A
handmade quilt with multiple squares, colorful fabrics and creative
designs: This is the way I see my life. Maybe you have a similar
image for yours
Often, we probably wish we could beam all our
energy onto only one, solid-color quilt. Instead, we have to manage
our time, to take care of all the fabric squares that make up our
lives. My
quilt includes squares for husband and family, writing, volunteer
work with children and teenagers, reading, attention-demanding cats,
cooking and, of course, impetuous gardening.
I'm
using a sewing metaphor here because it's the image I saw in my mind,
not because I am a seamstress. Anything beyond sewing on a button or
hemming a skirt is too much pressure. In my junior high home
economics class, my sewing teacher made a ceremony of presenting me
with my own personal seam ripper. “You're going to need this tool –
often – if you decide to take up a needle anywhere outside this
classroom,” she said. She was sort of smiling, but not too
sincerely.
This
week I've been resisting the urge to spend all my time in the garden,
clearing away the last of the wet leaves, celebrating the emerging
shoots of the perennial plants for a new season, clipping the dead
stalks I didn't get to last fall, and just finding joy in the brisk
air and late winter sunshine. But I have more quilt squares to attend
to, the most complex of which is preparing for an upcoming home
improvement project in our kitchen and bathrooms.
Most
of the work will be done by professionals, but my husband, Lee, with
help from our son-in-law and our son, is doing all the painting and
most of the demolition work. This involves a sledge hammer, pry bar,
and aching muscles. My job is to box up everything in our kitchen and
bathrooms. I've packed and labeled fourteen boxes from the kitchen
and have at least that many to go – not including the essential
dinnerware, utensils, canned and dry goods we'll need during the
temporary exile into the dining room.
So
I settled on a plan for the week: Spent all afternoon last Friday,
Saturday and Sunday in the garden; on Monday did a big honkin' load
of cooking and freezing homemade meals for our dinners while the
kitchen is off limits; on Tuesday wrote my column, made a special
dinner, and welcomed our son's visit from Seattle; spent time with my
toddler granddaughter Wednesday morning, then packed more kitchen
boxes before leading two youth groups at church that night; did
laundry and more packing Thursday and Friday, and then finished the
week with the reward of another day in the garden.
Cups
of tea and chapters of books are always the colorful stitches that
connect the squares of my quilt. Every afternoon I eat a light lunch
and spend half an hour, finishing my tea and reading at least one
chapter of my current “living room book.” Do other readers also
have books they read in company and books they read before bedtime?
I've kept the pattern of two books going simultaneously for decades,
and can switch easily between the plots and writing styles. Without
the comforting routine of tea and fiction, and my week's action plan,
my life's quilt would quickly have started to fray and fade.
BadKitten
for President update: A recent blog post noted my Maine coon
cat's decision to bow to public acclaim and become a national
presidential candidate. But since then, I've sensed Benjamin's
reluctance to get off his ample hind end and plunge into the frenzied
world of donors, speeches, meet-and-greets, debates and interviews.
He suffered a setback early on, when his best shot at a high-dollar
donation fizzled. My husband did not think a contribution to the “A
Bird in Every Tummy! Vote BadKitten” super PAC would be a prudent
financial investment. So, without the prospect of big bucks, my
favorite long-tailed, non-politician is considering suspending his
(nonexistent) campaign to spend more time with his family. On hearing
that, Lee is considering opening his wallet. A traveling BadKitten
means an absent BadKitten.
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