The months since Martin died have been hard. Thankfully, I have my friends. Friends that called me up a several times a week to talk about sailing or knitting or just talk. Friends that helped me to deal with the boat broker for the final delivery of Matsu. Friends that kept me sane and from sitting in a dark house for months on end.
Grief is a funny thing. Sometimes, life goes on as normal. Then there are little things that just don’t make sense. Some part of you recognize that something is off, but everything is in a grey fog and you can’t quite put your finger on it.
Fiber was one of those things. I couldn’t spin. I played with my Bosworth charkha for a bit. I spun and plied quite a bit of cotton and cotton/silk blend. But I wouldn’t spin on my wheel. I tried. I honestly tried. I tried everything in my stash, including some of my favorite fiber blends to spin. I tried everything but nothing felt right. I can’t explain it, but all the fibers flowing through my fingers felt coarse and lifeless. In retrospect, it made perfect sense. I felt that way about me.
Knitting? I would pick things up, knit a row or two, and lose my concentration, put it down, and not touch it again for weeks.
This isn’t to say that I didn’t indulge in fiber retail therapy. My friends are great with helping me with that. Have no fear. But, again, it meant partially started projects, and nothing completed.
I think I finally started out of my fog around the holidays. I grabbed a group of my sailing & knitting friends and had a knitting, gnoshing good time at the yacht club in front of the fireplace.
Next time, I’ll show you how lace saved my sanity.
In the meantime, let me leave you with this essay. It perfectly expresses my sentiment about a wonderful present I found outside my kitchen window. The babies have hatched. The parents are busy bringing bugs back to the nest. I can’t wait for them to fledge. I’ll have to lock the mighty huntress in the house when that happens.