Moriah has been keeping a Wooly Bear as a pet. We all know her as Pumpkin. Moriah is very excited about Pumpkin. We plan to keep her through hibernation and into her emerging as a moth. Anytime guests arrive, Moriah puts Pumpkin on display. She feeds her fresh grass and checks on her everyday. I also like Pumpkin. She is the perfect pet. When Moriah came down the stairs as if she were part of a funeral processional, I knew that the sorrow I sensed in the air could only mean that Pumpkin had died.
As Moriah grew closer my empathy turned to laughter as I saw her shiny red balloon wrapped in tape and lying limp and lifeless in a tissue-lined coffin. At the sign of the first tear, I knew that if I had even an ounce of compassion in my body I would have to use it and use it NOW. It was very difficult to hold back my laughter as I asked her if she wanted to say a few kind words about her balloon. She couldn’t do it. So I said a few.
It was a very red balloon that brought lots of laughter and lots of fun. It will be missed.
She wants a new, red balloon. She’s going to start over. I don’t know what she will do differently and I hope she enjoys the new one as much as the old.
A few days ago I deleted all of my craft blog bookmarks. This was the first time that it wasn’t difficult to do that. Reading those was a release for me. I also collected ideas and simply enjoyed looking at all of the things that people created with their hands. I rarely read a word they wrote. I only looked at the pictures. I also started a craft blog. I don’t really know why, but I did and I don’t think I’ll post anything on there any time soon. I don’t know why any of this has significance.
Around December of last year my sewing machine began to malfunction and eventually died. I borrowed one for a while, then we moved. I borrowed that same one again and it began to malfunction. I then borrowed another from a lady at church, but it needs a tune up. So, after that I heard that a family has a brand new one they don’t use and have never used. They let me borrow it. When I got it home I removed it from the box so I could familiarize myself with the machine. It took me about 10 minutes, but I finally realized that it didn’t have the pedal/power cord with it. I almost cried. If I weren’t tired of crying in response to thwarted sewing efforts, I would have. Instead I proclaimed, “I give up. I quit.” I don’t know what is going on, but for some time now any effort to be creative just doesn’t work for me. I’m tired of experimenting with alternatives that also do not work. I quit. I know that at some point in my life, I will be able to do it again, but apparently now is not the time.
I’m also going to go through all those boxes in the basement–the ones marked, “Andrea’s habit,” “Craft stuff,” “Crafting Supplies,”–and give it all away. I am not getting rid of fabric or the supplies I need to complete my children’s scrapbooks, but I need to let it all go. I don’t know why and I really don’t want to give it all away, but I don’t have room for it anymore. Not in my brain and not in my house. I have no idea how I will display creativity or maybe it will be dormant for a while, but there seems to be something that I need to let go.
I don’t make big spiritual connections to all things or most things in my life, but creativity is such a part of me I can’t help but wonder what the connection is. As hard as it is for me, I have to let it all go.