We've had some heavy stuff going on in our Families of Origin.
Death. Birth. A very serious diagnosis and upcoming surgery. All in the last three weeks.
The kids and I have been out of town three weeks of the past four. Ryan is at a significant crossroad in his career. I'm at the peak of training for marathon #4. After a five-year hiatus, PMS has returned with a vengeance. Our cat is puking blood. The truck won't start.
There have been moments of bliss, but mostly Ryan and I feel like we're riding a roller coaster in the middle of a tornado.
Last week while I was chugging away at my sewing machine, I probably should have been doing something else (like sleeping). The same questions kept nagging: "With all the stuff going on around you, why are you sewing? Why are you posting pictures on a blog? Why does this matter?"
Those other things are beyond my control.
I can't keep our families healthy. Or predict that phone call that will change everything. I can't shorten labor. Or find Ryan's dream job. I can't fix Ryan's truck. (And apparently neither can anyone else.)
Like running, sewing is my escape. It's something I can control. A + B = C. It's tedious at times, but mostly the effort expended yields proportional results.
The instructions are written and (hopefully) easy to follow. If I complete the steps, there should be a wearable result.
There will be failures, but they are easy to remedy. If not, it's easy to move on.
When I'm speechless from confusion, grief, and fear, there is one thing that doesn't require words. I don't have to find a babysitter or put on a jacket. I can tune out the world and focus on the thread at my fingertips.
I've got everything I need to get away -- right here in my dining room.
So, I sew.