The yarn basket
In the middle of all the book craziness last week I remember thinking to myself that I missed my life. That I missed kneading bread and dirty finger nails from gardening and days without appointments and deadlines and city clothes.
I guess the strange thing about all of this book stuff, is the feeling that I've taken a little break from my real life and now I'm finding it a bit difficult to find my way back again.
With all the fuss and fun and excitement I've drifted off somewhere.
I used to bake bread almost everyday for our family and now I can't seem to get back into that rhythm. Bread baking needs time and forethought, but now I never seem to remember until it's too late.
I've lost confidence in my writing. I've never called myself a writer which made writing easy. But now for some reason things have changed. I still know that I'm more of a recorder than a writer, but my writing is traveling further than blog-land now and I am feeling self conscious and sticky and uncertain.
The square by square blanket
There are some aspects of mothering that I am feeling on top of; reading, seeing, cuddling, adoring, listening...But there are others than I am losing at; school notes, dates, organisation, finger nails, laundry...
It's been weeks since I did anything but harvest in the kitchen garden. Spring will be here any minute and I have a list a mile long of what needs to be done between now and then.
I've mostly always had a one woolly project at a time rule but now I can't seem to stick to anything. Last night I found myself alternating between rows of a knitted blanket square and rows of my long, long scarf. Two rows of this, then two rows of that. Three projects on the go and I'm about to cast on a size one Milo to make it four.
The long, long scarf
Ugh, I want to delete this all and start again. I think it might sound negative and yet it's really not. It's just different.
This morning I've sent off some photos for a magazine and an article to a newspaper and now I'm sitting here with time. It feels a bit strange. Like a holiday. Like luxury.
I think I'm going to press publish on this, mix up a bread dough and leave it to rise, and then head out into the hot house to prick out some onions. Hopefully my farmer boy will come up from planting the food forest and join me soon.
The winter sun is shinning, my book is out in the world, I am happy to be here on our farm and I feel optimistic.
(And just between me and you, I feel happy that I've got this all down, but that it'll be in my archives in a few days time.)
How about you, are you enjoying the sunshine?
Are you making something colourful?
Are you between things, or are you missing things, or are you there?
I hope you are happy today, I really do.