Tag: finite side of infinity

How I Think About Things Is Changing

Bedsheets

Every night he kicks, yanks, and tugs the sheet out on his corner, and every morning I tuck it back in. When I find myself getting grumpy about having to lift that heavy mattress with one hand while tucking the sheet back in with the other, I remind myself that One Day this could be one of the things I miss the most.

If I knew which one of us is going to die first, it would change everything.

But I don’t know . . . and that changes everything, too.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock

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For years, I’ve longed to close out each week by creating a collage on Sunday night. I can site a list of reasons that make this A Good Use of Time and A Worthwhile Endeavor . . . but I didn’t have magazines. Or I had magazines, but not enough to carry me through 52 collages. Or I didn’t have a book to do the collages in. Or I didn’t have time I thought I could spare for such frivolity.

I didn’t have.
I didn’t have.
I didn’t have.

Today, on Easter Sunday, I pick up a single magazine, a blank journal, and a glue stick and begin ripping words and images that whisper “choose me, choose me” then quick as a bunny commit them to the waiting page before I can tell myself all the reasons I shouldn’t actually do this.

It’s time to stop waiting for The Perfect Scenario so I can have The Perfect Life. My life is here. My life is now. My life is perfect in all its imperfections.

I Am Here . . . Even When I’m Not

I’d always heard that the older you get, the faster time flies.

It’s true.

2014 was the year I wanted days filled with making (stitching); marking (writing); moving (walking), and laughing (enough said). I assigned each a color: orange for making; aqua for marking; red for moving; and purple for laughing. I kept my journal in a big 8.5 x 11 sketchbook, one for each quarter. The paper was most excellent – no bleed through at all – but it was big and it was heavy.

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My haptic and visual tracker for 2014, a cloth called Evidence, is not yet finished. It’s big and bulky, and I’m using my sewing machine for a change. Maybe one day soon I’ll be home long enough to finish it. Fingers crossed.

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Last week, I came across a 1959 desk diary. Unused. Because it’s for the food industry, the first 50-100 pages are shiny, glossy pages filled with recipes. I love the look of this book – filled with possibilities. Love the pebbly texture of the red cover. Love the quote at the bottom of each page. Love wondering about the person who owned it . . . and didn’t use it after the first 3 days. I wonder if I could fit my do’s and done’s on just one wide-ruled page.

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Then I spied this little jewel, a 1955 diary from Westinghouse Electric Supply. It’s possible my father-in-law was given one of these, seeing as how he was an electrical contractor. I wish us all a life that’s far bigger than this space allows for documentation.

~~~~~~~~~

I seem almost obsessed with creating a tangible legacy, with leaving some track of my existence. The more I am away from writing and stitching, the smaller and more insignificant I feel. The more time I spend tending to others, the more I disappear. I dread dying and having my tombstone say “She helped a lot of people”, leaving my kids to wonder who I really was. And then again, maybe I overestimate their interest in me. I keep a journal – be it digital, written, or stitched – to prove to myself I’m here. You can just call me Kilroy.

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