way that I had been treating myself.
This is not a self help blog so I am not going to detail my long walks with the dogs where I contemplate the beautiful Christmas lights around town, the introductory books on Buddhism that I have on loan from the library that are opening my mind to a different way of thinking or the time spent deep cleaning my house this weekend in anticipation of an upcoming staff Christmas party after ours was postponed earlier this month thanks to a snowstorm. Nope, let's talk about the creating.
The annual Christmas ornaments are still on the dining room table because the Canada Post strike has delayed my usual last minute mail out. Getting those done was painful. I stitched out of self-imposed obligation. I make ornaments every year; therefore, I had to get them done. Delays happened because of exhaustion and lack of motivation. My mom had a minor stroke a few weeks ago which necessitated me rushing home to her to help out for a few days. They are beautiful despite their making while my spirit was flat and my morale was low. I fought through to get the stitching done and then hauled out all of the supplies to finish them. There was something healing about seeing so many of my crafting supplies around me, my tools in hand, iron on the ironing board and finished pieces piling up.
Two days ago, I dug out a sock knitting kit that I picked up one of the times I could not walk by a craft supply shop. I am unsure how long I have had this kit or how many times I have moved it from house to house in recent years, but I dug it out after our dog ate toe off one of my handknit wool socks that my mom had gifted me years ago. What better way to spend a cold winter's evening than knitting a wool sock? Well, or at least trying to figure just what the heck to do with all these double pointed needles that have a mind of their own and seem to go off in all directions despite my clumsy attempts to neatly knit with them.
I choose to challenge myself.
I choose to craft.
I choose me.
