This was the week that I was going to begin drafting my Sunday newsletter earlier in the week. and then This wasn’t that week.
Instead, I’ve been scattered and I’ve been working something out with my husband (i.e. we had a prolonged disagreement, resolved now, but my mood dove for a couple of days), and I’ve been deciding to let the Duolingo go for now instead of reassuring myself by spending 10 or 15 minutes grabbing 2x points before 9 in the morning so that I could grab another 2x after 6 in the evening . . . even though I’ve already topped out in the two languages I was most interested in reinforcing there and have become quite bored with the repetitive drills that have been happening at the “Legendary” level. . .
(Yes, for the curious, I’ve ignored Duo’s exhortations not to lose my Streak Freeze and his warnings that I’m dropping out of the Diamond Zone for the better part of this week. This, despite the fact that I renewed my year’s paid subscription in December, and some active Inner Boss is adding to Duo’s messages my own concern about wasting money. To which I draw from my limited lexicon of business/finance discourse to say that it’s too late, it’s already a “sunk cost” — to which I don’t want to be adding the cost of lost opportunity. . . . )
I’ve been flapping a bit, in other words. Maybe more than a bit. I am sticking to my 7000-10000 steps daily goal, because getting outside and moving is good for endorphins, for grounding, for allowing thoughts to wander. To facilitate the wandering of those thoughts, I’m listening less to my language podcasts while walking. I’m still ticking all the boxes in my Fitness App, doing my two half-four strength workouts weekly, getting my 7-9 hours sleep nightly (not sure how the insomnia got chased away, and I’m trying not to look anxiously over my shoulder to see where it’s lurking), and drinking my 2 to 3 litres of water daily.
We’ve got a dog in the house for a few days, and we had two grandkids for a half day as well — These are also grounding items on the calendar, and almost certainly contribute to deeper, calmer breathing and lowered blood pressure. . . (especially when the Almost Ten and the Twelve let me read to them from a delightfully illustrated, sweetly simple book (Little Shrew by Akiko Miyakoshi which I couldn’t resist buying, in hardback, for myself, even if I always use grandkids for an excuse when shopping at Vancouver Kidsbooks. Neither link is a paid ad (I wish!), but if I can plug good publishing companies and good independent bookstores, I’m going to!).
See what I mean about scattered?
I’ve also been trying to work through a pile of needlework projects spread over our dining table since Christmas. . . So far, I’ve mended three pairs of my son-in-law’s handknit socks as well as a beautiful and expensive wool dress by Injiri I splurged on in Paris a few years ago, very fine woven woolen fabric, with ethnic embroidery whose colours I picked up to darn and embroider after the holes some very hungry moths-in-the-making left during our absence last year.
I’ve now worn that mended dress a few times and moved on to a second, costly, fine wool favourite dress (Very hungry and very busy those wriggly little future moths — prevention program has been stepped up!). Sometimes I can even see the surface of the secondhand, teak, mid-century, expandable table. So far, I’m holding back on expanding it, but imagine how much more space I’d have to spread out my projects.
Because there are also the little bunnies I’m knitting for three Grandkid birthdays that are speeding towards me.
I’d make faster progress on these if I hadn’t seen this pattern and decided it was a must-make. . . and that happened during the weekend I was back in the neighbourhood of my all-time favourite Local Yarn Store (shout-out: Mad About Ewe! I miss you!). So now I’m almost finished the vest from shoulders to underarms, but the bunny that needs to go in the mail by the end of next week isn’t yet done. . .
I’m going to stop here for a minute to sort out (and justify) why it works to have several needlework projects on the go at once (despite the visual appearance of a nearly-buried dining room table in a two-bedroom condo. .
.Because I think there’s something interesting going on with the two different types of activities. Following the intricate pattern for the bunnies requires a certain kind of concentration — there are different stitches, increases, decreases, short rows, picking up stitches to knit ears and tails. Great for distraction from problems in the world or problems in our homes or communities. Not so great for knitting while watching Yellowstone. The same goes for embroidering golden-green fern leaves over moth holes on fine grey wool, although here it’s less about the “getting it right” (because I’m inventing and free-wheeling the fern design) than it is about needing good light and a good working surface.
The stocking stitch in the round section (the major part) of the Library Card Vest? Made for knitting on the couch so that I can share an episode or two of a favourite series with my husband and still feel productive. Still nurture creativity. And also experience the calming effect of knitting’s meditative mechanical integration of mind and body.
I welcome the distraction of an activity that demands focused concentration, and I welcome the calming effect of mechanical or formulaic productivity so much, these days. I’m so grateful to have a variety of formulaic and creative choices at hand, built-in, steadying discipline. And alongside that gratitude, I’ve been paring back choices, trying to sort out which activities begin to add stress rather than relieve it. Because, after all, there are only so many hours in a day, in a week, and I haven’t added a page to my sketchbook for too many of those days, and, you know, Something’s Gotta Give.
To repeat myself, I welcome distraction and calming formulaic productivity and disciplines that incorporate expressions of creativity. Because in the face of the current “news cycle,” I’m finding it far too easy to question the value of anything I do. Far too easy to feel overwhelmed, to feel helpless. But I’m 71, a mother, a grandmother; I’ve learned that carrying on is possible, that giving up isn’t an option, even if only because, having brought people into this world I feel an obligation to show them that life continues to be worth its struggles (even if I begin to doubt, at moments, that truth).
(Just realizing as I add photos to this post how healing it can be to wear handknit and oft-mended clothes, to recognize and enjoy the longevity of shoes and garments that protect and express us, day after day, year after year.)
Also, last week: An evening at a new-to-me Book Club, a rich, animated conversation about a book I’d read 40 years ago, then reread again for last week’s event and seen in a significantly different light.
I drove our new electric car (No! Not that electric car!) to a workout with my trainer, and managed to get it there and back without incident and it’s going to be okay. I can adjust to a car without Standard Transmission and stick-shift, to more digital and less analogue, to quiet driving and less fossil fuel emissions. Adjustments are possible, when they’re ultimately for the better. . . . I did almost forget to pay for parking, but remembered in time to run back, get out my phone, realize I needed to upgrade the app, but got that all done so that the car hadn’t been ticketed or towed by the time I got back to the meter. Whew!
I looked up from my breakfast (at a cleared spot on that cluttered dining table) Friday morning, looked through the glass doors, past the fountain on our terrace, to catch the flitting movement of a tiny bird. A bush tit? Unusual to see one solo. Aha, maybe a kinglet? Haven’t seen one since we left the island where I would often see skittering collections of golden-crowned kinglets pecking at seeds scattered onto the dirt road by a windy storm. More bobbing and flitting on the terrace, and the tiny featherball perched on a branch to face me, ruby flaring unmistakably from its crown. A ruby-crowned kinglet, I’ve never seen one before!
Then last night, my husband made a delicious meal (Tajine with chicken, preserved lemon, green olives) — having shopped carefully for Canadian ingredients where possible or imported from anywhere-but-you-know-where — and we spent a convivial evening with friends. . .
And now I’ve opened a conversation with you and I hope it will continue in the comments section below. I know some of you have had trouble commenting, so I had my husband try leaving a few words after a post. He had trouble too, at first. He could enter his comment, but then we couldn’t see a button to click to “Post” that comment. UNTIL, he tried clicking on the small circular icon to the left of his name, and then the Reply button popped up, and the comment was published. I’d be so pleased if some of you try this and it works!
I’d be keen to know what you’re doing to stay grounded these days, to feel that life is still worth living, perhaps to feel that you’re helping to make a difference. The changes that we’re experiencing right now are unprecedented within my 71 years, certainly, at least from a North American perspective. Yet there are constants — change itself is a constant, of course. And an important constant is the power of community. Thank you for being here, and thanks to any of you who help build community here by leaving a comment, even if it’s just a wave this Sunday morning in mid-February, 2025.
xo,
f
