Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Pathos and Morbid skipped down the lane hand in hand.....

We received one of those phone calls that you dread in the wee hours last night (well, not quite so wee except insofar as I was dead fast asleep). Between those moments of "sort of stunned 'and what do I do now?'" which progress quickly to "Self pity 'Hello, Universe, I don't think I can handle anymore stress in my life. Helloooo, are you listening?" we suddenly realized that there are not too many of those calls left to receive (What? the title of the entry didn't warn you that this post might be a downer? Tough it up!).

In general, I have the affliction of being a deep panic person when I hear the phone ring in the middle of the night - you'd think I'd be cured by now because we always get phone calls in the middle of the night. Usually late in the week from some drunk who is pretty darn sure Angela or Larry is hiding somewhere in the house despite my best efforts to convince them otherwise. "Would you like to come over and check under the bed? Because, really, the dustbunnies are always kidnapping things! So you just never know? They could be among the stray socks, empty Hall's wrappers and Quilting Arts Magazines." I am a worrier by nature - phone calls never bode well.

Anyways... despite being up most of the night doing phone calls and the like (being both the recipient of and bearer of) I was wide awake and living dangerously in the land of nearly creative but not quite so this morning. So I sewed. Dangerous! But it was either that or I could go enter a death date in my geneaology program (Hey! I can so wallow in it if I want too! It's my blog!). I am sending and waiting for faxes and telephone calls because apparently I am the only one with the authority to send Granny into the flames and I'm 3000 km away (Yes, I handle stress by being morbidly and sarcastically funny - leastwise in my own mind - apologies if you're offended!).

So this piece called out to be worked on: probably because it's of someone's grandmother. Not my grandmother! but someone's. Not all relationships fit into nice neat boxes of famial bonds and happy warm fuzzies. I loved my grandmother, but she was a fairly unhappy woman who spent a large part of her life living with regret and resenting those that were happy or were trying to be. If anything, her life reaffirms my desire to be happy, to take joy where I can, to love and value my family and friends and to live as far outside the box as I can wiggle. Most important, to desperately try not to get bogged down with regret! So, thusly said sage sayings, here is where we got back to in the wee hours of lack of sleep.... Woo, we are digressing....

I'm whizzing along - the sewing machine is humming. Everything checked out before I began, and after I finished.....me and my sewing machine had one of those 'Oh poor baby - why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?' moments.

Some of it is salvagable - generally because it is all on the ruff - I'm not too too worried as it adds texture. It does mean that I'm going to have to do alot more embroidery to tack those suckers down. But not I think now!

P.S. Be at peace granny! Give my love to grumpa.


Anonymous said...

(((((hugs)))) for you. It's too bad that real family life doesn't match the sitcoms on television, isn't it. That goodness you have some stitching to do - I think that is better than therapy; well, stitching and black humour, as you have discovered.
((((a few more hugs)))) for you.

Anonymous said...

Black humor has its place. I enjoy visiting your blog and seeing your work and the cultural work of the area.
Peace, Karen B.