Seven people that I have known have passed this year. Clients, coworkers, friends. The distance makes it difficult, and COVID19 distancing rarely allows for adequate goodbyes. While these lives were not lost due to COVID19, I must wonder if some of this has been in part to the aftereffects of distancing and isolation. I support social distancing, masks, and caring for each other by staying safe. This isn't political. We need each other to survive. And we need to appreciate those around us as often as we can. Nothing is promised. Life is too short. A million cliches telling you to love your loved ones--and you get my passive- aggressive point.
Tonight I sort though yarn. This yarn belong to my great-aunt Dorothy. We called her Aunt Dot. We visited once a year, a state over. She would take us for walks, go gardening, take us to the creek to find shiny rocks, and visit with her sister (my grandmother who taught me to crochet). She was a stubborn lady, but very resourceful and independent. She passed away last year and the family has been cleaning up her possessions.
It's always hard going through a deceased loved ones items. For me, yarn and craft supplies are some of the most difficult to sort through. You sort through a person's ambitions and ideas when you stumble on an unfinished project.
Odd colors without a match, or the other side of the coin with a large amount of matching yarn that once had a project in mind.
It is my hope that by Christmas I am able to take these bits of projects past, these pieces of her memory, and make them into usable items for the family. This will not be easy but I believe to have the means to do this. Maybe I am too ambitious, but I'm going to give it my damned-est.
She used to yell at us for picking her tulips. And for eating too many tomatoes. She also hugged us tight and always cared for us lovingly.
She was known for giving the oddest gifts. Zip lock bags of pencils, rulers, socks, a toy or two. She represents a time and way of life for me that is forgotten.
May her odd-ball projects and leftover yarn be loved again. To that, I will toast to the rest of 2020. Come hell or high water, I refuse to let go of what once was at times. But perhaps carrying on a piece of her, or a piece of any of the lives that have been lost this year, will prove them all happy in legacy and a new beginning.