Handspun yarn is much like life. The beauty is found in the lumps and bumps as well as in the smooth sections.
Spinning and knitting in small scale can be a fun way to try out new ideas. Working with small gauge needles when the hands no longer cooperate all the time can be a challenge, but I am learning to embrace that challenge. The speed and dexterity of my youth may be long gone, but patience and determination have become my companions.
After the storm, the view is so lovely.
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There was an old house that had once been beautiful and grand. It sat on a road with many other beautiful, grand homes, but over time it began to fall into disrepair until one day its windows were boarded up and it was abandoned. In order to hide its sad state from the others, the boards on the windows had been painted to look like windows; dark panes of painted wood trimmed in white had replaced the clear glass. To the many who drove past the old house barely sparing it a glance, the evidence of its downfall was easier to ignore once those painted boards had covered broken windows.
Eventually, the decay and disrepair reached a level that the city decided the house was an eyesore and a danger. It was decided that the once beautiful and grand house would need to go, to be torn down. Yet, just as all looked lost for the house, someone took a closer look and saw past the overgrown yard, the damaged roof, and the boarded up windows. With dedicated care and work the house was restored.
We are all in danger of becoming the house. Without maintenance and care, we can go from a place of beauty and love to a place where we board up our windows and fall into decay. The Lord’s mercy and love, His atonement for our sins can help save us. It is important that we remember this when we feel as if the storms of life are ripping at our exteriors and the wind and rain begins to seep into our souls.
The Lord admonishes us to learn of Him and to take His yoke upon us. He teaches us to be mindful of our brothers and sisters. He admonishes us to be mindful of those who have boarded up windows, those who may be falling into deep disrepair. We should be careful when driving through our communities to avoid condemning the houses we see that have been storm damaged or neglected.
by Jessie A. Hagen
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Pain sucks, but life doesn’t. Whether it is physical or emotional, sometimes it is easy to forget that it is pain not life to which we want an end.
Chronic physical pain can lead to emotional pain and can be compounded by the pains of loss and loneliness. A bad day can turn into a bad week, then a bad month becomes a bad year. As with most creatures, the pain causes us to withdraw from those who seem unable to understand or assist. Caring people seem too busy or seem too happy to be bothered with the task of giving us a lift. Unlike the temporary pain most people experience, chronic pain never leaves. Sometimes it can diminish and give us a rare glimpse of relief, but then it can flare back up worse than ever. Some chronic pain sufferers face an ever shifting collection of pain that causes even the closest of loved ones to become frustrated.
Pain can seem all consuming and extremely defeating. Pain sucks, but life, despite the pain, contains joy and beauty. The dark lenses of pain may dim the light, but they do not eradicate it or cease it to exist. Daily life for people in pain requires a constant effort to see past the dark lenses, to see the light. Their efforts are helped when a loved one takes the time to lift the window shades and let in greater light.
As busy as we may be, as frustrated as we might get, we must work to lift the shades and bring in the light. Sometimes it is all that prevents the misery of pain from becoming the misery of life.
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Embracing something new this year for Thanksgiving. Guilt free, stress free time with my husband.
When we were first married, the holidays were very stressful. Then the kids came and matters became much worse. Fibromyalgia undermined the holidays, especially Thanksgiving in those years when the kids were small and we did not know what caused my intense bouts of pain and fatigue. We did, however, know that participating in a game of holiday grandparent tug-of-war made me ill.
Eventually, the holidays became a time where my small family chose to stay home. Our door was always open, to family and friends alike. I would bake and cook and fill the table until it groaned. A few times friends joined us at that table, but most often it was just our small family of four.
After a very tough year of loss and a year when diagnosis finally explained my ill health, I asked my son to take over the Thanksgiving preparations. He was still a youth of twelve but he loved the challenge. From then on, Thanksgiving was his day.
Thanksgiving in my youth was all about the extended family and the food. Thanksgiving as a young wife and young mother was stressful. I tried my hardest counter the negativity of extended family contention. I learned that in a big family, the craziness is just part of the holiday tradition, but in a very small family, the craziness is unhealthy.
Year by year all our family shrank in size as age and illness took their toll. But with loss came the realization that the contention was gone as well.
We knew it would be awhile before our family would grow again. Knowing that the future would bring new members to our family caused us to ponder how to make the holidays different for the next generation.
These last few years found us carving out blissful memories as we carved the turkey. The holiday season became one of giving, of seeking others for whom we could share our bounty. Our table groaned less under the weight of food, but rather, gifts of food found their way to other tables.
Each holiday season, beginning with Thanksgiving, my children would focus on the gifts they could share with others outside our home. My son embraced the task of giving bread and jelly. My daughter crafted gifts of yarn and fabric. Baking and needlework filled our time and filled our hearts as our simple gifts brought smiles to others. The holidays were still stressful and fatigue was still a problem for me, but now the stress revolved around helping my children learn the value of giving thanks by giving of themselves.
My kids are not in the position to come home this year. They are both embracing their chosen paths, and I am immensely grateful for the maturity in which they traverse this stage of life. I am also grateful that during the years of teaching them to give of themselves, I have learned to share them with others.
As I reflect on the holidays of the past, I embrace the notion that for a time, maybe just a short time, my husband and I can enjoy Thanksgiving Day as a couple, not so young, but without any guilt or pressure. What to some might seem sad, the two of us alone on Thanksgiving Day, is the very thing for which I am most grateful this year.
I am filled with joy knowing that this year the gift I have given to others is my children and that my children can enjoy this time unfettered by guilt, sorrow, jealousy, and contention, at least not from me.
I am also filled with peace on this Thanksgiving Day; a peace emanating from the presence of good company, a bountiful pantry, and love.
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When handed lemons, make lemonade or when faced with a brutally cold arctic blast, make frozen lemonade.
The first week of November was unseasonably warm, the second week unseasonably cold. The frigid wind makes any outdoor task exhausting. With the kids gone, and the husband at work, the days have been long. But rather than bemoaning my frozen solitude, I am going to sit in front of the TV and watch a bunch of sappy movies that only air during November and December. Not what I had planned, but I am learning to enjoy lemonade, even when it is frozen.
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There is something amazingly therapeutic about grooming a pet. I find most groomings to be a battle of wills, but on a rare occasion the pet and the person are in synchronistic harmony. Both seeking love at the same moment in time, and making the moment one of mutual joy.
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I decided to participate in Spinzilla 2014. When I signed up I thought it would be a week full of fiber, documentaries, and miles of yarn produced by my fingers and the power of my feet. I set a lofty goal of competing against last years ‘most yarn spun’ winner; a goal that was manageable if I remained dedicated to the task.
I envisioned hours of listening to my TV enlighten me about historical people and events while I spun brightly colored clouds of wool into sleek strands of yarn. The only thing that would prevent me from making miles of wool yarn was my own battle with fatigue. I was enticed by the thought of competing to win, something I seldom allowed myself to do physically since the fibromyalgia made itself known. I knew this would be a challenge – my challenge. Years ago I held notions of competing to win, but running was the center of that dream. Life, some good and some bad, interfered with pursuing such notions. I learned to enjoy the ride, not the speed in which I made the journey.
Spinning wool into yarn has been my therapy, and my joy. My feet no longer travel miles of asphalt, but they do propel me through miles of yarn. Whereas other exercises exhaust me after minutes, spinning can go on for hours without creating the fibro fatigue or fog so common with exercise. When I push it, I do get stiff, but it is a stiffness from activity and not from the fibromyalgia. This in itself is a blessing.
The week of Spinzilla began not as I expected, rather as unexpected as I could have imagined. A family emergency cost me most of the first day. Unexpected company, delightful company but unexpected, took up most of the third day, and fatigue coupled with a personal commitment dominated the fifth day. It was on that day that I finally decided that quality time with friends and family was more important than the miles of yarn I could produce. It was not a great epiphany, not earthshattering or new, but a simple quiet reminder that more fun could be had by enjoying the ride than in competing for a prize. With this renewed commitment to quality in life, I decided to join a group of spinners at the Denver Art Museum (DAM) for a massive spin-in demonstration on the seventh and final day of Spinzilla.
Typically I avoid crowds, particularly crowds where socialization is expected. Challenging myself to spin miles of yarn is easy compared to the challenge of overcoming a deep feeling of social fear and awkwardness, a fear which has increased rather than decreased with age and accomplishment. My husband, a.k.a. my spinning pit crew for an event that will require the transport of a wheel and other assorted supplies, encouraged me to embark on this challenge. Not much of a social butterfly himself but not from anxiety, rather by choice, my husband gently persuaded me to try something new; something I longed to do but from which I held myself back. He reminded me that my college’s moto, and something I try to live by, is Vita Abundantior, life more abundant.
There is little I can do to adjust the quantity of life which I get to live, but there are endless ways in which I can increase the quality of that time. All I have to do is make an effort and embrace the opportunities presented on my journey. The drive time and Spinzilla at the DAM will not aid me in the accumulation of yarn miles, but it will add quality to my life, and despite my anxieties I suspect I will have loads of fun.
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A blast of winter air blew in this week and ignited in me a strong desire to change the background music that plays constantly in my home so as to drown out the ceaseless wind found in Eastern Colorado. It is October, and although Christmas decorations nestle alongside the ornamentations of Halloween, it doesn’t feel right to begin playing Christmas music so soon. Truthfully, I must confess, in years past I have succumbed to the temptation of playing Christmas music once the first icy winds blow in from the north. Yet this year, I hesitated.
Colorado is known for its perpetual sunshine more than for a distinct changing of seasons. Only in the worst of weather patterns does the sun stay hidden for more than just a day, but unlike in more temperate areas, the earth does not stay green. Certainly there is a beauty in the changing Colorado seasons, of this there is no doubt. Yet, too often the lack of summer rain has turned the earth yellow and the beautiful colors of Autumn are found only in the distant mountains.
In Colorado, it is not uncommon for the first snow to arrive in October. In fact in October 1997 a snowstorm blanketed the Eastern Plains under two feet of snow. Most years, however, the icy north winds only bring threats of snow rather than the fluffy white flakes. Without the prospect of a blanket of snow, the cold, biting wind can overshadow nature’s beauty. When the cold descends, and the sky turns grey, but no snow is in sight, Christmas music can brighten one’s day.
When the kids were at still home rather than in places where Autumn is filled with glorious, rich hues, Christmas music was a magical way to lighten the mood which often arrived with the grey skies and biting winds. Now that the kids are gone and it is just three aging felines and me prowling the house during the daylight hours, the thought of Christmas carols seems a bit overwhelming. Yet, the longing for the simple, timeless melodies of winter music remains. Fortunately over the years I have acquired hours upon hours of holiday inspired instrumental music. No Frosty the Snowman or Jingle Bells, but rather traditional melodies that make one think of hardy souls on windswept plains in far off distant lands or in days gone by.
A morning spent changing the bed linens, adding wool to the cats’ beds, and making a new music playlist has been a morning well spent. The first signs of winter have arrived and I am now ready to embrace the change.
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Well-balanced young people, especially those who are venturing into the world of adulthood away from home, tend to ride roller coasters rather than rockets. While this is extremely stressful, for them and for their families, it is actually a much better mode of transportation than rockets. Sometimes it may feel like the roller coaster simply goes in an unending loop, but unlike the rocket, the roller coaster remains on a sure track. Rockets on the other hand shoot off into space and seldom land gently back to earth. The chance of crashing or burning up on reentry is much greater than the chance of roller coaster derailment.
As a parent who chose to homeschool her children, I have faced more opposition than support in my decision. With the public or private school options there is no guarantee that the children will succeed, but there is a greater notion that utter failure will be less the parents fault than the systems fault. With homeschooling, from day one, there is the fear (more often the public’s not the parent’s) that the children will be socially inept, and the blame will rest solely on the parents. Homeschooling takes years and therefore the parents live with this worry for a long time; a worry that accompanies the worry that all parents share, the worry of a child rocketing wildly through life only to crash and burn on landing.
My kids are now off on roller coasters of their own choosing. Some days are filled with thrill and excitement, other days make them queasy. Failure and success now rest on their shoulders and their choices. They have already recognized that mom taught them well, and they know that they must now build on the foundations learned at home. Their roller coasters of life take them up and down on an undulating path, sometimes fairly extreme in its course. Over time, their course may smooth out and be less extreme, but maybe it won’t. Only time will tell. In either case as long as they do not derail, they will not crash and burn.
As for me, I am finding the job of mom different these days but strangely familiar. While the work is never done, the 24-7 routine is no more. I can’t track their every move, success, or failure. I can’t share every joy or pain. Sometimes this is a blessing and sometimes it doesn’t feel so much so. Yet, early this morning something dawned on me – I succeeded. I ran the race, did the time, and persevered to the end; not to the end of their roller coaster ride, only to the end of my homeschooling ride. The questions, well-meaning concerns, and downright rude comments from friends and strangers about socialization have stopped! Why? Because like any other human, my children must now blend or standout among the human mass of diversity we call society. The skills they learned outside the classroom, as they mingled with people of all ages, are helping them find their way. Amazingly, they are finding that they have less bad habits than their contemporaries, and I am not speaking of the bad habits like drugs, etc. I am speaking of the habits learned in the classroom: regurgitating rather than thinking, seeking the grade rather than the knowledge, and working the system rather than the task. Added to these habits are the learned anxieties that come from a system that puts monetary and popular success above the health of one’s body and mind.
Today as I write, my children are riding their roller coasters, and while I still stress over their journeys, they have shared with me their gratitude for the lessons I taught them. Lessons which have helped them stay in the tracks rather than derail. Certainly, they have long lives to live and there are no guarantees, but it is a comfort to know that my journey as a homeschooling mom, with all its bumps and bends, was a successful roller coaster ride. I did not derail, crash, or burn.
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Pithy Ponderings 