Archive for June, 2010
Finally pulled the sewing machine down from the attic. Blew off the dust, untangled the cord. I had a couple of old sundresses with broken straps or missing buttons. They’re both a bit too small and the repair work would have been tricky on at least one. At first, I debated making baby dresses but realized that the fabric in the skirts would be plenty for making new cami/tank tops–the fabrics are actually perfect for work if I can remake them into sleeveless tops.
That sounds great, but after cutting and measuring and pleating some nice tucks into the neckline, I realized too late that I had pleated backwards, meaning they all came undone when I tried to sew the seam on the machine.
So, the next time I sit down, I’ll be re-pleating, re-pinning, and trying once more. And I’ll try to take some before & after shots, too. If it doesn’t work this time, oh well: I can still just scrap it all and make a few cute toddler tees!
I am diving deep into poems tonight–at the moment, William Stafford:
…Are you waiting / For time to show you some better thoughts?
If I had a dollar for every time I wanted to pause and write here, I would be a very rich woman.
Last weekend, I took a spur of the moment trip up to DC to visit with college friends I hadn’t seen in over four years. We’ve all moved on: half of us have married, I have a child, there was at least one advanced degree represented in our group, and three far-flung homestates. Texas, Iowa, and Virginia–all of us scattered from our Michigan college days. And yet? It felt like yesterday, like we were just picking up after a long weekend. Those kinds of friendships are the best.
My wee family just returned from an afternoon cookout with friends–our hosts’ parents were in town, and it was nice to spend an afternoon laughing around a dining room table, pausing after dinner to allow a little more room for dessert.. I miss having extended family nearby, so this week has been blessed with two “surrogate family” moments.
We are still busy–busier than ever, really. Our studio continues to grow, my “day job” keeps my hands full, and our house always needs one more day off. Ha. The morning glories are starting to take over the whole plot of daisies, and if I don’t get out there to pull the darn vine soon, it will be too late.
And my sweet Sofia? She is walking! I think that’s even new since the last post, but now a normal part of our day. And she demands my keys when we arrive home, and “asks” (points) to go out on the front porch and run around. Which means, I get to sit on the porch swing and watch her. It’s one of those moments I never knew to hope for, and a new favorite way to pass time in the evenings–especially when there’s a slight breeze, or a rainstorm.
As far as art or writing, they are on the backburner. It’s hard: I don’t want to settle, I don’t want to wake up in ten years and wonder why I never tried to write regularly. College friends have completed masters programs and are teaching; some have even completed drafts of novels and are looking for agents. I feel the need to defend my life, my time–and yet, in the back of my mind, I think, what if I woke up early and wrote a few pages each day? Last year, I tried (unsuccessfully) to participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) but didn’t make it more than a week, if that. And I feel terribly disappointed in myself. It’s just a month! But then, I can’t do everything, and I have a full-time, professional job! a family! a home! and a photography studio!
My hubby even asks how the raised-bed garden he built will possibly fit in our schedule; I’m being stubborn when I insist that it will. Frankly, I don’t know how long it will last, but I’m hopeful. Or just foolishly stubborn. In the mean time, stray bunnies have helped themselves to half the okra seedlings, all of the basil and who knows what else since I last looked. So maybe I’m just helping feed our neighborhood bunnies and we’ll try again next year.
So here I sit: my husband feeding my daughter in the other room (most nights, that’s my job), feet propped for a rare moment, writing here if nowhere else. And the bunnies are probably nibbling the arugula sprouts; but maybe that’s ok, maybe I can’t grow healthy arugula this year, maybe I need to grow my sweet daughter. Tonight, we were told we have “good parenting” by someone older, wiser. And I think for this season of my life, for this spring turning summer, that I’m ok with being called a good parent and a bad (or very, very novice) gardener. And for having a half dozen poems that are calling out for their companions to be born, for more words to make it to the page, for a draft of a manuscript to appear.
Maybe next season.