sneaky

a sense of Sunday morning freedom (D.H. Lawrence)
 
In my ongoing D&O (declutter & organize) mode, there are things I haven't thought about or noticed for years: a notebook from Rome given to me 25 years ago; and another of Elvira's yarn creations - the blanket she considered a masterpiece of color and perfection.

Looking at it closely reveals that in all the hundreds of humble granny squares, no two are alike and much thought went into each one.

She must have stashed tons of yarns (some of it from me), but when she died and we cleared out the house, I found only one set of knitting needles (my grandmother's), one crochet hook, an afghan needle, and a small tightly wound ball of maroon tweed yarn that I remembered from a childhood sweater I hated. I guess when it came to yarn she frugally used up every last bit. Another proof of how different we were.
 
earth angel
In 1986, in the notebook, I wrote these words on the first page:

imagine it's the year 2010. An old lady is in her kitchen baking bread; she's wearing socks, baggy jeans, an apron, singing a tune from her youth, earth Angel, earth angel, will you be mi-ine...my darling, dearest, love me all the ti-ime..." she stops, pretends a young man enters the room, they embrace and dance the fish together. Another youth enters, sits down at the table, and asks, "oh, ancient one, tell us about sock hops and Howdy Doody".

Pablo Neruda once wrote: "It is dangerous to wander backward, for all of a sudden the past turns into a prison".

For me it seems the opposite is true. There is a faint and inexplicable liberation sneaking in. I'll share a bit more of it in my next posting, as it's too long to add here. And of course I only speak for me. No one else is entitled to define my past or the specific inner world it encompasses. It merely requires a bit of fearlessness.