This is the part where I feel compelled to apologize. Sorry, I am being obtuse, and for those who think otherwise, I could say, Sorry I'm 'oversharing' and 'obsessing.'
But. Really... screw that. I've got forty-two problems, and justifying my existence and ways of coping, making myself invisible, will not be one of them.
I do need something. Something to make or do, or think about. Something to show at the end of the day, something that honors the goodness and inspiration that I love and treasure about Eunice, Grandmother.
Before leaving, last week, I'd brought home fabric, with the idea that I could make skirts for Maria. I didn't want to wrestle with a pattern. I wanted to take this "simple" notion in my head, which I was sure I could easily turn into a waistband-ed, buttoned, long, prairie-style skirt. I was eager and excited for my scheme, for the feeling, that I know can be fleeting, that this was going to be a sure thing, sewing success. As I was packing to fly to Oregon, setting aside the already laundered fabric, I knew I would have to be deliberate and purposeful if I was ever going to make anything of the pretty prints, because the muse that inspires successful sewing is fleeting, and "the real world" is pressing and insistent. I dreaded the idea that I would give up, miss the chance to enjoy testing my simple notion.
On the first seam, no less! Out came the seam ripper, my old, familiar friend. I was pretty sure I could engineer a pocket, and even scanned through an online tutorial on adding pockets to skirts. I just love that confident, I'm being oh-so methodical and correct about this sensation, which so often visits me before I mess up. I closed the seam over the opening of the pocket which was hanging out like a floppy flap, wrong-side out. Don't ask me how I did this.
Should I add? Yes, I will... I have not had a single halloween candy. Not one. Not a fun-size, not a Smartie. Everyone here knows it, too, because I repeat it often enough. Like, when I feel sad, "I've had no candy, at all." When faced with cat barf, featherless chicken antics, spam-phone calls, spilling tea all over myself... I declare it, again, "Not even a Kiss." I do not know what kind of sorry-ass badge of honor I think this merits, or why I have to share it. But there it is. Hmmm... perhaps I do 'overshare' and 'obsess.'
I still haven't had any candy. In a moment of weakness I put a Milky Way in the freezer, and a Snicker. That's a trick I learned from Handsome Eddie... chocolate bar in the freezer. I was seven or eight when he took us into his garage, offered us frozen Snicker bars, and I marveled at the patience, the foresight to delay gratification, to wait for a treat to freeze, to trust it wouldn't be lost.