As we return here to relative normalcy, I suspect I will become a less inspiring writer – not to mention finding it harder to find things to write about. I know that everything I write does not have to be dripping with intensity or significance, but I do find it harder to live with the things that I write that are more ordinary. I like ordinary. I’m just not very good writing about it.
While I’ve been busy the past couple of days not writing here, I have been finishing dishcloths for the family. Here’s two of them:
At least two people said that I could just go to the store and buy something with which to wash dishes; and exclaimed that they were too beautiful to be used. I don’t see why not to have beautiful things with which to do ordinary tasks. I had this discussion with The Husband, the first time I made a pretty washcloth. He said he didn’t want to use it, that it was art and art should just be looked at. Fortunately I’ve convinced him that it is okay to have art you touch, pick up, and clean with. 😉 Also, no need to preserve them for posterity. When they wear out or get lost, or whatever it is that happens to useful objects you like to have around, I can always make another one, or two, or three.
Right now doing a few washcloths is a nice break because everything else I am knitting is a big project. Nice to have something little to work on, and finish, and get that good feeling that comes from finishing something.
On another note, one of my health-care providers came to my house yesterday. She does acupuncture, but I am reluctant to call her an acupuncturist because she does so much more. One of the things we discussed is that now that we’ve got a week’s distance from the bombs, how everybody’s health is falling apart. One of the things we do, during a war, is prioritize unconsciously. Our bodies seem to know that now is not the time to be dealing with trivial stuff, so anything that isn’t immediately important gets pushed to the background, to grow and no, it doesn’t fade away. As soon as the rush is over (assuming it does end, of course, there are areas of this planet where war is an ongoing state of existence besides this one), all those other things come calling.
Also there are the difficulties that emerge from stress relief. Sometimes, if you’ve been stressed long enough, then relaxing is actually more painful (in the short run) than maintaining the stress level. I’m going through the relaxing part right now, and it is painful. Not physically so much, although I have a stiff neck to make me cry out sometimes – and it’s like so much else, not easy to put a finger on or describe, because it’s, oh, feeling disconnected, or out-of-sorts, or suddenly having emotions you didn’t know were there.
This morning I woke up crying. I couldn’t tell you why, it just was. Fortunately I know that I don’t have to know why. I also don’t have to cover it up, or be ashamed, or make it go away. It just was. I had my little cry and now I’m sitting here, still wondering how I am feeling? what am I supposed to be doing? what is the point? I don’t know.
I have to do the next right thing, which right now is moving on to coping with the family, and preparing for shabbot guests. A family we know, who live just a bit up the road and who spent most of the war away because they have very young children, are back and coming to visit. I’m very happy and a little bit nervous.
I’m always nervous about having guests, because as a cripple I can’t keep the house to a standard that I would prefer when guests come over; and, also due to my disability, we can’t and don’t do things the way most mainstream families do. I love having company but I do worry about being judged. Silly, now, because I know the family, but it is something I’ve lived with for most of my life, and isn’t going to fade away just because it doesn’t happen to match present circumstances.
The ceasefire continues, and while we are all trying to pick up and restring the threads of our lives, we are also keeping a guarded eye towards the reopening of active hostilities. In the north, there are active hostilities which are disrupting the lives of a whole bunch of ordinary people, people just like us here in the south. I have to occasionally work to remember that, not because it isn’t important here, but because there is so great a relief at being able to go outside without being afraid of bombs that I find I don’t want to think about the war going on in other places. I want and need a break.
I suppose that is exactly what a ceasefire is. The war is not over, but thank heaven for a breathing space.