Tuesday, October 5, 2010


The posts about September, particularly about the workshop, was exhausting to write, and yet I felt driven to report back, in all its disparate parts; it was another of my self-imposed responsibilities. I'm comfortable being the newbie in any workshop as I wrote here and here, and in that respect, I think I've come to be completely open to any eventualities. I thought was getting better at it.

My state of mind during that workshop, I hope, points to my having had different expectations for this workshop, albeit most probably unrelated to the outcome of my projects. Something around how I expected myself to behave? Alternatives are a bit scary to contemplate.

After I posted the post with shots of my projects, I felt a tremendous relief, of having met my obligations. And was ready to move on. The sky suddenly opened and I discovered sitting in a sunny warm Nelson summer afternoon. (Last weekend was the first spring/summer weather we had this season.)

But not for long. By Sunday evening I was once again wondering why I have this compulsion to spell out almost everything, (believe it or not, my posts were censored by my standards;) why I blog and what it's for, (therapy is definitely a big one;) and whether I should just zap everything on the Internet and forget I existed in this current incarnation. But I've gone around this circle many times before and knew I wouldn't arrive at any practicable solution. So that's why I spent most of yesterday ironing; I find ironing very mindless and yet I have to concentrate to do it right, so a good practical/escape task. And I had most of Ben's closet in my basket.

I buy books when I feel insecure or stupid, because the act of buying books gives me the illusion of having learned something. These are some of what I bought in September - I finished one, and have started on five, but am trying to concentrate on "Freedom" to deflect my attention from myself. The two books on brains, I bought in the hour before going to the Wada lecture; they are so not what I'd normally look at, I was very interested that I was interested in the subject. Earlier in the month, I had to abandon Rutherford's "New York"; I feel guilty not finishing a book I start, but I convinced myself my life is much too short for bad fiction.

I have indigo duty tomorrow, so I'm supposed to be preparing a couple of items to dye today.

Oh, I found another breathtakingly beautiful blog here, a la Doni's Deli, called Shipbuilder, courtesy of and a friend of Sampling's, and apparently a weaver!


  1. Hi Meg, I imagine that was exhausting to write - you're such a thoughtful and discerning writer, and I for one really appreciated the posts. These workshops can be intense, and bring up a lot of stuff. Many people would just take a much more superficial approach, and you are willing to go deep. Oh, and I have that Highly Sensitive Person book too . . . some very good info there, and good reminders to give yourself time and space to integrate your experiences.

  2. Oh, no, Elaine, am I becoming less superficial? I wonder if this is possibly one manifestation (not the right word?) of how my work and sense of self are becoming more integrated.

  3. I laughed when you said you had half your husband's closet in your ironing basket. That's how I do it to. Binge ironing.

  4. I don't intend to, Trapunto, honest, but it turns out that way.

  5. That's a lot of books, Meg. I don't think I'd ever call you superficial and I wish I had your honesty in expressing myself.

  6. Oh, Carol, blush! But yes, that is a lot of books, and there's another one I want now. I'll wait until I'm done with at least three of these.


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