My brain has felt fragmented of late, as if I cannot hold onto thoughts -- they skitter away like mice seeking shelter. I played bridge yesterday, for the first time in a couple of months, but after an initial semi-burst of focus, my attentions wandered, bouncing around the room, flitting between conversations, everywhere and nowhere all at once. I lost count. When I was supposed to deal I shuffled. I don't remember being this scattered after a move before. Perhaps I was and have simply forgotten; the fractures in memory perhaps a gift.
Perhaps I should just capitalize on that, meandering and fragmented thoughts today, assuming that cohesion and coherence will follow in their own good time.
(1)
This is the first week that I am not constantly exhausted, that I awake with a glad heart rather than yearning to burrow deeply beneath the covers, seeking rest but really unable to slow myself down enough to actually achieve a restful state. Actually, I started to feel rested over the weekend, and I took a break from exercise, which may have helped. Rebooting my exercise regime while moving may have been a tad ambitious; but then I've always tended to operate at either full-throttle or full-stop. Overdone or undone: one has no recourse but toward self-compassion.
(2)
The shelves for the master bathroom finally arrived last week and I was able to finally unpack and begin to organize. This photo was taken when there was still a yellow film over the window. I posted another picture yesterday, of the other set of shelves once the window was revealed. I am well aware that open shelves would not work for everyone, but I've come to hate drawers. They are never the right size for the things I want to store in them, and I am very particular about things being grouped and lined up particular ways, about there not being a mess. No junk drawers for me. If it can't be lined up in a way that everything is visible, then there is simply too much.
My mom is probably rolling with laughter at that because she well knows how much I tend to create huge messes when I am in the throws of some creative inspiration. Perhaps that is exactly why I want the rest of my life to be orderly. Perhaps this is also the constant struggle in my own walk through life, how to balance my need for peace and orderliness with the danger and messiness of creation, tinged as it is with a basic underlying laziness. One thing about maturity, one does eventually learn that it is easier to maintain a system than it is to wrest orderliness out of chaos. There is always some spot of chaos in my house, in my relationships, everywhere really. I don't think you can force life into a particular mold. Life is never really perfectly balanced, always a delicate dance along a fine line.
(3)
I wrapped the shade around the Alta Costura lamp last night and it is finally standing in my living room, for the first time since moving into this house. The shape is made by the artful shaping of a long rectangle of translucent PVC. Designed by Joseph Aregall in 1992, the lamp is inspired by the work of Balenciaga, and is a wonderful lesson in the art of draping, and a reminder of what I like about dressmaking. It is always that transformation that appeals to me, in sewing and knitting as well, as taking a simple line or a simple 2-dimensional rectangle and creating something three-dimensional that flatters and is beautiful.
This detail, this small thing, somehow in my heart, cries "home at last".
