Listening to Traffic, Low Spark of High Heeled Boys. Delicious memories. I can feel an iTunes crawl coming on, looking for more Steve Winwood.
I’ve just put on wool socks, and wish fervently that I had a sweater and my fingerless gloves with me here in Rexford. It’s raining, around 50F, and feels like early April. Which is all the more difficult to bear, since we’ve already had several 90F days this season.
Weather aside – It’s a great year. I feel marvelous, juicy and full of creative energy, and a kind of … understanding … about projects taking time. About how a little bit every day adds up. Yes, I’ve always known it to be true. But this year I know it in my heart, too. A kind of grokking knowledge.
I keep looking for the middle-aged balance. The time when I’m not blown about by life’s gales, the time when I can walk serenely through life. I’m getting closer, I think. I’m also sure that I’ll read this in five years and laugh at my immaturity. (Why would now be any different?) I can hardly bear to read some of the crap I wrote here, for example. Yet I keep it up. Again, the day-at-a-time thing. Today’s post is number 1,415. That’s a hell of a lot of writing over the last nearly-eight years, more and longer than any journal I’ve had.
What are NOT progressing, are knitting projects. Not for lack of excuses: I’ve yet to make peace with my eyesight. As much as I love contacts, they just don’t cut it for close work. Neither do my glasses – they’re old and scratched, never mind the prescription is old. This is my excuse, anyway. There’s also the lack of idle time, and the warmer weather, and my fascination with the computer/iPad/Facebook/ebooks, and the wedding, and and and.
Of course, if I had either sweater with me this week, I’d be knitting – instead of blogging.
