Suziecreamcheese Sings the Blues

It’s always a surprise to me when the year draws to a close.   I like to look back and think about how things have changed, and how things have stayed the same.   It helps me to realize that things I worried about and stressed over either amounted to nothing, or were resolved.   This year will be the same, I’m sure.

There are new aches and pains.   There are new worries as we all grow older.   Some things became more difficult.  Some things became easier.

Through it all, I’ve realized that my dreams have come true in ways that I never thought possible and all the “stuff” is just that, just “stuff” that won’t really matter all that much next year at this time.

It’s not what I started out to write about but that’s okay – like life, my words often take their own path.   It’s actually been a good year – more good than bad.   Maybe sitting down to write has made me realize that.   I’ve learned a lot about myself, about who I really am down under all the surface stuff.   And I like that person.   A lot.  I feel like I’m me again, for a long time, I was the person everyone else thought I should be – and it’s taken 10 years with Mark for me to be the person I am, the person he always saw, the person he gives me strength enough to be.

I want to not decide

I want you to not find the one item in the freezer that isn’t labeled

I want to have time to digest my food before I go to bed, which means I DON’T want to eat at 1:00 in the morning.

I want to be skinny again, and I doubt that will ever happen.

I don’t like this world any more.

I don’t like a world where people think it’s okay to drive down a street and shoot at innocent people.

How do you teach people who don’t want to learn?

I’m at a loss.  I lecture, I make them do in-class work to reinforce the lecture and still they just won’t learn.  And I don’t think it’s that they can’t – they don’t want to learn.

Few things are more frustrating than asking, “what don’t you understand?” and getting “everything” as the answer.   How do I fix that?  I can’t reteach the entire course.

So much for a good semester.  😦

Can we have a national STFU day?

Apparently it was some national day to tell everyone who you want to sleep with.   I want to know who voted on this, because I did not get the notice.   I also don’t care who you sleep with as long as it’s not my husband or a small child.   Why does everyone need a label?   Why is it so important to be labeled bisexual, homosexual, asexual, transgender, whatever?   Why is it the business of the world to know?  I don’t care – I only care how you treat me.   Just shut up!

I don’t care if you’re black or white or purple, either.  Just shut up!

I don’t care if you’re poor or rich.  Just shut up!

I don’t care if you don’t like snow, or love snow, but if you have to post “bring it!” for every flake, will you please Shut UP!

I’m pretty sure that taking guns away from all the good people won’t stop the bad people and if you can’t see that, please Just Shut UP!

I really need a break from all this chatter.

Is magic

Taking the yarn in my hands, weaving it through my fingers, over the needle, under the needle, is a spell in itself

Counting the stitches, making the picture, is casting a spell

Love in every stitch

Or not

It’s magic – from the little kid who makes a string to the old woman who makes an intricate shawl – it’s magic

In the movement of my hands and fingers, it’s the casting of a spell

wrap around me and keep me safe

keep me safe from the world

shelter me within your wings

It isn’t a quilt

So stop calling it a quilt when it’s a comforter.   Calling it a quilt is an insult, a denigration of the countless hours I’ve spent,  hunched over a table, making tiny stitches by hand, in a piece lovingly put together – and sewing love into every stitch.   It’s an insult to the blood I’ve shed from pricking my finger.
Anyone can sew two pieces of fabric together with something in between.  It takes very little skill to do that.   To stitch those pieces together with needle and thread – that takes a bit of talent.   And perseverance.  And love.

Yes, I’m a curmudgeon.  But you don’t call a Mercedes just a car.