Monday, November 12, 2007
Yesterday wasn't a great day for me; I woke up at 5:00, which was convenient for getting to church at 8:00 to preach, but then I was so exhausted when I got home at noon that I slept for two hours instead of going to the gym. We went to see a movie -- Across the Universe, which was really excellent -- but when we got home, I more or less crashed again. I think maybe I was fighting something off. I feel a bit better today, although I definitely have to make getting to the pool a priority.
My general slowness yesterday was reflected in my knitting. I'm not a fast knitter anyway, but when I was working on Lee's shawl between services at church, a good friend sitting next to me (someone who's been crocheting since she was in the womb), gave me a pitying look and said, "Oh, my, you are a novice, aren't you? Look at how slow you are!"
When did needlework become a race?
Last week I went to one of my new favorite places, Deluxe Yarns, an independently owned yarn store in Reno. The owner -- who used to be a nurse at my hospital, as it turns out -- seems like a kind, gentle person. When I complained about being a slow knitter, she said, "That's all right; there's no hurry. Take your time. You'll get there."
That's what I needed to hear. I've always been exceptionally slow at picking up physical skills, and I have to remember to focus on the fact that I'm getting things done, not on the fact that I'm not getting them done more quickly.
I now have projects planned well into the next millenium. After Lee's shawl, I'll do one for myself, and then one for my cousin's sister, and then one for my cousin's wife, and then one for some friends with two special-needs children. At that point I should be thoroughly sick of shawls! I also want to make myself a felted laptop cover and a tunic or two. I want to knit a throw for work and another for home. Gary wants a cardigan. I still, at some point, want to learn to knit toys for kids at the hospital.
And I'd like to knit myself a depression doll, something like those popular Ugly Dolls, but less adorable: a drab, sadsack creature with drooping eyes. This will be a way of externalizing my chronic illness and reminding myself to love it, even though it's not cute or clever or quick. It's part of me, and it needs patience and kindness. I'm sure the cats will enjoy snuggling with it, and I'll put it in the window -- or take it for rides -- so it can see the beautiful place where it lives. When it's feeling especially glum, I'll sing to it, and when it's feeling very slow, I'll say, "That's all right; there's no hurry. Take your time. You'll get there."