It seems to me that there are not often times in my life when things stop, for even a moment. And there are times when I cannot find a room in my house where there is not something perched on a table or shelf or armchair waiting for me to return to.
And I like it that way. Idle hands I have not.
Frankie's long-awaited quilt will be finished in time for her birthday. I am only a few stitches away from the hand-quilting being finished before I bind it for her seventh year. I can't believe she's about to be another year from the moment I laid eyes on her.
A growing collection of buckets and pails of dye and yarn and linen and cotton are finding their way to the shop outside, recently emptied and ready to become my garden and dye studio. Scrap and salvaged wood is collecting as well, ready to become the interior walls of the shop. I can't hardly wait to have such a great space for all the mess and glory.
The garden grows and grows, and so do the trays of seedlings in all the windows. Perhaps it's time to build a greenhouse.
It seems that every space available there is something going on. It is spring. It is change, it is growth. It is making and creating. It is doing. It's how I like it.
It is a steady constant, and it is love.
