I was scared. To be honest, I still am. At least a little bit.
The thought of having life change so suddenly, to be out of control, is on the table for most of us, every day. We just don’t see it every day. Little things become big things, for the need of things to worry about, but generally life just plods along. One of my best friends sat in the hospital room with me one afternoon and made a strong suggestion that it was time to give up parts of my life that matter most in favor of having a more peaceful one. “Get rid of the dogs and animals,” she said. “Go on disability from work.” “Sell the house and get in a better place.” “Forget about the art stuff for a while.” It was shocking.
I protested, cried, fought back, and my worry level over my life went off the charts. It was not that I didn’t understand what she meant -- and good friends can say this kind of thing to you and get away with it. It is that I understand it all too well. I write about Toby’s incessant demands and misbehavior. I love him to bits (there, I said it) -- but it is hard to care for him. But, giving him up to an unknown fate without his mama would be worse. Each one of my pets is like a kid, but ultimately the responsibility to ensure they are safe, fed, and cared for properly comes down to me. Just me. That’s a lot. If I weren’t alone, things might be different. But, I am. My heart sickened as I considered whether it was time to find the birds new homes? The cats? Please, God, I begged, not the dogs! That would be so unfair.
The worry I’d experience over the fates of my feathered kids would exceed any benefit of giving them up as long as I CAN care for them. They need so much care and are so vulnerable. While in the hospital, I just kept the bases somewhat covered for the gang at home (thank you TIm and Adam, thank you) and hoped for the best. This time, it worked out. When I got home, for the first couple days, I felt like I was letting them down by not talking to them enough, not letting them out enough, not laughing with them enough. It took a long time to clean cages and change water, and I questioned whether I could do it at all. I felt so badly that these beautiful, intelligent birds were trapped in my house with half a person to care for them. They deserve more than that. But is it even out there? Day after day I read horror stories of birds given up to “rescues” and “shelters” and the end is not good. My guys can’t face that after all this spoiling.
As for the work piece, it is my joy. Everyone has to do something in this world that matters, and this is my little contribution to good energy in the world. I love it. I breathe it. I live it. If I get to the point where I feel I am no longer benefitting the students’ experience, or it is pointed out to me that I am not, as often happens, I will step aside. I don’t think I am there yet. Coming back to school and seeing all the happy kids excited to create and be their wonderful selves was the best medicine in the world for my worried heart.
Last night I was ready to go to bed at 6:30. It was dark, cool, and Hapi gave me permission. I felt physically spent, and anxious with all I have to do this week and not having resources to do it. Tucked in to my bed by 7, I saw the little plastic bag that contains my crochet hook and cotton yarn on the bedside table. “Hmmm….I thought.” Maybe just a few rows. I have a little crochet thing going that is no longer a dishcloth and even isn’t crocheted properly. I have played to remember how to crochet, and right now the object is like a shell shape. No plan, no thing. Just using crochet to unwind and relax a little bit. Art as medicine! And it worked.
After about six rows, I admired my unusually even tension and tucked my mystery project away. I’d done something. I got out of my own head. I stopped worrying about Big Things. I felt the soft cotton travel through my fingers and felt soothed. The magic is real.