Being February, and being that green boughs are in short supply this time of year, is it any wonder why I feel abandoned by the proverbial singing bird? Since I learned to hold a pencil, writing has been my voice.
Over the course of this month, I have come to the sad, but neccessary conclusion, that my writing life needs to be put on hold. Yesterday, I was posting a blog comment on Creative Construction, wrestling Sam, who was climbing me like a porter on Mount Kilamanjaro, while fending off John's simultaneous stabs at the laptop keyboard. Sam flailed, my screen vanished, and *poof* went my morning's writing. I will admit that very briefly I was filled with righteous indignation and something akin to rage. But then I reminded myself that my children love me and are naturally curious about that which I am doing, and while they napped that afternoon, I could write it all over again. This time in peace.
But that was only a blog comment. Not a novel. Not a play. Nothing that required special concentration or a train of thought. And I will admit that I get very grumpy at the thought of not doing what I love. But I cn't imagine anything worse than pushing your children away, feeling resentful of their needs, and squandering their love for pretty paragraphs on a laptop. Yes, I love writing, but I love my children more. And they are only little for such a short time. I can put the writing away for now.
In a lot of respects, I'm depressed about this decision. I feel silenced, like my creativity has been stilted. And frankly, I don't quite know what to do with myself. Or, at least, I didn't...
Then I found the half-finished tablecloths in the closet. I'd competely forgotten that I'd started them, but once I rediscovered them, it seemed like a shame to leave them in their current state. Plus, they are the perfect project for someone like me whois always picking up and putting down.
The thought cheers me up a lot. If I'm embroidering, I haven't abandoned my creative life altogether. It's a little green bough to welcome my singing bird when she returns.