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Sunday letter... here is what I miss....
Good morning,
I stayed late on Friday night at the studio and hung my rugs up after we had some painting done. Being at the studio on my own reminds me of years ago when the studio was just me a good bit of the time. I knew there was a group of women visiting on Saturday from Halifax and I wanted to get the rugs up. Company was coming.
When I was a child and company was coming my mother would prepare raisin buns, lemon squares and date squares. She would also make sure she had ham and cheese for sandwiches. It was a simple preparation, the same every time. It was always special just the same. It marked a kind of change in the air. To a child it felt as if something magical was about to happen.
In Nova Scotia right now we can gather in small groups. We cannot cross the border to our neighbours in New Brunswick or Prince Edward Island. Our shops and restaurants are open, we are wearing masks, washing hands, and social distancing. Still most of us are staying home and being very careful. And we are missing each other. We are feeling the cold of the winter, the isolation, and we are carrying that around.
At the same time we know that so many people have suffered such great losses through this pandemic that the bit of loneliness we feel is nothing in comparison. I even feel sometimes a little ashamed of being tired of it all, for all my loved ones are good and safe.
Still we feel it. Still we carry this feeling, one that was previously unknown to us and we wait and we hope.
If this pandemic has taught me anything, it has taught me a lot about faith and hope. When things slip out of my control, as so many things do, this is where I turn.
I just want to tell you today that I miss you.
That I'm lonely too.
Yesterday when those women came from Halifax and laid out their projects and gathered wool for their new rugs they breathed some life into our studio. For one of them it was her first visit and when she walked in she happily said, "I made it !". When Cathy, who works with me told me this, I said, " That is why it is so important to be a place for people to go." We have missed being your place to go. We have missed offering people a cup of tea. We have missed our community.
Our oatcakes are wrapped to go. Hospitality is different.
Because of hope and faith I believe that you will get the chance to come to visit when this pandemic is under control. That we'll see our sisters, brothers, grandkids, and friends and share big meals and love each other in a real place. Hospitality will re-emege as something more vital and more important than it was before. We will know the real beauty of gathering people in our homes and sharing food with them. We will appreciate it.
We will know the importance of the word Gather, the beauty of coming together in kindness and love. Perhaps it is love for an art, a craft, an interest, or perhaps it is love for each other. Whatever it is, we will know the value of it.
For now though it is winter here, and as beautiful as it is, there is a frigidity to it that makes many of us long for bare feet in the grass.
It's ok to pine for something beautiful as long as you promise yourself to find the good in the day that is with you.
As long as you know that winter turns to spring, and that winter was made for the makers, and when you make, the world around you softens just a little.
So don't get tired of making because making feeds you and soothes you. There is so much comfort in it.
Thanks for being there,
Deanne
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