Compost

Trish lives on the North Island and I last saw her in mid-May. She was in town this weekend and we had a lovely brunch and coffee. It was a lovely, sunny/chilly, early spring day. And I realized pretty much since the last time I saw her, I've been battling with my stash room and stash.

OK, we had a cold, cold winter, and I had a bad, bad time, and I have so much stuff I didn't know what to do, but I'm definitely avoiding things, too, and I don't know why. I've had, as economists are now saying, green shoots of ideas but nothing connects and I've not been moved to make anything, weaving or otherwise.

And I've been feeling terrible about myself, ("lazy" is my favorite label,) but still immobilized, as in one of those bad dreams where I want to scream or run but can't move a muscle?

I can continue to feel bad and lazy, or get into that wonderful "today is the first day of the rest of my life" mode, and get a move on. And look at this past winter as compost, which is what I'll try to do this week.

Stash Sunday approaches.