: Something about the fall makes everything feel like home. The streets feel like home. My sweaters feel like home. My wool shoes feel like home. Our home even felt like home today. We lit a candle on our little yellow coffee table, cleaned our little home, did a little laundry and hunkered down with books and blankets and good conversation.
: Last weekend during one of my recent excursions I went on an impromptu contra dancing escapade. I am old hat at contra dancing, I like it, I love it and I want some more of it. It happens every Friday locally, but I've never gone since living up here. I mean to rectify that. However, the point of me telling you that I did go last weekend was to explain perhaps why I've been hobbling about for the past week. I fell during one rollicking good spin and landed squarely on my knee, spraining it unbeknownst to me. It was swollen so badly that I just assumed it was a bad bruise and carried on the following day to Niagara Falls with two favorites, lots of sour patch kids and good conversation. Swelling is a pleasant thing, let me tell you. It keeps you from feeling all the instant pain you could be feeling and just prolongs the pain you will be feeling. I am quite a good hobbler these days.
: Despite hobbling I get around quite well with intermittent ice packs, ace bandages and conveniently placed chairs. Yesterday I hobbled through a five hour workshop in silkscreen printing at one of the local universities here. And let me tell you, hobbling was worth every bit. To learn the process of silkscreen printing (which is something I've always been interested in and never done) was fascinating enough, but to actually end the day with ten or so prints of my very own design and execution was more than I could have asked for! As though I wasn't already completely enamored with the art, now I'm bordering on obsessed. I'm determined to figure out how to beg, borrow, or steal access to any of the materials and start my own silkscreen studio!
: Last night I sat in a living room with two people I love and who love me dearly, though I can't figure out why. They distilled every word I said and put them into palatable thoughts and plans, things I can work with, things I can grasp, things I can think through and process without all the additives I like to have in my life. I know I complicate things by thinking through them and trying to figure everything out, but somehow it helps to know that there are people who will work with these floating ideas and point my compass north again.
: Someone recently encouraged me to write out my tenets of faith, or my creedo, to put into words all the soapboxes I stand on, all the grin and bear its I harbor, and all the things I can't live without understanding. To state unequivocally what I believe about certain things and to leave well enough alone about other things. I am no fan of tradition, or of doing things the way we've always done them just because. But the idea of crafting a thesis of Who He Is and Who He Is To Me sits well with me. It is all fine and well and good to figure out what you believe, but sometimes I camp out on the "I'm figuring out all this stuff" and never arrive at the "I believe this with certainty."
: This is my everydaying.
