onto the next

I’ve been thinking about writing in here for some time but just couldn’t figure out the right subject.  Then when drawing up a printable coloring sheet to share online yesterday I realized something valuable.  Am I creating on demand or because I love to? So I tried something.  Looking at the incomplete picture I was dissatisfied with I challenged myself to continue drawing but as if I wasn’t going to share it. And that’s all it took. Completed it within minutes. It’s the same with words. I do not journal with a specific topic in mind and yet the pages just continue to turn, as words keep spilling onto them. Maybe I should ask what you are here to read or why you are here reading. Maybe we have a similar desire. Or at least something similar but from two different ends.  I with the words and moment to write to a friend and you, with a moment and a need to read what a friend has written. That makes such wonderful sense.  Purely simple.  And if you care to respond I welcome your responses in the comments below.  This could be a lovely friendship.  A creative space where we can toss words back and forth to each other.  But don’t fret if you’re just here to read.  I’m on a side where I could give and give all day and feel perfectly content that someone in enjoying and just receiving.  Never a thankless opportunity.  Just the thought of someone smiling while skimming my words warms my heart.  

But now with all that said I feel inspired to share.  I hope I have not bored you but instead drawn you in to sit with me for a spell. 

Thoughts are always running through my head.  Not jumbled but often confused to what order they should be in.  Ideas and plans.  Dreams and goals. And then all the chores and scheduled times planted in between.  The creative space in my mind never stops producing. I have a huge lovely pile of fiber, salvaged by a friend, that is pleading with me to be spun.  Have set upon myself the goal of spinning up 2 ounces of fiber each day.  This doesn’t sound like much and it really isn’t since the sum of 2 ounces creates one nice little cake of single ply yarn.  For me it’s one of the most pleasant things to complete a cake of hand spun yarn and hold it in my hands, close to my face, inhaling the sweet earthy smell of the animal that shared it with me… the scent is dominant and sweet.  Nothing like it. Naturally sourced, saved from discard, replenished by me with my wheel and treasured beyond thoughts.  What an accomplishment it feels like and yet it is done by many across the world and not just recently but for generations.  Guess that adds to the delight of it.  I’m carrying on this wonderful tradition without it even being one from my heritage.  Honestly I’m not certain what my heritage traditions are so adopting some that fix my heart feels just right.  

Knitting up a sweater pattern I found in one of my favorite creative reads.  Have you heard of Taproot magazine? They had a sweet yoke sweater knit in a wonderful deep blue color with the sea-type name “Washed-Ashore Pullover” attached to it. The pattern is a such a nice fit for me.  Well, I mean the idea of the pattern.  I haven’t actually completed it yet. I grew up in the coast town of Tillamook and love love love anything to do with nature so when I saw this, coupled with the fact that I’ve been practicing yoke sweaters, it was the perfect ‘fit’. And I hope it is a perfect fit to wear too. I’ll share pics when finished but for now it’s still on my needles … not in the deep blue … but rather in my hand spun natural fiber shades of cream to brown. The colors actually remind me of a childhood memory.  I’ll explain.

When I was growing up my parents were staff in our church youth group and my dad, with his truck driving experience, drove the bus for club trips.  One of these trips was an adventure, “the snow trip” as it was named, was a weekend away in cabins where a snow cat pulling tubes was the only transportation in from the bus. So cool really! Still a favorite destination of ours. But back to the source of the color.  On our travels every year to the camp we’d drive through a corridor of snow piled high on each side of the road… pushed there by snow plows and layered with rock and slush. It always reminded me of ice cream.  Like root beer float flavored or chocolate-vanilla maybe.  Big layers of creamy white ‘vanilla’ snow next to several thin layers of dark chocolatey ‘snow’ and so on creating in my childs’ eye ICE CREAM ! This image has stuck with me ever since.  So that is what the color of this fiber remind me of. This snowy ‘chocolatey/vanilla’ layered image of my childhood.  And now when I wear this sweater the memory will go on.  Kinda fun I think. 

A thought came profoundly to me today while walking my dog Abbi.  I love this thought. It’s actually more than a thought really. Social media has been a big part of my life over the past 3 years.  For several summers I’ve had the pleasure of vending my creations at a coastal farmers market. Then life changed a bit and it became more of an online based system; now coupled with my health business I’m on social media quite a bit.  Oh yes, and then 2020 happened lol.  So many things factoring into the online venue. The profound thought though brought me back to focus.  I realized my preferred day accomplishments aren’t in likes-shares-&responses but rather in how many wild animals & birds I see in my day AND what new plant growth there is AND what funny antics I’ll experience in my dog AND collecting all the hugs from my family AND seeing their smiles and contentment from my homemaking.  That’s where my day is.  

We should do this more often. It’s been great sharing with you. Maybe one day we can sit together and see each others faces and expressions and reactions to stories and experiences we share.  I’m envisioning a moment with a sigh of contentment attached. I will not end this with a ‘hope that your year goes well’ salutation (though I do hope so) but rather with a consideration that we will meet here more regularly and chat about whatever fancies us.  It’s been fun friend. Till next time.

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