September 20th, 2010

I like to write... little dribbles of words that stream out,
sometimes on paper or screen, most times not...

I like to play with colour and paint on my walls, and window coverings, and funky frames, and then I don't take the time to pull all of it together into the big imagined end product, because... I'm not entirely sure why... (I'll have to think on this some more...)

As to what I call myself?  Depends on the audience. 
Usually I call myself "me", and leave it at that.  :)

http://www.sweetsalty.com/sweetsalty/2010/9/20/in-which-i-give-away-a-fresh-copy-of-the-new-shutter-sisters.html

I wrote these words in a comment on another blog, and I have been thinking about them rather a lot since then.  (You know, during the quiet(er) moments when there are no screaming children or meowling cats or barking dogs, or laundry or dishes or groceries to fetch, or wedding parties or baptisms or long distance travels to visit all sorts of crazy family.)

I have projects.  Lots of projects.  Most of them in some stage of creation or other.  Most of them in boxes.  And I wonder why I don't finish these projects.

* * * * * * *

January 4, 2011

Fast forward almost four months, to today.  I am sitting here, alone - ALONE!! - in my house for the first time in almost three weeks, and I know why I have projects that sit in boxes and bags, and draped across my ironing board for completion, and why my sewing machine is parked on the floor beside my computer desk, parked in my kitchen.  I am constantly awash in a pounding, swirling blizzard of children and love and friends and pets and laughter and tears and shouts and jubilation and celebration...  You know, family.  All of this love that must be handled and shown immediately, given continuously, to these little people that I am responsible for.  The time that must be taken to show other family, slightly more distant, that we care enough to take time from the crazy that is life to show up to an event, or to just show up to share time and space. 

I will have more and more time available to me for projects, especially as a space with a door that locks is created in the as-yet unfinished basement of our home.  Space in which I can spread out, and leave the work in progress to sit idly by during the times when I can't - I won't - leave my children, those most important works in progress, to sit idly by, waiting, needing... 

... and I'm very OK with this, today, almost four months later... 

I still call myself "me", but the "mother" part of "me" is dominant and strong, and I remember to cherish the fleeting nature of the prevalent need of my children for "mother".