i'm waking up tired this morning. november is here and i'm anxious to get to the studio. get my hands into the fabrics. at this time of year, it's easy to have blinders to anything but the sewing. there is so much to make and the energy builds upon itself, ideas streaming from ideas. i've been making only quilts for the past month or more. and each one sneaks up on me. the beauty new and fresh every time. while i'm sewing, little things might bother me. but i keep going. sometimes i can think that the one i'm working with has too many imperfections...that i'll have to keep it for myself. but as i continue to build it and layer it and quilt it and edge it, the quilt has been born. and all the little quirks become it's beauty, giving it the warm breath of a fresh new creature. each one smiling at me and winning my heart.
i'll get edgar out for a quick tour along the lake before i head over. the ducks and geese will greet us. our enclave is such a lovely friendly little spot, that our migratory birds have changed their patterns, and they winter here with us. we feed them bread and corn, and they stay with us all year round.

when i was 4 years old my mother would sit with me at the kitchen table with a little red diary. the kind with a lock on the side. it was called a five year diary. each dated page was divided into 5 sections....a few lines for each year. she would disregard that aspect and fill the entire page in one sitting. it was my diary, she was just the scribe. she asked me to tell her about things i loved and how i felt. (the majority of the time i would say 'i feel like not sitting here doing this' and she would write that). she transcribed my childish pronunciation and funny words. she recorded what i said, word for word. she persevered. and preserved. and now, over 40 years later, the love of having my own notebook of thoughts and ideas and sketches is still very much alive. my mother's most profound gift to me, i believe.

the dreamy wonder of discovery. childhood and it's incomparable joy and light. but how is it that human nature dictates that our few short years of wonderment feel endless and tedious. i remember that feeling. as children we crave independence and strive to be bigger and have more fun. we want what is available to those who are just a little bit older. our quest is growth and strength. and yet we sit in those moments completely. loving the singularity of what we see. of how we play. of words and colors and movement and song. until we notice what the big kids have. and then we want that. and yet, paradoxically, we can barely fathom the concept of changing into that other wiser, more mature creature. of not being who we are in that moment, in that stage.
we move so quickly through a decade now. we collect them. but that first brief decade held the sweetest days that stretched forever. that we clutch to and allow to settle into us if we have that particular fortune. and yet those are the years that disappeared the most completely.

my books. they are a cradle for me. walls of them. towers of them. curving around my life. smiling at me. soothing me and motivating me. like a multi-dimensional ghost mother, holding my hand forever. my bookshelves hold almost everything i love. jewelry and cameras and shells and photos and all the little stories that only i recognize. all tucked in with the books.

i have just watched the sun scale the sky from moonless black, to gray, to streaks of pink and orange, to day. and there is frost on the rooftops. our first in six months or more. maybe that was why i couldn't sleep....feeling winter close in around me in an overnight fury. when edgar heard me tiptoe my way downstairs in the dark and curl in my favorite corner of the library, he unfolded his long legs from the couch in the living room to join me. i covered him with a quilt and he lifted his heavy warm head to my hand. he loves me to hold his head. i wrap my fingers behind his ear and feel his breath on my forearm. despite a few sleepless hours, it was pleasant nevertheless.
and now the day has begun. there is no leftover night in the sky. and the kettle is on the boil for tea and oatmeal.

this morning as i took a few seconds to blot on base and a quick brush of mascara, i saw my face in the mirror. and i realized in that moment that last night i dreamt my forehead was etched with deep creviced lines. heavily carved wrinkles. and this morning when i saw my face i was surprised at their absence, for i guess the shadow of the dream was still controlling my semi or sub conscious. my worries about crabby, my list of tasks and this sore throat that is sapping my energy, crept into my sleeping mind and created a physical representation of my worries. and now my fresh day gives a new perspective and smooths the lines.

edgar and stella are curled on the sofa, asleep and lightly snoring. happy and content. but my thoughts are troubled with questions about how to handle crabby's aging difficulties. last year about this time i posted crabby's story. and now we are beginning to seriously wonder and worry about her quality of life. i have never made a decision to put a pet 'out of it's misery' in this fashion. and i don't know that i will get there in this case either. but her struggles are becoming more evident. and harder for us to live with as well. we think she is deaf. and although we feed her premium cat food, we can't contain her foraging and garbage eating ways. her diahrea is becoming a real concern and problem now that the weather is growing colder and she's inside most of the time. the powders from the vet don't seem to be helping. i bathed her today. but her confused shrieks were so loud i couldn't finish. tomorrow i'll try again to get her clean and fresh, and maybe it will bring her contentment. oh crabby.....