The tectonic plates of my life have shifted. I seem to no longer to be a part of things but a spectator. Sure my life is full of busy, I attend classes, of the sort other retired people attend to learn something new, when in reality who am I kidding? I have begun to volunteer, at a local school and as an advisor at the citizens advice bureau. I see the occasional friend for coffee or lunch, even have people over for supper but I seem not to be engaged as others are but an onlooker, and generally only occasionally included in things by others out of habit.
Despite all this I am still spinning, sewing and knitting
|Spun fibre, skeined, soaked, and wound ready for knitting (Death to MRSA and Broad Bean)|
But while others have moved on (or simply kept moving) I can only watch and clutch at friends' and family's coat tails as they fly by living their busy lives. One dear friend is even about to move even closer to the centre and I already feel the sadness of loosing her back to the life we once both enjoyed. I was going to say happy, not busy, lives but I know this is not the way it is. Everyone's life (if they are lucky) is filled with good and bad but it's stuff they feel, both the anxiety and the joy, the laughter and the sadness. Somehow it all just runs past my eyes these days like a reel of silent film.
Perhaps I'm turing into a Miss Marple type of woman (without the crime solving) an onlooker sitting in a corner, knitting. My latest finished object is this sweater, my own work from fabulous fluff to jolly jersey, begun during the Tour de Fleece and finally finished a week ago
|I can already see that that neckline is a little too wide|
When the Off The Shoulder shape stretched and became a little more Down The Arm I had to pull a thread and add a bit more on top!
|Thread pulled just below the knitted hem, two inches added and re hemmed, the neck now sits at my collar-bone|
Is it possible to regain that sense of involvement once it's gone? Once one has retired from the salaried world, children grown, parents died and the buffer zone lost? There was a time I felt involved, present at people's tables, in the conversation of their lives because I was as essential as the person I sat next to. I shared my thoughts, feelings and opinions as much as that other person. Now I have moved to the margins of the lives of people I love, in danger of growing invisible, going out or taken out, literally or figuratively when it is thought I have not been included for a while then returned to my box. Like so many pictures in an art collector's basement, still notionally valuable but just not enough space for us all at once.
In all this I still make plans. This beautiful skein of brightly cashmere and alpaca sits on a side table as I consider what it will be
|400 metres of heavenly softness - a big squishy cowl perhaps?|
Although I am still not sure that it will be worth continuing to spin some chocolate brown fleece from a small local flock of black Welsh mountain sheep.
Perhaps I should stick to the glorious colours of porpoisefur fluff
But what shall I do? I think these thoughts but have nowhere to express them (except on here). I fear that to do more than hint to family and friends will just burden them, perhaps lead some to consider whether they feel the same and be the cause of spoiling their peace too. Or do I flatter myself? Do I already bore and worse depress others, are they already holding me at arms length? Is it possible, not just to fill the time but to feel life again and perhaps make a new life without loosing the old? And yet, I have husband, children grand children, home, a few friends, more acquaintances, it's not that. I just need to find my place, I've lost it somehow
Will it pass I wonder?