A year ago today

I started knitting my first sock – a test sock. This part shown is the progress of the heel flap, which is done in a slip stitch pattern on the right side, flat as opposed to in the round.

Since then, I have made two pairs, and am on the third – all different foot sizes and yarns – for the members of my little family. I expect to complete the third before the end of the year, and then will go on to some other projects, time permitting.

My life is anything but tunnel vision. I keep many creative activities going while juggling family, work, and my ever ambushed health. I read a lot, but not fiction much anymore at all. I think having a lot of responsibilities, taking them seriously, makes it difficult to float into an all-absorbing fiction world often. You are always been called on to help out. If you are a parent, that becomes a part of your life. The old world of the child with their own time is dead and gone.

Still, as an artistic “type,” that time to have uninterrupted dreaming is absolutely necessary, at least for me, to prevent a descent into self-destruction. I’ve toed that edge more than once. It’s real.

At this time I am on my last days of Paxlovid. Ahead of me I have a really difficult diagnosis to deal with when I am recovered from this. It seems that creating for me will never look like the proverbial writer in her garret. It will always be a battle against known and unknown lengthy interruptions, or rather, a game of hide and seek where I am the one hiding to get something within expressed, while life seeks to find and tag me, taking away my time and concentration again.

I can’t fight that. It’s how my life turned out to be. All I can do is learn not to sink under it.

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