Being Trapped or Succumbing to “the Middle"
Musings from just beyond the home stretch
We have been essentially moving since early November and man, are we all tired of it. My child is not sleeping through the night most nights with all these transitions, and it is hard not forcing myself to make every waking moment a “productive” one. We are in the home stretch for moving into our permanent home and I start a full-time nursing job in two weeks. So, I am thinking come Mid-April I will feel sane again, only time will tell.
I have been fervently nesting and one of my home-improvement tasks includes sewing a pojagi-inspired window panel for a bay window. I have been holding onto vintage table linens from my husband’s paternal grandfather for the task, and am piecing quilting cottons from my maternal great grandmother and grandmother, as well as some fabric scraps that were initially going to Goodwill by the Eastern Band of Cherokee. This method of quilting is a PROCESS. Flat felled seams and ironing every two seconds, piecing it together is laborious and time intensive. I am racing a meaningless, invisible clock and while I would love to hang it up the weekend we move in I am not holding my breath, nor will I sacrifice what little peace I can forge these days by skipping early bedtimes and the like.
I taped up the initial panel, about a quarter of what I will need to quilt to cover the window and for days I admired it in all its scotch-taped glory. I can see it from my desk and pass by it every time I walk upstairs. The shadows and tones shift dramatically with the day’s light waxing and waning. It is not perfect and it is not complete and that is eternally how homes feel, right? Forever a project. I wanted to write and post about it in its incompleteness because everything socially promoted feels so shiny and polished all the time—I want to see your unedited, your first drafts, your inklings of an idea. At one time in my life I would have rushed through this process instead of admiring the textiles and preserving my sanity. Thus far I have allowed this practice to be a restorative, fun thing I do to counter the things that are more stress laden. An earlier version of me would have forgone pictures of the in between phases and scrutinized every seam, every pressed-resistant wrinkle.
Because I have shared it in it’s unfinished state, my husband’s aunt (maternal side by marriage) has graciously donated some of her family's linens, as has his step-mom as well. It is so sweet uncovering these textiles that had been passed down that most often are locked away in some drawer only to see the light of day on special occasions, or when they are passed onto a younger generation. They are delicate, often handmade, hand embroidered; my favorite pieces have been darned to cover stains I like to imagine were acquired at someone’s wedding party, lovingly taken out of the cupboard to signify a momentous occasion once more. I worry the sun and my cat will destroy these fragile, sweet momentos. At the same time, I want to USE them—they were repaired because they were used, back when we would host gatherings, when communing was more readily a part of our lives and the spaces we lived in. I have a feeling I will be repairing this panel at some point, and that is okay.
My child feels very precious about her toys and specifically, her hair berets. She won’t wear them out of the house because she is afraid the wind will blow them out of her hair and she will lose them. Have I somehow imparted this scarcity mindset? Is it developmental or is she modeling my behavior? I’m sure it will pass, and am not actually worried, but I do want to show her we can use our special things and that they can bring brightness to our day to day because most things can be mended. Life is too short to tiptoe around and squirrel everything away, I want to share and bask and externally process and be imperfect and grow out in the open, collectively and that’s kind of how this present project feels.
What I am reading:
The New Naturals by Gabriel Bump, a review can be found here. It is a dystopian tale, of the persons that are seduced by an oasis, abandoning the dumpster fire that is our current society in leu of a controlled, benefactor-funded egalitarian utopia and how that tale may or may not end. Many of these personalities in societies eyes have the cards stacked against them—they are brown, have mental health issues, are battling addiction, have fallen out of favor because they have fallen out of line with their professions. The promise of an equitable clean slate is alluring… Are we all a part of a family or friend pod that wistfully discusses the daydream of a commune? I find it amusing that we all think we could all of a sudden sustain ourselves through the winter or triage a medical emergency in the wilderness and that’s somehow more manageable than tapping into the community we currently exist in. Sure, I love my friends and family now but what about once I am forced to wade through the trials of a self sustained commune with them? I want to find common ground with the people I cross paths with here and now.
THIS PODCAST:
https://forthewild.world/listen/sophie-strand-on-myths-as-maps-312
Wow wow wow, a friend suggested this episode based on my nerdy appreciation of fermentation and it blew me away. She somehow talks about everything? But also inspires in me the need to fight perfectionism and the worship of the complete and the new? I recently had a talk about death with my four year old prior to listening to this and it affirmed my instincts to talk about how when we die, we may be leaving loved ones, but we are also returning to systems that are bigger than ourselves, feeding the worms and dirt and mushrooms and slugs that my child loves to look for. It’s not any less scary or sad, but it is bigger than us and for some reason when I get smacked in the face with how I am just a dumb little human on this big spinning rock in the middle of space I feel like I can breathe again and not take myself so seriously.
This Thursday I will be attending my first town hall meeting hosted by my district’s congressional representative—my hope is that I drag my neighbor from across the way, along with a few friends and my sister along for the ride. I have been calling senators and congress reps when I go to pick up my kid *almost* everyday, but it hasn’t felt like enough and finding accountability buddies to dive in a little deeper has confirmed I am not the only one feeling this need to get more involved. At this point I almost think it’s easier living in a state with republican representation—their values and votes align transparently and I am not battling the performative, baseless inactions of my previous Maryland reps. I may or may not report back via a Substack post, but am saving up some writing energy to draw up some questions and comments for Western NC’s representative, Chuck Edwards. It may be the last in-person town hall he hosts for awhile and I want to come prepared! I would like to write about that experience and the recent seed swap hosted by our local tool library <3