“There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.” –Jane Austen

Greetings Dear Ones!

Congratulations!!! On December 31st at precisely 12 o’clock midnight, we were all safely delivered of a Baby New Year! Is it a Boy? A Girl? Who knows what its “pronouns” are bound to be? (I’m hoping for “We, Ours, Us”!) According to the Chinese, it’s going to be a Dragon. This is Good and Magical and Dangerous news. I’ve known a dragon or two personally and they are very nice until the moment they pass gas and sneeze at the same time and accidentally burn down your entire village. Then they skip off to Boston leaving you with young cattle to train and they never once say “Oops” or “Sorry.”

While most of us are now contemplating how we are ever going to get back to our pre-pregnancy shapes, the new baby has already crawled away from us like that speeding tortoise my son adopted in his teens (To be clear, the son was in his teens, not the tortoise)—who sprinted into the forest never to be seen again. (Yes, it’s true, a tortoise once outran me.)

It’s already day Three FOUR! Soon it will be November again, I just know it.

I knew this baby was coming, I swear. I’ve been experiencing the puffy ankles and pains of labor for weeks now. Why I feel caught unawares with the Nursery still in disarray, is my own fault. I was just starting to clean the nursery, search for the “new baby clothes” (i.e. running pants and gym shoes), pre-cook some healthy meal choices for those nights when I am “too busy to cook” and yet not too busy to sit on a couch watching cartoons and eating deep fried spuds out of a sack, when suddenly it seemed like WAY more fun to invite seventeen people over for tunes…. You know…a lullabye for the Baby New Year. Four hours of jigs and reels later, I no longer wanted to clean anything. My daughter assures me that this is a good thing. “It’s not a good idea to clean on New Year’s Day and accidentally divert the ‘abundance’ headed our way,” she says.

“What abundance?” asks Prudence crisply, “the abundance of crumbs on the floor? The abundance of dishes in the sink? Muddy Footprints in the hall?”

Our beloved Hermit of Hermit Hollow wasn’t hearing of it. He stayed and swept and wiped and washed all the Abundance away. Other helpers helped. I was left with a sparklingly empty house full of memories of a first golden afternoon filled with Harmony and Gladness and six quarts of vegan soup no one had wanted to eat. I’m grateful. With a new baby on my hands, I certainly can use the help and the extra sleep and now I won’t have to cook again until next Thursday.

So… here it is day [three or four] and Prudence is wondering how I am going to go mad this year at attempting to be perfect. “Are you going to crash diet? Exercise? Clean out your closets? Clean the cellar?” she asks hopefully.

“I’m going to give up smoking,” I tell her.

“What?! But you’ve never smoked a day in your life!”

“That’s why I picked it. I’m reasonably assured of success. In fifty-six years, I have never once kept a New Year’s Resolution past Burn’s Night. So…this year I’m choosing a WIN. Besides, you never can tell when I might suddenly light up and start. I’ve already tried most of all the other bad habits and they are very hard to quit. It’s much easier to quit something I have no intention of starting.”

“You’re ridiculous. Be serious. What are you going to do to improve yourself?” she wants to know.

“I’m going to sleep more. I think it’s high time for that ‘Long Winter’s Nap’ of which the poet speaks. When I wake up, I’m going to tell everyone I know that it’s ok to not be perfect.”

“Way to ruin the game,” huffs Prudence. “You can’t just QUIT like that. Besides, it’s not really Ok to not be ok. Think about it. Do any of us truly deserve to be loved for the WHOLE of who we are? Heaven forbid! Is that really a fair expectation? It’s far better if we all do our best to brush our teeth, eat more broccoli, pull up our socks, and disguise our rot as best we can. Loving people is not about accepting them just as they are. It’s about helping them become the best version of themselves. Ask any parent.”

“That’s a very classical, Platonic ideal of love,” I say, “where Love is the classroom in which we learn skills. Frankly, I’m a little fed up with that. I’m done with the magical thinking of the Romantics too. I just want to recline here by the wood stove, pretending to read a book, and cuddle this delicate baby New Year. I want to BE with this newborn sense of possibility, of pause, of hope, of prayer, of peace. Somehow, in this child’s hand—on a breath or bud or leaf or wing--will be borne my own Contentment. There has been enough rushing about, enough weighing and measuring and comparing and costing. I’m exhausted. THIS, right now, is the miracle I have been waiting for.”

“This sounds exceptionally lazy to me,” she tuts. “Maybe you are coming down with something. Maybe you need vitamins.”

I snap.

“This moment is part of this day, which is part of this year. These are the moments that years are made of. Years are not as long as you think. The last one slipped by like greasy spinach in a diaper. I’m not going to let that happen to this one.”

“Surely you can think of ONE way you can improve your lot or make a contribution to society!” she nags. (I really can’t stand Prudence at this time of year.)

“Really, Pruddy…I’m fine! I’m a perfectly lovely person unless I’m tired, hungry, hot, cold, thirsty, anxious, looking for my car keys, or having to deal with people who act like People.”

Despite my resistance and rebellion, the harsh inner voice requiring me to improve myself keeps working at me as I head back to work in my shop. There are twenty little things I need to make. Piece work is fairly mindless, which can be maddening, but I am grateful for it. I call it “peace work” when it requires very little thought. I make ten things and then make the next ten. I tend to make things in batches of ten before moving on to the next steps, running them along under the sewing machine needles consecutively without pausing to snip the threads in between. The “take up” (the thread required to go on one pass of the needle) is so long on my vintage machine that the needle will unthread itself if you don’t leave a long “tail” every time you cut the thread, which means that any time you start sewing something, you start by leaving a long thread at the beginning of your work. To avoid this and conserve wasted thread, I just run things through without cutting the threads in between. Afterwards, I do all the trimming. Or not. Sometimes I keep going, step after step, never trimming anything until the bitter end, when the thing starts to look like a mop-top from the 70’s who needs its bangs cut.

I do the same when I am knitting. I leave tails all over the place to be woven in later. It’s always a bit of a disappointment (like mile 11 on a half-marathon) to realize you have all these pesky details to get through before you are truly at the finish line. There’s nothing like “finishing” a garment only to realize you aren’t finished at all.

As I stand at the cutting table, snipping and searching for thread ends, it occurs to me that this “step” is going to take a while. Little things have a way of building up when we defer them. Had I snipped or woven as I went, this big “step” would have been diluted into something immeasurable, “no time at all,” whereas now it takes a significant moment. Little things really do add up over the course of a day, a year, a moment.

“I’m going to do the little things Right Away,” I announce to Prudence. “This is going to be my growth area for the 2024. I think if I stay on top of the little things, I’ll accomplish the Big Things sooner. I won’t need to do as much catching up later. I’m going to stay on top of things.”

Prudence brightens considerably. There is plenty to fault me on for later, when I have forgotten this resolution, when I get snagged by one of my forgotten threads. But I’m going to show her! This year, I’m really going to do it. I’m going to the ONE SMALL CHANGE that affects all the little things. I’m going to clip as I go—release what needs releasing—return what needs returning—and be present for all the tiny magic. A life is not made of years; it’s made of moments.

Prudence bites the bit hard and gallops into the future: “This is going to be great. Clean as you go! Put the feed scoop back in the grain bin instead of accidentally taking to the house with you each morning. Tuck the cut baling twine on a hook, instead of stuffing it in your pocket when you feed sheep. Return your recycling weekly, instead of needing a trailer and half a day’s voyage to the dump to get dispose of it. Pay those insidious highway tolls before they accrue extra fees equal to a car payment. Think of the time and twine and money you’ll save…”

I let her ramble. I’m glad she’s happy. She likes fussing. I like knowing that no matter what, I am HOME— in my skin, in my heart, in my loves, in this magical place where I can act my worst and still be loved the most. I’m not perfect and I’m just fine with that. Lots of energetic people out there are rushing to the gyms, the workshops, the malls, the mountains to strengthen, tone, slim, or slither. I’m contented and superbly grateful to sit quietly, holding the baby new year in my heart, wishing us all the peace, prosperity, hilarity, and humility we can handle.

Happy New Year Dear One! May you have moments that take your breath away, moments that make you melt, moments where you enjoy a particularly good swing at a dance or belt out a chorus to your favorite song, where you inhale the dawn, the stars, the scent of mud after a thaw, the drowsy smell of low tide by the shore… May you snip all the little threads that might snag and steal your time and share the bonus moments with those you love (and even a few you don’t love). May you be free to enjoy things sooner than ever. And may we support each other, always, in Mending! Thank you for reading, sharing, subscribing, and most of all—for doing your splendid, Magnificent Work!

I love you SEW MUCH!

Yours aye,

Nancy