Crazy as a Loom

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

The rain can stay.

It has rained all day, and is still raining.  It is somehow very soothing to me.
DH made spagetti today, and we are both struggling with it.  Not that we don't love it, and not that he doesn't make the best sauce around, but Eddie loved his spagetti so much, that we jokingly called him
'Spagetti Eddie'.  He sucked the strands of spagetti up, like a little kid.

As I stumble around, trying to be productive in some fashion, I find that this loss, of a dear friend, makes life suddenly seem all the more precious.
Have you ever noticed how that works?
When death comes a knocking at the door, no matter who it comes for, it snaps you into some heightened awareness of what was all around you anyway???  Things you took for granted.


A warm, comfy place to sleep.


That hot cuppa tea, that thick bagel, the sound of the chimes out on the porch, the way that rain wraps around everything.  Today I noticed it all, the sound of the loom, the color of the fabric, the feeling of safety and comfort, it wasn't just routine.   Everything was amplified, exaggerated, intense.

One of the things I did today, was prepare fabric for a rug.
Sometimes, when I have a container of scrappy material, hodge podge, it is easier to roll the fabric up, two colors to each roll, cut thin.  Otherwise,  I would be jumping up every time the shuttle was empty, looking for the next color.


I allowed myself to do everything at a slower pace.  No hurry.  No pressure.
I can't take either right now.

I enjoyed weaving this runner, 28"x84", not for any reason, but just because I wanted to keep going, and use up all the fabric I had rolled up.

These are two that L wove, and left on the loom because (she says) I TOLD her to do something else.
Actually, that might just be quite true.
But aren't they nice?
Forest floor, in the Walking on Sunshine style.


You know I love to weave, right?  Rag rug weaving fits me so well, I am sometimes not sure if I am in awe, or scared to death.
Weaving makes sense to me.  It is orderly and predictable, when life is not.  It is color and texture that makes my heart sing just about every time I sit down to throw the shuttle.
And right now, I am homing in to what I love with a neediness I don't usually have.
But that's ok.
Cause I'm being nicer to myself today.


I love the comment that this grief is the price for all the love Eddie gave......well, then.....I guess I'll just have to pay up then, won't I?


14 comments:

Snappy Di said...

Still paying up here too. :-(

Di

Country Girl said...

I like very much that you are being good to yourself. Take care, and know I'm thinking of you in your loss.

misha said...

Hmmm, I like that comment....
I have a friend who, after their dear pup passed, would never, ever let her family get another one. I always felt that was so selfish-for everyone. The family and the "maybe pup".

I hate the loss that comes with our *kids* when they leave us. But, oh the joy they bring...

I loved Eddie through your eyes. Thank you.
xo, misha

texwisgirl said...

it is the hardest part of pet parenthood...

A Brit in Tennessee said...

Eddie will forever be a part of your heart, that's how our fur babies effect us, always close by, always in our thoughts.
I'm happy to hear your weaving again, going through the motions at least, it will help to keep busy.
I know we all loved Eddie...
Hugs,
~Jo

ain't for city gals said...

I always think of the George Straight (sp?) song..."I could have missed the pain but I would have missed the dance" I don't think any of us would miss the dance with our furry friends.

Karen said...

Love your description of the rain wrap and wind chimes and warm cozy place. I met a neighbor today who (blew me away, this piece of information) was evicted from her home a while back. Lived without power or heat this Spring. Good God. She is renting a room, along with her two beagles, from a kind person who took her in. She is 79. I wish for her what we have today. What you described.

Cat Soup said...

Ah, I am sorry for you loss and know your sadness. Who says they are not children?

missing moments said...

That is a wonderful comment ~grief is the price for all that love~ ..... I like that you are being kind to yourself ... that is a must. Hugs coming your way.

Sally said...

I'm sorry for your loss.

Take care.

Deb said...

I remember sitting on my old aunt's porch one night and I said "Penny for your thoughts" and she just smiled without looking at me and said "just thinking of all the animals I have loved." I'll never forget that. That will be us someday.

Stickhorsecowgirls said...

It seems that women especially have always found solace in using their hands to create and make sense of things. I love the idea of using scraps and bits and pieces to create something lovely and useful. When life doesn't make sense and things seem to be falling apart, you can knit, weave, piece textile together to make something whole and beautiful. I love to hook with wool to soothe myself.
Glad you are taking care of yourself. When I lost my beloved terrier, Wendy, a year and half ago, I had some dark days. I will always miss her, but the rescue dog I got a few months later, "needed" me desperately--she had been in a cage for almost 2 yrs. She's had some issues, but things are looking up!

Lesley said...

I am so sorry to hear about your loss. I have had Old English sheepdogs. My current big boy is 6 years old. The one before him was 13-1/2 when he passed. It was more than 2 years before we got another. Our 'babies' all have unique personalities and you never forget them.

You have fond memories of Eddie and they will sustain you. God bless!

MarthaVA said...

It's ok to grieve. It's ok to mourn the loss. Eddie will always be in your heart. Think of the great life you gave him, and what he gave you in return as his thanks. It is never easy. Being good to yourself is always important. Life IS too short. The loss is always an eye opener to how we should LIVE our lives, not just wander through.........it's good that weaving is what you were meant to do and you found it in your lifetime. Enjoying what you do means you'll never "work" a day in your life. Don't remember who said it, but it's SO true. Hang in there. (((HUGS)))
Martha

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