I am not the kind of person who ever wanted to "waste away in Margueritaville." I have always loved to work. To do things, to make things, to keep busy. Not so busy that I am overwhelmed. I just love to see what I have done with my time. 

My brother in law, George, as he was sitting and drinking a coffee, used to sometimes sing , "Deanne, Deanne, don't do it just because you can." I saw the humour right away. He knew me. And that still makes me smile. I must sing that for him the next time I see him and see if he remembers. 

For me, making something makes time real.

You know. I can see what I did.

Now take cleaning. I don't love cleaning though I do my share. I don't love it because you do it, and then you come back in a few days and you have to do it again. Time was made real when the taps were shiny but then it slipped away again as time does.

Now, I don't mind if what I make does not turn out the way I expected. I don't mind if it is not as beautiful as I wanted. It is still there before me. I often say it is the time spent on the thing that matters more than the thing itself. I agree. That's why I am ok if it is not all I want it to be. I still have this proof of life in front of me. This proof of time spent. This thing that makes the time I spent feel real.

Because time in ethereal. 

It is gossamer wings and gentle winds.

I don't know where it goes. And I find comfort in knowing that you don't either. That we are in this together.

But when I make I see time spent. I see loop by loop. I see yellow meeting gold. I see joy meeting sorrow. I see home meeting lost.

I see these things in a hooked rug. Each stitch is a moment.

Each stitch is a time and place.

I cannot see this in something made by a machine. I can only see this in the handmade.

And that is powerful. 

Making is a powerful thing. 

For the maker and for anyone who holds it in their hands.

It strengthens us. It tells us what we have been doing with our life.

So my song is actually, "Deanne, Deanne, do it while you can."

My song is about making.

Clearly my song is not about cleaning, or long white wine lunches, or wasting away in Margueritaville. Those are songs for someone else to sing.

Well, I do have to sing the cleaning song sometimes.

And once in France white wine came with lunch, so I drank it and immediately afterward bought two pairs of shoes, and then thought this wine at lunch thing could be dangerous. There are always some exceptions. And there are always times when you like to sing a different tune.

But most often I wake up and I think what I am making today. And that for me makes my day beautiful.

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