Welcome to my newsletter, Abbe’s Ruminations. I mull, contemplate, ponder – old and new experiences, finding what I call the joy and laughter of repetition or the abandonment to not knowing.
I don’t have the nimble talent of a seamstress. Mistakes galore followed me in my home economic classes. (Something they no longer provide for young women or men). My seams wiggled, the darts puckered, and the zippers failed.
They say practice makes perfect. If that were true, I’d have a finished product, a passable dress, skirt, or blouse that could be worn. Instead, I mastered unraveling. The very idea of perfect offends me as do superlatives. The first line in my next novel begins with a rant about , It’s for the best.
Regret comes from the mistaken idea, that always is forever, or that never isn’t possible, and worse yet, if only, hadn’t happened. Life is too fickle for that to be true. So many decisions are made with the best intentions, and some without thought.
I don’t have an antidote for the blunders I have made throughout my life. I recognize that we all have passions that guide us, that fill in the blanks and throw talent and expertise to the wind.
I remember during my father’s illness, his hallucinations. The look in his eye with a sense of regret. I remember holding his hand and trying to unravel the fear that held him. I slowly realized that his thoughts held an obscure error in his past behavior, stuck in old memories, and he rejected the present love in front of him.
I poured out assurances breaking the strands of sewn-in fears, the regrets, until he looked in my eyes and saw that I cared. Since that time, I have tried to correct my present faux pas’, analyze what I would do in the future, talk, try to understand.
I’ve replaced the stitches of regret with threads of caring. A practice that doesn’t have answers.
Patience with myself and others replaces the negative emotions of blame, anger, and judgement. Since I’m a romantic, I wonder if caring in innocence creates the intimacy needed for change. If I expect nothing in return for giving attention, for being present, for noticing, can this nourish my soul and create a better world?
A diet of caring… goes beyond any philosophy, fills in the gaps when life unravels, offers the stitch in time. It isn’t saying I’m doubling back on a promise, or I have failed, or that I’m better at anything. Caring is like the hook-back-hemstitch my Bubbie showed me, reinforcing what is there, a method of support. To care is to move softly, to uplift what exists, to accept mistakes, to enjoy, to sew a foundation, that can be improved.
I offer you a needle and thread to pull through life.