I've been home two weeks and one day, and in that time I thought a lot about Mom's new environment, family history and dynamics, self-awareness, "old people problems", and other stuff, but some days my mind drew a big, pale, soft, foggy blank. When I do (attempt to) think, I've been haunted by stuff, that's material possessions; I've dreamed, almost hallucinated, about which of Mom's stuff to give away/sell/throw away, to whom, and if discarding, how, when and where. And how we don't really need most of the stuff we think we can't live without.
It was an intense 26 days living amidst so much stuff needing to be gotten rid of, in a small-for-Kiwi-me apartment, in 35C heat and 70-80% humidity, without any other notable responsibility or expectations. There's probably a post or a dozen on these thoughts later. Or not; it was in a way such a surreal experience, (on the other hand all too real,) for a relatively short time sometimes it's hard to believe it happened to me.
Although I missed out on a wonderful cold spell in Nelson in August, it's still cool and occasionally wet, still great gardening weather for moi, but except for short spurts I haven't been outside. Inside needed tidying up, but otherwise I'm trying to reset my weaving and other meaningful pursuits, because among other reasons, Mom now requires financial support.
It appears I'm developing a kind of pattern in my life, though it could be temporary. I seem to start the day cleaning out the kitchen, planning dinner and do other housework; followed by writing and verbal thinking in the morning, (among others, letters, which I have to write to Mom as her new room was too tiny for a clunky laptop;) followed by non-verbal things, like weaving, planning/developing projects, tidying/sorting/experimenting from mid-afternoon onward; and must have menial stuff in the evenings. More than once when I didn't have evening pursuits, I resorted to ironing while watching the telly! I lived without a telly in Japan, so when I came back I couldn't stand all the noise and distraction, (and the amount of advertisement in NZ,) but unfortunately I've gotten back into the pattern of "having it on" in the evenings while staring the the laptop screen at the same time. I started another YA novel last night so hopefully that will get me out of this rut.
finally seeing the hellebores/pansies come to life in lively cotton colors, except Shaft 8 is not lifting. After a quick assessment, Ben reckons this problem may be a bit more complicated than the myriad of previous problems with this loom. Crikey. Not ideal, as I have two commissions, one a rather urgent one due mid-October, waiting to go on this loom. But then this loom always presented problems just before something big or urgent, so for now I'm going to remain optimistic.
If I lose this loom, though, there is no way I can find/afford anything else like this or even an 8-shaft floor, say, so there is much dread behind gritted teeth in my smiley face. In a strange twist, the feeling life doesn't go the way one hopes, (which is strictly not true - I think we notice only when it doesn't but not so much much when it does,) has become so familiar, I'm haven't become particularly alarmed, frustrated, or pace-around-the-house mad; is this aging, am I jaded, or worse yet, or even a defeatist??
At Mom's, I found a two-thirds finished cashmere/cotton hat she started soon before/after her 2016 exhibition; it wasn't anything spectacular, (read: painfully boring,) but I thought I could finish it while there. No way, I was not only exhausted every night and I couldn't stand to touch wooly things, so I brought it home and finished it; it's wearable if she chooses to wear it. LOL. Check.