carrying on

what's your therapy?
What do you do when you have to get through some difficulty? I tend to knit and write. On January 1st I challenged myself to finish one pair of socks a month. I cheated a little because some of the socks I finished had been started previously.

I always have several UFOs (unfinished objects) lurking. So as of today, in this 8th month of the year, there are eleven completed pairs. Not nearly enough for the Yuletide Show at end of November, and I'm seriously considering opting out this year. Not because I'd have to work up a larger inventory (true), but because I need a break from the crowds and chaos and three days of listening to Alvin and the Chipmonks and Gene Autry singing holiday tunes (and oh yes, there was Manheim Steamroller). Socks tend to move out of my life by word of mouth and I have several collectors who vie for the distinction of owning more than anyone else. I'll make the show decision at the end of this month when the invitation arrives. Things are still stormy rocky picky worrisome uncertain around here and last night's sunset was downright scary -- a camo sky that looked like trouble.

When I complained (I've started whining) to my 85 year old brother (recovering from a major three car accident that totaled three cars and from which he and his wife sustained minor injuries) he sent me this advice from 2,000 miles away:

1. take time to rest and recover
2. do not do it in the house
3. go for a walk or a car ride, or to a movie, or if nothing else, go shopping. But not in a food store.

This morning I walked in the park very early, met a friend yesterday for lunch, bought a bouquet of common flowers, and today took a brief nap. I don't nap, I fell asleep over the book I was reading -- a good one by John Berger, Here's Where We Meet (it wasn't the book's fault, he's a beautiful writer). Tonight? I don't know. Maybe I'll write till midnight at the kitchen table like last night. More poem drafts? Journaling? (spare me from my self-absorbances). Or the story that keeps asserting itself (I think it's a love story -- oh dear).  Maybe it will rain again. I love the sound of rain at night.

In the end, only three things matter:
how much you loved, how gently
you lived, and how gracefully you
let go of things not meant for you.
           Buddha