Re-raveling

The only dream I remember from this morning: I'm knitting a large pink and white square of soft, fuzzy, cottony velour yarn. Suddenly I realize I've made a mistake a few rows back, and all the yarn has slipped off the needles. I'm trying to get the stitches back on, and the more I fuss with it, the longer the slipped stitch unravels. I pause, thinking, "I oughtta just tear the whole thing out and start over." But it's a nice, big square, and most of it is fine. It's just the part right at the top that's a mess. Suddenly, my teacher appears next to me. "It's okay if you want to go back," she says.

"But won't I learn more if I stick with it, and figure out how to fix the mistake? Wouldn't that make me a better knitter?"

"Either way," she says. "Just keep knitting."

Sigh. My dream life has always had something of a flair for the obvious. Today it's commenting on the fact that once again, finding myself in the limp, clammy grip of my usual mid-winter ennui (nevermind that winter is now officially over), I've been fantasizing (a lot) about just ditching everything and taking off to start a new life somewhere else, in some new, clean, bright-white space that has nothing in it from my past or present life. Just last night, talking on the phone with an old friend and wandering around the yard in the final glimmerings of a less than spectacular sunset, I felt myself getting all clenched up inside over the various assorted piles of broken-down cardboard boxes and other items Mr. A is saving for some unknown (to me) garden-related project ... and yearned for a clear, empty expanse of wild, unmowed grass and unpruned trees. Fresh wind. Silence.

Maybe I need to go backpacking for a few days. Or even just spend an afternoon at the beach.

I had spent a half hour or so at the creek earlier in the evening, sitting on the rocks next to the waterfall and trying to empty my head. The willows are leafing out now and there's a thin green wash of color over everything back there. I was just entering my zone when the thumping, howling and screaming began ... I always know spring has arrived when my heavy-metal speedcore neighbors start rehearsing with the garage door open again.

Anyway! Dreams of escape are comforting for a few minutes, but the reality is (and I know I'm not the first to discover this), there IS no escape, except effort and acceptance. Like the lady in the dream said – stay and do the work here, or go somewhere else and do it there. Either way, the task is the same: to create something I feel good about. In this case, a life.

Another thing I saw last night, in my wanderings around the property: that old deer skull Tater found in the creek, lying on the ground next to the neighbor's wire fence. It's bleached white now and the grass has grown up around it so that it's deeply cushioned and protected there, like a jewel on a velvety green fur pillow. If I get the new camera before summer hits and the grass turns brown, I will take a picture of it for you.