My house is a disaster. Boxes stacked to the ceiling in the dining room, awaiting disposition, lurk like quiet trolls. Furniture that was once filled to overflowing with books, knick-knacks, and "stuff" that didn't have some more appropriate home is bare (mostly), waiting for the guys from the auction to come and pick it up this coming Tuesday. For the last several days, I fill boxes, pick them up, move them to a spot, and then move them back to a different spot. As I go through stuff, my heart sinks because I know I'll have to go through it again, and maybe again.
It seems cold and heartless to clear out Dad's stuff, as though somehow symbolically I'm consigning him to trash, Goodwill, auction and garage sale. I think if he were here, he'd shake his head in disgust, and say "just get rid of it." And in fact I may be letting emotion cloud good sense. But that doesn't make it feel less cold, less heartless.
I did finally get down to the fiber room a couple of times this week. The first time was to unearth the boxes of pottery that "auction guy" was supposed to take with him; that worked out to be a bust, but at least moving the boxes allowed me to get a little better handle on how to put them back so that I have room to actually get to my blocking board table. The second time I got down there, I carded a lot of t'awesome batts. My favorite LYS owner bought a bunch of them (actually we traded for part of the tuition for the upcoming beginning weaving class I've been wanting to take and haven't had time to take). The rest are sitting happily in their storage drawer, awaiting their fate. At least they're quiet, and they don't eat anything or gestate (like the packed boxes seem to be doing).
I've really been struggling with getting back into the zen of spinning. I think part of it is because I used to sit after dinner and spin while Dad was watching TV. He'd sit watching for a while, and then sit and watch me spin. A few days before he died, just after we brought him home from the hospital, he commented to my daughter-in-law "well, now we can get back to normal . . . Eva can get back to her spinning." And now . . . I'm just not feeling it. I did spin up a little fiber snack that AnnaMarie included with a CHF fiber order, and I was able to get into it in the moment, but don't feel the enthusiasm I did before Dad died.
Part of the grieving process, I suppose.
I'd like to believe that once the stuff that has to go is cleared out, and I can redistribute furniture and arrange to suit me for as long as I'm here, I may feel more enthusiasm for spinning. I'd also like to believe that if I start knitting again, instead of just piling up yarn, I may have more enthusiasm for spinning.
I've been stuck with my knitting, too. I've been working on a lace-like scarf for several months now, off and on; it's been the quick and easy project I worked on during Dad's doctor visits, and while he was in the hospital the last couple of times. It got put on hold during the rounds of knitting baby stuff, and it's one of two UFOs that really need finishing. I worked on it quite a bit last night (watching "Conspiracy Theory"), and it's pretty close to done. Maybe if I can muscle through, focus on the scarf rather than memories of where I've been while knitting it, I can get it finished, washed and blocked (once flotsam and jetsam swim off my blocking table and go bother some other part of the room).
Or maybe I need a giant zap from Ursula, to break up the stuckness I'm experiencing. She can't be too far . . . Flotsam and Jetsam are everywhere in this house!
It seems cold and heartless to clear out Dad's stuff, as though somehow symbolically I'm consigning him to trash, Goodwill, auction and garage sale. I think if he were here, he'd shake his head in disgust, and say "just get rid of it." And in fact I may be letting emotion cloud good sense. But that doesn't make it feel less cold, less heartless.
I did finally get down to the fiber room a couple of times this week. The first time was to unearth the boxes of pottery that "auction guy" was supposed to take with him; that worked out to be a bust, but at least moving the boxes allowed me to get a little better handle on how to put them back so that I have room to actually get to my blocking board table. The second time I got down there, I carded a lot of t'awesome batts. My favorite LYS owner bought a bunch of them (actually we traded for part of the tuition for the upcoming beginning weaving class I've been wanting to take and haven't had time to take). The rest are sitting happily in their storage drawer, awaiting their fate. At least they're quiet, and they don't eat anything or gestate (like the packed boxes seem to be doing).
I've really been struggling with getting back into the zen of spinning. I think part of it is because I used to sit after dinner and spin while Dad was watching TV. He'd sit watching for a while, and then sit and watch me spin. A few days before he died, just after we brought him home from the hospital, he commented to my daughter-in-law "well, now we can get back to normal . . . Eva can get back to her spinning." And now . . . I'm just not feeling it. I did spin up a little fiber snack that AnnaMarie included with a CHF fiber order, and I was able to get into it in the moment, but don't feel the enthusiasm I did before Dad died.
Part of the grieving process, I suppose.
I'd like to believe that once the stuff that has to go is cleared out, and I can redistribute furniture and arrange to suit me for as long as I'm here, I may feel more enthusiasm for spinning. I'd also like to believe that if I start knitting again, instead of just piling up yarn, I may have more enthusiasm for spinning.
I've been stuck with my knitting, too. I've been working on a lace-like scarf for several months now, off and on; it's been the quick and easy project I worked on during Dad's doctor visits, and while he was in the hospital the last couple of times. It got put on hold during the rounds of knitting baby stuff, and it's one of two UFOs that really need finishing. I worked on it quite a bit last night (watching "Conspiracy Theory"), and it's pretty close to done. Maybe if I can muscle through, focus on the scarf rather than memories of where I've been while knitting it, I can get it finished, washed and blocked (once flotsam and jetsam swim off my blocking table and go bother some other part of the room).
Or maybe I need a giant zap from Ursula, to break up the stuckness I'm experiencing. She can't be too far . . . Flotsam and Jetsam are everywhere in this house!
No comments:
Post a Comment