My writing muse is missing. Wherever she is, my kitchen muse went with her. (My cleaning muse hasn’t been seen for years, and I could use her, too.) Perhaps they’re at the farmhouse overseeing the repairs. Wherever they are, the sewing / crocheting muse stayed behind with me, and she’s had me buying patterns, fabric, and yarn at a time when I really don’t need extra clutter. I mean, I’m suddenly inspired, possessed, and obsessed by all things in the sewing room. I’ve discovered “Cuddle” fabrics – cute, soft, and appealing – and my life may never be the same, but that’s a story for another day.
“It’s not supposed to get this cold in April,” Mike complained this morning. Our morning temps have been in the 30s and 40s, occasionally dipping near freezing, but this morning it was an unexpected 24, and Mike got up at 5:00 to check the faucet at the shop door. “I don’t need more water problems,” he added in a tone of disgust.
But, you know, late frosts do happen here. All danger of frost has not yet passed.
The projected finish date for the work at the farmhouse is the end of this month. The ceiling is dry now and no mold developed, but the work progresses slowly because the house is so far from base – more than an hour’s travel time one way. But Mike and I have agreed that we could go there nevertheless, and we will make a trip soon.
And then, we’ve scheduled work for the modular home in May – interior painting and carpeting. The plan is to put the furniture in the garage and stay at the farm while the work is being done. But it’s not a simple process as far as I’m concerned. Cleaning my clutter out of this house will be an horrendous amount of work for me, and a major interruption in my life. The thought of it – well, the thought of it is probably why the muses are missing. It constitutes an upheaval in everything that’s dear to me, and that’s stress – and those spritely muses hide during times of stress. KW