It is raining, albeit lightly, and that does not mean that the trades are not scattered across the place -- working on the landscaping, hanging gutters, moving things out of the garage so it can be finished. Goodness knows what else. It also means I have towels by each door, towels for muddy shoes and to wipe muddy footprints, not that there have been clean feet around here for some time. When it wasn't raining, the air, and every surface, was covered with stone dust. You could not walk outside without tracking it in, could not open a door without trails of dust rushing to colonize new space. I have accommodated myself to the idea of dust, of footprints on the floor, both mine and the beasts'. Towels only go so far, and cats are not known for their patience with foot wiping.
The stone masons have laid out most of the back patio and walkway. This photo is from earlier in the week, incomplete, but the work has since been covered with tarps to protect it from boots and rain. Grouting will take place later in the week, weather permitting, although the masons worked through the rain last week, laying and cutting stone under tents. Despite the noise and the dust however, my house is an oasis of peace, if not order.
Everything was moved into the studio on Friday and I posted the photo above on Instagram that morning, happy to see how nicely my rug and the loom looked in the space, in a brief moment of peace before all the boxes appeared. While men moved heavy things, I unpacked fabric and started placing it on the shelves.
But this is not what the studio actually looks like. Below is a more accurate representation. There are a few things I need to do sooner as opposed to later, but I am not forcing myself into timelines and deadlines. I can do whatever I chose, whenever I chose to do it.
That idea, of accepting slowness, of patience, is easier stated than lived however, much as I have long paid lip service to the idea. I realize now that I was only flirting with patience, that I put too much stock in the doing and not enough in the being. Perhaps this is a lifelong journey, one with which we all struggle. After years of stating that it was the little things that actually matter, I realize that I always merely flirted with that belief -- I always had a big project in the background, providing a comforting anchor. And now there is none -- no project, just life. Or perhaps "just life" is actually the main project and the others have all been distractions. I don't know. I still tend to think a good day is a day I do a lot of things, but what if a good day is just a day I don't worry about what I have done?
I am sure that point will take a while to embed itself into my conscience, and by the time it is firmly established, I may not even remember that it was once a struggle. In the meantime, this morning I poured a perfect espresso, although it is technically somewhere between an espresso and a luongo, but it is my "perfect" and that is all that matters. I think I will putter about in the kitchen, figuring out some of the what and where that still plagues the space, at least until I am tired. I play bridge this afternoon. Perhaps I will run errands. Perhaps I will take a nap, or read, or knit, or all of the above.
