There, now you don’t have to ask me that question. I appear to have stopped blogging for over a year (because unfinished unpublished posts in the drafts section don’t count) and boy do I ever have a years worth of excuses! Want to hear them all? No, I didn’t think so.
I’ve been right here this whole time, taking a long break from listening to myself, making actual real useful stuff with my hands instead of my head, and resting my brain.
I have made hats and mats and blankets and slippers and shawls. Dolls and bears and zebras and giraffes. I’ve made so much stuff it’s getting harder all the time to find anyone willing to take my latest greatest project home with them. But I’m not finished and will keep going for as long as I’m able and for as long as Michaels has yarn sales. I had forgotten how much I love to crochet, just like I’ve forgotten for a bit how much I love to write.
The memories that pop up on Facebook for me are getting downright scary. Nine years ago my two oldest grandkids were nine years old. Now they’re eighteen; and the fifteen, fourteen and thirteen year olds are right behind them, with a grandma getting progressively more ancient by the minute.
Time for me to tell more stories while I can still remember things. Maybe these beautiful young people I’m so happy to have in my life will one day have questions I’m not around to answer. I mean seriously, look how fast one year, never mind nine years, whizzes right on by. Maybe I have another nine in me, but you never know.
My grandma started saying “Well, this could be my last Christmas!” when she was in her seventies, and kept it up for almost 30 years. I’d like to be that lucky. Plus, the older I get, the greater the possibility of uttering totally bizarre shit that will make my descendants laugh and roll their eyes and wonder if that’s how they’re going to end up. I like that feeling of power.