Okay. I’m fessing up. I’m in over my head. I’ve got…let’s see…four projects going plus some yarn already purchased to make Christmas stockings.
Do I actually believe I’m going to make these danged Christmas stockings?
For THIS year??? That would be for, like, eight weeks from now?
I have yarn for a hat to send to my nephew in Iraq…
…and yarn for a scarf. (BTW, isn’t this beautiful stuff?)
I’m starting more and finishing less.
So what gives?
Sure; the knitting weekend totally inspired me. But it also created this monster that’s having a hard time focusing.
I had wonderful dreams these last couple nights! I dreamed I was at an historic old lodge in the middle of nowhere on a beautiful river. The ancient rooms on the second floor were warm and welcoming, decorated in themes of fishing, hunting, quilting, photos, skiing, and rustic simplicity. There was a screened-in veranda and a third-story dormer room. The entire place had hardwood floors, tall ceilings, creaky staircases and wrinkled glass. The bathrooms down the hall were sparse and clean, the beds were comfy soft, and the meals served were divine.
There were other ladies there in my dream, too. They turned out to be knitters just like me! Some were more advanced with their stashes of beautiful roving and intricately-designed socks. Others were thrilled when they were finally able to get their hat-in-the-round going (with help). We all seemed to have the same thing in mind: knitting, knitting, and more knitting! Laughing, too, and sharing stories and lives, kids and lifestyles. It was so great! I never wanted to wake up.
But wake up I did. To piles of unopened mail; to a beloved tree felled in the back yard by Mother Nature. To laundry and dishes and clutter and musts and shoulds.
But what a dream!
I can’t wait! This Friday I’m going away on a KNITTING WEEKEND! You heard it right. A knitting weekend. Three days and two nights in a beautiful historic old inn where the only ones there will be KNITTERS! Someone else cooks and cleans up, we can stay in our PJ’s if we want to, and we all get to knit to our heart’s content. Doesn’t that sound just like heaven on earth? I wish you could all come along!
How’d I get so lucky?
I want to grow old gracefully. Really; I do. Who wants to grow old UNgracefully? But, damn. It’s harder than I thought it would be.
Maybe it’s because I’m fighting a cold. Maybe it’s because I’m not getting enough exercise. Maybe it’s because my husband put one of those magnifying mirrors in the bathroom and now I’m aging in 12X. All I know is a year ago I wasn’t really A-G-I-N-G. I mean, I was getting older; sure. But I still had a waist. My knees were higher; so was my butt. And my cleavage wasn’t in my back.
Then I had a hysterectomy. That seemed to kick-start menopause. Now I have hairs on my face and not under my arms. I realize my cheeks and boobs CAN get longer. I have knee-thighs, and they know each other intimately.
This is only the beginning! Is this what I’m in for? Lately I’m compelled to talk to my younger, toned — and therefore better-looking? — friends only on the phone or through e-mail. I seek out people older than me and hopefully in worse shape. Then I see those women on TV shows and ads with their cat-like eyes and their motionless smiles talking about how wonderful the fifties are, and I want to throttle them. “AGE GRACEFULLY, you hypocrite!” I yell at the screen. “Show us it’s REALLY okay!”
Give me Jamie Lee Curtis and Katherine Hepburn and Diane Keaton any day. Show me that that’s what aging gracefully is all about. Quit pushing Pilates, jogging, gyms and fad diets on me, and instead tell me about yoga and meditation and relationships and acceptance. I haven’t done this before, you see. I need guidance from real people who haven’t just come from their plastic surgeon to tell me how life can, in fact, start at 50.
I know you’re out there. Please get to me while I still love my laugh lines.
No one ever told me, though, that laugh lines can go all the way down the neck.