Sleep my little baby-oh
Sleep until you waken
When you wake you’ll see the world
If I’m not mistaken…
Kiss a lover
Dance a measure,
Find your name
And buried treasure…
Face your life
Leave no path untaken.
(from The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman)
I can only just make out the scent of autumn in the air but it’s there, right along with its knitty siren call. As a belated birthday gift, I’m working on the first of a pair of fingerless wrist warmers. The second project is a baby blanket for an expectant mother.
I muse at the irony of my love of knitting —a skill, along with embroidery, that my seamstress mother declared she had no patience for. It requires a sort of sustained and mindful, sometimes even meditative, attention. This contrasts with the impatience that I exhibit when I attempt to work my way through a sewing project. Clearly our sensibilities around what constitutes patience vary greatly.
While I knit, I sometimes multitask. If the project is a simple one which allows my hands to do the work without engaging too much of my attention (a garter stitch or a simple rib pattern, for example), I am able to watch movies while I work on a project. When I work on more complicated things requiring focus and greater visual contact with the piece and the pattern, I tend to listen to audiobooks.
Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (together or separately) are favourites, in that regard. As my son will attest, I will listen to the books repeatedly (enjoying them immensely each and every time), while I work on my various pieces. The little poem up top is from Neil’s The Graveyard Book, which I adore. I found a rather aged post that mentioned it was being made into a stop motion film. That should be pretty fantastic.
I’ve been remiss with my posting. Partly it’s been because I became inordinately focused on a story I fondly refer to as my Telescope Girl story, but sadly it was a short-lived burst of enthusiasm. Mostly it’s because I’ve fallen into deep hibernation. Damn this lightless, dark and dreary (and let’s not forget wet) northern hemisphere.
My excessively romantic self sometimes thinks living in Scotland would be a cool and genial idea and then I think about how much I complain about the weather up here in the north american northwest and… seriously… what is she thinking that self-deluded part o’ mine?
I have been writing poetry, though, and posting the pieces to Facebook. Maybe I’ll back-post them here. Maybe.
So I’ve been cocooning. Hard. The sun has been out for part of the day, mostly due to blustery winds blowing all the rain clouds astray (try as the might to hang on to their little piece of sky). My son commented earlier that the big cedar in the back yard was looking an awful lot like the Whomping Willow, but it’s not nearly wispy enough, though it’s trying real hard at a proper impersonation, I’ll grant it that.
I’ve been conducting movie marathons. My son (who happens to be on spring break and is probably the only one of his entire senior year class that isn’t flying away to some exotic and/or warm destination – poor deprived kid) charitably called it “doing research” when I commented that I ought to be furiously writing instead of drowning in films. I thanked him for the assist in the reframe.
It’s becoming clear that I just need a guru of sorts to walk in and bend my ear (and maybe hold my hand… and give me hugs to prove that I am human, because I’ve all but lost touch with the physical world), provide koans to illicit some sort of action other than this lethargic and near paralyzing processing of things I’m not even capable of articulating. Too much, and more coming up like a bad dinner with a flu bug. (Apologies for the ghastly visual… well, not really, but I figure if you’re here and reading, you’re pretty much prepared for the worst anyway, right?)
Ugh… and I’ve been getting headaches. Intermittent, but persistent. Last week it was lower back pain that lasted for a week. Along with the intermittent headaches. I feel all around shitty, to be honest. And the weirdest fucking dreams I’ve had in a long time… some of which I forget so much of that I can’t even piece enough together to record any of it, but am just left this strange feeling of weird.
Tonight Amanda Palmer et al. will be at The Vogue Theatre downtown and I’d like to go, I really would, but it requires showering, and getting dressed, and getting change for the bus, and getting on the bus and the Skytrain, and walking around and being in a crowd of strange people and blasted with loud people and noises, and not feeling like a disembodied zombie… and I’m not sure I’m capable of that much at the moment.
Now if I could teleport, we’d be in business. But I’d really like to see them, especially since Neil will be there as well, and damn, he’s like at the head table of my Writing Gods & Great Influencers dais. I should go. We’ll see. Maybe a couple of thousand milligrams of vitamin D and lots more mega cups ‘o coffee later I might be up to it.
And it hailed too, during the whomping willow rendition, little minute flecks of hail. But there’s no snow and I suppose I’m doing better than THESE people (poor bastards).
But hey… I baked some chocolate brownies.
I can’t believe how quickly the weekend has flow by. I’ve not accomplished a whole lot, but I did manage to get one load of laundry in the washer just now, and the dishwasher loaded and started up. I’ve been rather unproductive… mostly sleeping a bunch and feeling tired and out of sorts… not really sick, but not really feeling all that good either.
I did manage to almost finish up my Colors of India postcard piece… a bit more to do on the two top right ones and I think I’m ready to cut them up and finish them up individually… may stick some other things onto some of them… we’ll see.
Gabriel and I did do some silly, slightly demented things… like watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail this afternoon, and drop in on the comic book store yesterday. I picked up Y The Last Man‘s two first books (they’re pretty dang good) and Neil Gaiman’s Midnight Days… absolutely loved the “Hold Me” segment, which featured John Constantine (amongst other characters from Gaiman’s Sandman series) and was drawn by Dave McKean, whose pen work is simply magnificent… I love his squiggles… they do something for me… and the story, well… it really did something for me as well… amazing what wonders simply being held does for the soul.