the fog lifts

And then, like I knew it would, things began to feel better. The situation with my son hasnt changed, he is still marrying a woman that hates his family. My daughters are hurt and sad, my husband is, how can i say it, wounded. And I vacillate between anger and sorrow — but it is all a bit tempered. You cant live like that, in that state of distress and pain. So you cope.

I often cope by retreating into my art. I will spin or sew or quilt or knit or try a new form of textile manipulation. I will clean my studio, organizing buttons and trims….

But yesterday I spent the day learning to dye wool. Wool for my spinning wheel. Surrounded by a group of wonderful women who are JUST LIKE ME!!! They dont laugh when I call my spinning wheel “her” or look confused when I go pot to pot touching the roving. These ladies taught me things, words like “mordanted”. they ate my carrots and hummus when they really wanted to chow down on the cake. We sat and chatted, wrapped lengths of roving around our arms, poured dye, baked it, watched the miracle that is indigo dyeing.

I took a day off of work. hesitated about 9:00 am, maybe I wont go, maybe I will stay home and clean. So glad I didnt make that choice, else the funk may have stayed hanging over me. Yesterday cleansed me. Washed off the grime that is hatred and animosity. Coated me in the soft fluff of color and texture and laughter. Wonderful wonderful day. Thank you Deb Mitchell and all the ladies of her guild. In not a small way , you saved me yesterday.WP_20140811_009



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