Weaving

It's cold here, though not as cold as it is for some of you.

You can still see idiot tourists in flip flops and t-shirts trying to look cool,

but looking ridiculous. 

I'm hunkered down in the studio, loving my floors, and my cleaned up space,

and playing with materials that have sat around for ages.

I'm also avoiding chores I just don't feel like doing,

and trying to get my studio mojo back like I once had. 

Back in the days when I had booths, or taught classes, I would work in the 

studio all day and into the wee hours for weeks on end. 

Now? eh...

I seem to hop around between the purge saga, daily chores and 

napping...lots of napping. Walter has taken to sleeping along my side and hip

 while I nap on the couch. I'm pretty sure it is messing up my shoulder,

but he is soooo happy there.

Tonight he kept me company in the studio,

 while I rewatched Guess Who's Coming To Dinner for the ? time,

I wove this little basket. 

Now it is 1 am and I am wide awake and have screwed

up my sleep once more.

Doesn't help that today will be 24 years since my dad died.

My brother and SIL had left the hospital for the night,

 and I crawled up beside him in the bed 

where he had lain unconscious for nearly a day. 

I told him it was just the two of us alone now,

and he could go.

He never took another breath, and I felt his spirit, 

his soul, leave the room. 

The nurses told me it was not my imagination.

They had witnessed it themselves many times.

 

DJR was my rock, my one true certainty in the world.

I thought I had found it in one other person in my life,

but it was not true. He was not true.

I'm 70 years old and still wish I had my dad to turn to;

to help with hard choices, to gather wisdom and advice,

and to hear once more all the lame dad jokes.

Wow, I'm all over the place tonight...

"Walter, it's time for bed."

Z