I don’t know. Maybe she’s right.
Annie Dillard, in The Writing Life, says “how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour and that one is what we are doing.”
It was a hard week, with me unable to sleep one of the nights and in the wee hours, I tried reading until exhaustion. I tried the cup of hot chocolate in a darkened kitchen, looking out at the city lights in the distance. I tried going back to bed and pretending to sleep. I tried designing a quilt, for they are like putting together puzzles and couldn’t that make me sleepy?
I tried more reading until my brain couldn’t focus, then tears and exhaustion and the just worn-out-from tryingness slid me into slumber. I slept in until 9 a.m. when my husband, always the golden light in very dark hours, went with me on a short walk, but it was enough. It was a way to spend an hour that seemed a good way to spend a life. He talked to me about a difficult group meeting I’d had the night before, with hard realizations about my limitations. We talked through all the slights, the snubs, the hurts — the usual sort of stuff that happens when a group of 80 different women get together. We talked about who the true friends were. We walked and talked.
I spent the day in idleness, quiet. We had a simple lunch.
Then in the late light of the afternoon, I picked up this and sewed it together.
Then this. And then it was dinner. When I talked, my voice wavered. Speech can sometimes be too hard. Better to go back to the quiet of stitching. And of course there are always about fourteen things converging all at once: broken expectations of my place in an organization, lingering sorrows from family deaths, missing people who I love, failed assumptions and so on: a heady list. I’m sure you’ve been here. Bad days come for everyone.
In an article I wandered across, I found this comment:
“l’ve gradually come to believe grief is not an episodic event with a beginning and an end, but something indistinguishable from life itself. We may have a brief time in our youth where grief is not part of our daily lives. But otherwise, as humans, we eat, work, sleep and grieve. Grief is not something from which we recover, it’s not a mental illness. It’s as much a part of life as breathing. We are born, and ultimately, we spend our lives letting go. If we are fortunate, we will find moments of joy.”
I returned to myself the next day. I put on a novel and sewed, making space only for the creating, the stitching, the people in the book in my ears, the welcome interruptions from my husband, a simple meal. A luxury, for sure. And after a time, I arrived at this:
Blooming, New York Beauties Block Five. A happy ending of sorts, I think. That scrambled night still needs to be dealt with, as does grief, as do phone calls, and missing phone calls, and doctor appointments, and grocery shopping — all hours that may not make it into a novel, but are my life. The mellow light from this block eased me through a bump (or two) in the road, and I’m ready to go again.
Below are the photos, because by now, you know the drill for the freezer paper construction and if you don’t, scan through the rest of the posts.
I am still failing in many ways in my life, but I am also succeeding. Sometimes the hours spent look like sand slipping through my fingers. Other hours bring me this: intervals of joy.
Hope you find your happy moments this week–
Four colors in this background!
Discover more from OccasionalPiece--Quilt!
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
OccasionalPiece--Quilt! 
Your New York Beauty is looking “beautiful.” That is a part of life that no one prepared me for when I was growing up. LOL I don’t particularly like those times but I find that I can eventually get back to a productive pace and remember that this is a journey. I’m glad you got your ray of sunshine back!
Oh Elizabeth! I’m sorry for your sleeplessness and your sorrow. Don’t be too hard on yourself- you are certainly not failing at life! I hope there are more moments of joy in the coming days.
Oh Elizabeth! I’m sorry for your sleeplessness and your sorrow. Don’t be too hard on yourself- you are certainly not failing at life! I hope there are more moments of joy in the coming days.
Sleepless nights are beastly and frustrating. They really play with your emotions. I’m glad you were able to be so productive in spite of it. The sunny colors would elevate my mood! Those are fabulous.
Oh my goodness – is it in the air? This having to deal with people, those whom you considered friends – even family? And the misconstrued and assumed reasons for whatever happened, or was said? Walking on eggshells around them – and thinking that trying to explain would not get very far? I remember a wise leader who urged us to “just let it go”. Much easier said than done – but certainly worth the effort for me. Time doesn’t “heal all wounds”, but it often helps them scab over. Have a good and peaceful week.
There are many things about our culture that I don’t understand, and our denial that grief is ever present and something to be “gotten over” is one that baffles me enough to spend hours in contemplation. It sounds like you have a loving partner to walk with you through these times, and this time it sounds like sewing/quilting was a good balm (it varies for me, too). Sending you love.
The WordPress gods are not letting me in today. Here is my comment:Those sleepless nights are so hard. So is grief. An awareness of where we fall short is a signal of our progress toward who we want to be. I’m glad that the stitching is a balm to your soul. And the outcome a stunning quilt. Love to you.Susan
Oh, Elizabeth, I’m so sorry. I hate those sleepless nights when we are so vexed by something and can’t rest. Then the next day I am afraid to nap, that it will happen again. Yes, time doesn’t heal all wounds, just scabs. I am enjoying your beautiful New York Beauties and especially the yellow shades that add so much 🥰😻hugs!
May you be blessed with better days and sleepier nights my dear friend. Be gentle with yourself. Hugs.
May you be blessed with better days and sleepier nights my dear friend. Be gentle with yourself. Hugs.
so sorry for your sleepless night. I wish I wasn’t so familiar with that struggle. Weirdly I have found that just listening to Anthony Bourdain lulls me to sleep. (except the times when it makes me sadder.)
When it’s a period of loss and change I know it feels like forever. But I also try to think that if we had cared less it would hurt less. And we are just not “care less-ers” are we? {hugs}
It was just the best when I found out I could change my name every time. ❤️
What I noted in your experience was your identification of the “true friends”. They are the real gift and blessing of our lives, and if you can focus on them, maybe that can ease your sorrow. I have one really true friend of 35 years plus, and truly count her as a huge gift that I can never give enough thanks for. Thinking of you. Hugs from Colorado.
amen 🥰
I’m sorry you’ve been having such hard times. Your husband sounds lovely, and of course your quilt is delightful. May you have better times ahead.
Ceci
That man of yours is definitely a keeper!
Sometimes people can be cruel or mean and a lot of times we can deal with it and move on quite easily and the other times so many things may be going on in our lives that it all seems too much. Sending love your way as you work your way through that grief with grace in the time frame that is meant for you.
it has been a rough part of life for you lately, it sounds like. I am so sorry. My mantra has been “I may have to deal with it, but I don’t have to like it”! A good friend once told me, “we have friends for a reason, friends for a season, and friends of the heart”. When a season ends with a friend, it is painful. I am sending hugs and caring to you, my friend💝
it has been a rough part of life for you lately, it sounds like. I am so sorry. My mantra has been “I may have to deal with it, but I don’t have to like it”! A good friend once told me, “we have friends for a reason, friends for a season, and friends of the heart”. When a season ends with a friend, it is painful. I am sending hugs and caring to you, my friend💝
Elizabeth, I feel for you as I have been there also
Gentle hugs,
Angie
Ironic that I read this during my own middle-of-the-night anxiety hour. I feel the grief. I wonder frequently if life is just filled with sadness after a certain point. In just over a year we lost both remaining grandparents and both of our cats. It makes us more aware of the fragility of life and the varied life stages our parents are in. Throw in work and well it’s a big ball of anxiety. Maybe I will find time to sew this weekend.
A good quilting friend sent this to me Elizabeth, because she knew the circumstances in my life right now are heavy with grief. And she knew your words would speak to me, but my life adjustments had not allowed me the bandwidth to catch up on social media or even email. How thoughtful of her to know your words would resonate. And what a beautiful gift your words are. Thank you. Thank you.