My hands have not held a knitting project in weeks. My sewing machine sits in chilly silence, murmuring weak pleas of encouragement to continue work on an array of woolen undershirts for the whole family. A pile of vomit-bedding waits for me to uncurl from my protective fetal position and fire up the washing machine. A blog sits silent for weeksandweeksandweeks, a growing silence that makes returning ever more difficult with each passing post-not-uttered.
It must be February.
We have friends who choose to abstain from alcohol each February as a sort of cleanse, a reassurance that they retain control. God, I think, what month begs for a drink more than February? This morning finds us braced against Polar Vortex Number 27 (or so – lost count) and I’m fending it off with the crappiest of firewood – punky and slightly wet and that which we’ve already invested hours of work into before realizing how ineffective it was at producing heat.
Now is not the time, I realize, to dither away at 25 different projects at once, reveling in the synchronicity that blooms between the edible, the stitched, the gleaned-from-printed-pages. No. Now is the time to throw my ass into something and get it done. To stay alive. (by which I mean moderately sane) And then throw my ass into something else and get it done. And because it’s winter and we’re cold, that something is going to be a bringer-of-warmth. So here it is.
A quilt, of linen and wool, hand-stitched with a fierce desperation. It’s been on our bed for quite some time now in an embarrassing state of incompleteness, with pins around the perimeter (watch out for those, I told the Mister) because we’ve been cold for quite some time now. Having made slightly more progress since snapping these photos, I’ve managed to stitch the edges closest to heads and hands, and have removed the exciting element of possibly pricking oneself during sleep. Except for the dog. She’s still at risk of running into a stray pin here or there on the outer edges.
The stitching part is lovely, a methodical process that I’m enjoying, albeit with a mad sense of urgency. The choice to upgrade to a King-Size bed several years ago is one I’m not so keenly enjoying right now as I ponder the massive implications of that choice in terms of linen thread.
If you find a nagging sense of deja vu at the sight of this project, perhaps it’s because you remember that I featured it as a guest on WhipUp last year? Though at that time I envisioned it as more of a duvet. Bygones.
And you? How are you coping (or not) with the viciousness of this winter? Drinking? Making? Beach vacations? Do tell.