I have been at the hearth. I was here a while before I realized that I was at The Hearth. Oh no, don’t scoff, it is so easy to become modernized to the point you forget your wild self. It is so easy to not recognize when you are heart tending.
I surprised myself mightily by making mistakes regarding bill-paying that I hadn’t made in years, and I do mean decades. It’s a reall flighty-headed move, thinking I’d paid not one, but two bills that I hadn’t paid and then spent money as though I had. I’m in a bit of a situation and I’ve got to pull some money out of a hat but I’m not panicking. I just thought to myself, quietly, internally, no big deal, “I’ll go to the hearth”.
I had bought some beautiful things, you see, and you can’t pay the property taxes with these pretty things, but it wouldn’t be a big deal if I’d paid those bills that I’d thought I’d paid. Oh well. So my mind is on pretty things. Nourishing my surroundings. Building up the hearth. Instead of chastising myself like I would in the past it occurred to me that I’d somehow done the right thing, the thing I needed doing just then, and that the best way out was to continue. And so that’s what I’ve been doing.
I’ve been pulling out bits of material, of pretty colours, some with patterns of meaning, like the buddha cloth, and others just rich blue-gray tapestries, and I’ve been ironing, sighing with ease and contentment as I sprinkle water on the fabric and breath in the steam as the iron hits the cloth. And I stitch. Very slowly. Methodically. My coordination isn’t the best and I need to make pretty, even stitches because I have to sell these scarves I’m making from the bits of material I have dug out and what I found on sale in the bargain bins. From the sows ear and what’s left of what others don’t want I will try to make magic and ends meet. All I need to do is sit determined at the hearth and believe my meagre skills will be enough. I’m going to take a hot lovely shower now and then go back to the needle and thread. I’m enjoying this very womanly time to myself. It is building me up somehow. This ancient inspiration. This time-honoured knowing. How many women have put food on the table by tossing together a few extra pretty things to sell at the market? This is a good thing. Steph