"thirty was so strange for me.
i've really had to come to terms
with the fact that i am now
a walking and talking adult."
i remember feeling just so. as c.s. lewis did at thirty. i wonder how he felt at forty? at fifty? having just turned forty-eight a few days ago, time has intruded upon my thoughts once again. though this time, in a different manner. i've been thinking lately how i have forgotten how to manage my time. for years i have worked between 70 and 80+ hours a week. this leaves little more than stolen moments to play with between work and sleep. now, for the past month, i've reduced my hours to simply 40 a week. i have so much spare time. but i have forgotten how to utilize it. i have found myself sitting on the couch more often than not. wasting my time doing little to nothing. oddly overwhelmed by the nothingness, really. so, yesterday, i decided i could no longer afford to do this anymore. i began to reclaim control...
i picked up needle and thread and began chanting this abandoned piece once more. adding soft blues and muted oranges by hand to the machine stitched bird. chanting butterfly trails to remind them where they have been. begun digging through small, wooden boxes and satcheled caches of ephemera in search of more to push the boundaries of this little cloth.
oh, i know i am unlikely to stick with this one cloth until it is finished. there are too many others now calling for my attention, and you know how i like to jump around as my creativity directs me. but, for now, this little bird has captured my attention once again.
at least, that is, during the cool morning hours until the sun begins to beat like a south african drum. luring me out into the shady recesses where i have stashed my old farm truck and my fingers begin to itch for the sensation of oil and grit...