Couple of thoughts.

I seem to be in a "once a week" blogging mode.  It's by no design, just the way it happens.

And I seem to be busy every day, but not in the way I use to be.

There was a time, when my mind was bent on production, and my 9-4 days at the studio were scripted with what I had to get done.  It was nothing for me to come here and weave 6 or 7 rugs in a day.  Then there were loopers to sort, pack, ship, jeans to cut, sew, and a myriad of other jobs that kept L and me jumping.
Those days are gone, and while it was a shocker at first, I can't say that I miss them.

I love living here.   I know I've said that.   But I can't help but say it now and again.

I get up and there is no rush to get out the door and get to work.  Funny, how just being here has changed that.  My early morning, after feeding the cats and letting Roy out, is a cup of coffee, and daily word search online, checking my mail, and starting the NY Times crossword, which I will finish later in the day.  The sun comes up and fills the living room with light.  Right now, the pellet stove is keeping it toasty, and Roy has curled up in his chair again.   Usually there is a cat or two here, one on the couch with me, the other by the stove.
Life is just easier now, the pace is slower, the feeling of being retired is tangible.  I suspect it has been there for awhile, but of course I would not allow myself to indulge.
How lovely that somehow I've gotten there.

The cats have adjusted to the loss of Kizzy.  It was interesting how his absence changed the dynamics.  I still sometimes see Syd out of the corner of my eye, and think it's him.  Jinksie still cries in the night on occasion.  But overall, they are o.k.   Sydney spends more time in the loft with Jinksie, and kind of mothers her, which makes me happy.

I spend my days differently now.  I have learned that weaving a little here, and a little there, is good for my neck, and thus my head.   Balance is the key.   No more weaving marathons.   I weave some, then I sew.   I take Roy for a long walk.  I do some outside work.  (Oh the horrors)  I read!!!!   Or I work on the crossword.  I bake.  Do laundry.  All those normal things.
When we didn't live here, I tried to do all those daily chores after dinner, after weaving and working all day.  No wonder I felt like I was on a treadmill.   I was, one of my own making.

It kind of amazes me how much it took to get me to readjust my thinking.  A head injury, three surgeries, a headache that has battered me for about 4 years now (who's counting?) a hip that didn't work for awhile, and is probably just simmering and waiting for a hip replacement.    Good grief.

Rigid.  I used to dislike it in my mother, being rigid.  But apparently the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

I will say that I am learning, if slowly, certainly SURELY.
My headache keeps me honest, faithful to the cause of 'doing' less, 'being' more.
If I stay on track, it gives me respite, if I don't, it makes me pay.

I am pondering the idea that it's exactly the way it was meant to be.

That's a kicker, right?