This is the weekend of the Christmas in the Country tour, which I have participated in for the last 7 years, this would have been the 8th. But when they were collecting the money for the advertising, a little voice in my head said, "Are you serious?"
So, much to everyone's surprise, I opted out.
It felt very strange. But I did it anyway.
So fast forward to the actual weekend. I made some cookies, L vacuumed, and we hung the flag out.
She was weaving rugs, I was weaving on my dish towels. No pressure, no commitment. We were just OPEN. We did get out our funky sock garlands and hung them over the fireplace.
Friday, only one person stopped, and I was ok with that.
Yesterday, however, we got quite a few people and some decent sales. But most of all, everyone that stopped was go glad to "see me on my feet". Like I wouldn't be, right?
Whether they read my blog, or called the studio and L told them, or they just heard about it, they knew that I had brain surgery, and they were happy to see me still in operation, even if it is a little scaled back.
It was heartwarming.
But the best part of my day, and it may sound strange, was lunch.
L's best friend, J, had stopped by. I had made some of my fave sweet potato lentil soup, which
you can find here over at Two Peas and Their Pod.
I make it every chance I get during the winter, because it is so filling, and easy and warming.
Anyhow, as we were sitting down to our soup, a customer was ready to check out her goods.
I said, "Would you like to have soup with us?"
She asked, "What kind of soup?"
Her name was Kate, and she sat down and had soup with us like we had known her forever.
It was just the most spontaneous, life affirming moment, and I can't explain it better.
Somehow, in this world of craziness and cruelty to children and animals, of greed and political warfare, something as simple as having a 'perfect' stranger to lunch, was grand.
I am crazy, I know.
It was just so much nicer to me, to have the studio open, to feel relaxed and ok with it, not to have any pressure to 'create' anything special at all.
And it was just fine.
And today, I am not open at all. And that's fine.
It seems that I have lost the ability to remember things that I swear I will remember. Names in particular.
We are starting out with a fresh notebook on the desk, so that everyone who calls, or pops in, gets jotted down in it, to make me feel less inadequate.
This is my "new normal".
There is more to come. I just know it.