Can't sleep

One of the gifts of this annus horribilis has been insomnia. I meant that sarcastically, but now that I've written it, I'm not so sure. Here I am on the living room couch, reading blogs, thinking about teaching, with my dog keeping me company in the quiet of the night. It's very peaceful. I've always thought that if I can't sleep I should get up and try to figure out the reason why, and then fix it, but I'm actually feeling quite content here right now. Go figure.

Perfectionism

I'm realizing how often I don't write because I can't think of the cleverest, smartest way to say things. And then that thought is lost. So I'm going to try really hard to be really soft with myself. I'm just checking in. Am starting a 5 day juice cleanse tomorrow, so we'll see how that goes! (Just previewed this post and wanted to delete it, but will try to be OPEN and nonjudgmental of myself... Here goes)

Too much sad

It has been so hard to write lately.  It feels like there is just so much sadness in the world right now, although I  am blessed to be safe, and warm, and loved.  Many of my students are struggling with the overwhelming pressure they feel to be perfect teenage girls; the pictures from Japan break my heart (although I am so glad that our family is safe and even has a new baby to celebrate in Tokyo); and most of all, my colleague and fellow teacher is dying.  I went back to find a quote from Virginia Woolf's novel The Waves that I remembered standing out for me when I first read it in college, and now it seems even more true:

By what name are we to call death?  I do not know.  I need a little language such as lovers use, words of one syllable such as children speak when they come into the room and find their mother sewing and pick up some scrap of bright wool, a feather, or a shred of chintz.  I need a howl; a cry.  When the storm crosses the marsh and sweeps over me where I lie in the ditch unregarded I need no words. Nothing neat.  Nothing that comes down with all its feet on the floor.  None of those resonances and lovely echoes  that break and chime from nerve to nerve in our breasts, making wild music, false phrases.  I have done with phrases.
How much better is silence; the coffee-cup, the table.  How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake.  Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee-cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.

Hats for Annemarie

These cute little hats are for my friend Kim's baby -- she came early, so I tried to make a variety of sizes!

The smallest would fit a golf ball, the largest a softball...  they were so fun to make.

How to Complicate Your Life in an Indeterminate Number of Not-So-Easy Steps

For as long as I can remember, I've been interested in how to simplify my life.  I chose Thoreau for my big research paper in high school.  I read books, visit websites, and periodically embark on decluttering programs, cleanses, spiritual studies, and bouts of extreme frustration with the state of my house, body, and mind.  I keep feeling like the perfect designed-just-for- me thing is out there somewhere and it will make creating the life I've always dreamed of easy and natural.  I know that it will take work, but once I find the right path, it will be joyful work.

A lot of friends told me that my forties would be a good decade because I would stop caring so much about what other people thought.  From my thirties, this seemed like kind of a sad, giving-up-the-good -fight attitude, but understandable.  Now I'm in my forties, and I think I'm finally getting it.  Part of "getting it" involves realizing that anyone in their thirties would probably now see me in that sort of tired, but admirable stage of life.  But the difference is that now I really don't care.  

Yesterday I picked up a book from my bookshelf that I remembered being really interesting and inspiring.  The post it flags, highlighting, and writing within the pages certainly supported that memory.  I definitely read it more than once.  The title of the book is How to Simplify Your Life.  It has a lot of really clear interesting information packed into it, covering all the possible areas you might need to simplify, including your environment, your health, your schedule, your attitude, everything.  I opened up the book to what I remembered as my favorite part, a chapter that talked about personality and included a self test (did I mention that I love self tests?) on the enneagram.  I know I'm a four and I wanted to look never some of the descriptions again.  After about five minutes of reading, I put the book aside.  It just wasn't that interesting.

I started thinking about how recently, I had actually made some successful efforts to simplify specific parts of my life.  I really pared down my wardrobe to about 5 pairs of pants, some shirts and sweaters, and a few pairs of shoes that I wear all the time.  I also cut meat and most animal products out of my diet.  I don't know if that's made it less complicated to feed myself, but it has certainly saved me time in terms of figuring out what to eat.  For both of these changes, I had to acknowledge that those areas of my life are some of the least compelling for me.  I'm not especially proud of that, but it's the truth.  And what simplifying those everyday routines has done has helped me allow complexity and complication into my life in the areas that really give me joy.

I have more energy for teaching, making stuff, and being with my kids.  But the clearest and funniest example has to be the dog.  Before we got the dog in July last year, I had a lot of worries about how it was going to affect my life.  I pictured myself standing outside in the freezing cold, begging the dog to poop.  I imagined the influx of dog hair on our clothes and furniture.  I wondered about the noise, smell, mess, etc.  Well, it turns out that all of those fears were totally justified.  The dog is incredibly stubborn, stinky, barks loudly, and I do have primary responsibility for her.  She has complicated my life in ways I hadn't dreamed of.  However, I am totally in love with her, can't imagine life without her.  She's just the kind of slowing-down, hilarious complication that I needed.

So, I'm learning some good stuff in my forties.  I don't think I'll be writing a self-help book anytime soon about the joys of complicating your life, but I do know that I have finally let go of the idea that I will ever have a sleek, minimalist living room, all white walls, black furniture and one perfectly placed flower arrangement.  There aren't usually dogs or kids in those pictures.  Or unfinished knitting projects, or uneven stacks of cheap paperbacks, or dads and their sons playing inappropriately violent xbox games.  I haven't actually thrown out the simplifying book, but I'm on my way.

Finished objects

I've been doing a lot of knitting lately.  Major stress relief, I think it's the soothing repetition.

I made all these tiny mittens as gifts for my friends at school.

 These are socks and a hat for Lloyd (may not fit his ginormous head).

And a hat and fingerless gloves for myself.  Thanks to Zoe for being a model.
Seriously,  knitting keeps me sane.

New year's day

I took a walk down to Mixville park today.  It was so warm, I had my jacket open and no hat or gloves.

update:  I did start this post on 1/1/11, but was called away from my computer and am only getting back to it now.  Two women I work with are dealing with terrible medical situations, and I am trying to help out the best I can.  It certainly puts things in perspective and makes me realize once again how blessed I am to have all the connections and support I do.
What I was going to write about on Saturday was that instead of making resolutions this year, I decided to choose a word to inspire me instead.  After a lot of thought, the word I chose was "open" -- may I be open minded, open hearted, open to all the gifts the universe offers this year.