I'm in the middle of a crazy, busy, catch-up day with four gazillion things going at once. (Hang on a sec. I think I'm burning the soup.) I spent the day in the big city yesterday on a necessary supply run so I'm feeling a little behind and bedraggled today. (Traffic, people and shopping do that to me.) On some not-too-sensible whim, I sat down here at the computer to check e-mails. Just for a minute. (It will only take a second or two, right?)
Fiona over at Rowangarth Farm had a new post up so I had to check it out. It hit me as a warm, fuzzy post about knitting a mitten and Just. Not. Being. Able. To. Stop.
Getting involved with a project such as that which you really enjoy and from which you derive so much pleasure reminded me of the way I am with quilting. I can so relate to her feelings as expressed in the post.
- Okay, I have the background fabric cut so I should stop now.
- But that's the last of all the pieces for the blocks, so I wonder what the block will look like sewn together?
- Hey, the one block is really attractive! What would four of them look like in a row?
- If I do 16 blocks, I'll be able to see more of the whole effect.
- Aw, what the heck! I might as well keep going. Only 64 more and the top will be finished.
So why are certain things we do addictive? (In a good way, of course.) Because we receive joy and satisfaction and contentment from doing them. What better feelings to get out of life?!
Bottom line, being responsible, sensible, intelligent women (ahem) we will still keep our families fed, and in clean clothes along with meeting other needs, but why-of-why can't we give ourselves more time for things like this (knitting, quilting, oil painting, learning to ride a horse, etc.) that nourish our very souls? I ask ya. Why? Huh? HUH?
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