How it went

On my instagram account I wrote this:

To honour my word of the year: focus,

I am trying an experiment.

I am stepping away to follow my off-line creative pursuits for a few days.

I already know I’ll miss you, but I’ll let you know how it goes.

                                                                                    Lise-Lotte

It’s a weird world where I know that someone else might read my notes to you – someone who is not as lovely as you. And so I can’t be more specific before I leave my little flower haven.

I’m home now,

so I can tell you how it went.

I’ve never turned off my Instagram; I have posted every day for years. Yes because I am building a business and mostly because I absolutely love and respect the community of wonderful women who follow me there- and because I have connected to so many artists, entrepreneurs and women around the world- some of whom I have now met in person and consider dear friends.

I went to an island with my family ( Lilly stayed here, so not the WHOLE family). I don’t usually miss her, but this time I did. I don’t know why. We haven’t brought her over the years because we like to go to the music festival in the evenings and often the beach during the day—we couldn’t leave her where we’ve stayed over the years, and the beach is simply too hot. You know that saying about being “too peoplely”, well I think she would think it would be “too doggy”. She’s a gentle quiet soul, not a big city dog going to the cottage with all the Costco finds, if you know what I mean. Not that Costco finds aren’t helpful, colourful, clever and practical.

I have noticed that the world seems to like “this or that”. I’ve noticed that because at coffee places here- it is typical to see two tip jars: one labelled Pie, the other Cake OR Movies or Reading or one thing or another.

If you know me, you know that I am not a one thing to the exclusion of the other. Unless of course the jars said: Subtle racism or Inclusion, then I would vote with my money and tip the second.

All to say that while I didn’t have my IG on at all for a week, which also means I can’t communicate through DMs to friends about meeting up etc. Yes I really noticed it. But weirdly, and maybe it was because I was literally in a cabin in the woods, I wasn’t homesick for it.

It was easier for me to write in the morning before I let in any other thought or image.

I knit almost all of a shawl that my knitting group is making (like book club when you all read the same book). I made some mistakes with it, and doubted myself (as I do when reading a pattern), but without anything to distract, I kept at it. There are still mistakes. Although I wonder if mistakes aren’t technically things that you do when you learn what you did wrong…I have no idea….so I just kept knitting.

As I write this, sweet peas on the table next to me sharing their glorious scent, instrumental music playing on my phone which covers the sound of the dishwasher, my shawl is outside getting the last of the sun to dry. The pattern said to wash it in just water. While I had intended on writing another piece about France to share with you, I guiltily spent those hours today knitting. As my friend calls it: playing chicken with a small ball of yarn… will I have enough or should I knit right now so that if I have to I can run out to the knitting shop while it is still open. Spoiler alert: I did. So [unfortunately] I didn’t need to get to a yarn shop…

I wrote a little poem, no it doesn’t rhyme and I don’t know what the meter is. But it makes sense to me when I read it out loud.

I wrote it under the great Douglas Firs with the sound of the ocean just beyond, mostly out of sight, but for the sparkling water I could see above the underbrush.

I wish it could be early morning all day long.

I wish the feeling of possibility

            with the freedom to simply sit

            and listen to the birds

            and watch the sun sparkle through the trees

            could be satisfying, mesmerizing for a whole day.

Instead there is a time,

            like when a painter knows it’s finished,

            that the day must begin its focus and productive phase.

When one gets underway.

When the coolness in the air,

the quiet of the neighbours

begins to shift and change.

And then it is over.

The early morning that is.

I wish it could be early morning all day long.

Beside writing, reading, hiking, eating, attending musical concerts, talking with friends I see once a year, playing games on the hard sand and under a bright light in the darkness of the night around the table, I watched birds, the light change, listened to the sounds of the neighbourhood, and in the stillness listened to her. The little voice inside me that often doesn’t get a chance to speak. She’s not always sensible, sometimes she wants to share her worries, her expectations of me, her memories of Ilse. In the quiet, she always wants to speak of Ilse Mae. Sometimes listening makes me happy, content, feel the longing… the bittersweet, remember the laughter. Sometimes it brings the laughter to the present moment. You really never know what is on her mind until you are brave enough to be still.

Are you doing this too this summer? Making time to be. Notice I didn’t say to “just” be. To give yourself permission to not be busy.

You may not be in a chapter of your life to give yourself that time. I understand. I haven’t always had this kind of time when no one needs me and I can be. It still feels new. And also like a coming home. I’ve been here before. So it’s comfortable in its “knowness”.

So while I was away listening to the voices of the ones I love the most, and the one that lives inside me. The world went about its business not noticing my absence. Perhaps the only evidence for me to see that time passed was in my garden upon my return. The 12 new tree shoots (some taller than me) have come up even in a bed in the hoop house, a swam of wasps moved in under some pots making a home in my huge stainless steel bowl I used last year for Indigo washing. I forgot a towel I had used for drying in the bowl under the plant pots and now it is incorporated inside the nest.

There is work to be done. My garden needs me now. And while I didn’t miss it while I was gone this short time, I am grateful for the gifts that is gives— as only a garden can. I guess there is even reassurance at this stage of my life that I need it too.

On my return, I filled a flower order for an out-of-town person who has a friend here. When I made the bouquet and delivered it ( I don’t like doing deliveries) it was to express their love in her time of grieving the passing of her elderly mom….later I learned it was also for her brother’s soon-to-be-passing.

The note I got back reflected that my flowers said what was needed. I can count on them to do so.

I am happy to be back on-line and yet I wish it could be early morning all.day.long.

I wish you peace on your path,

Lise-Lotte