Taking Care

My Dad used to sing a song that started like this: “Who takes care of the caretaker’s daughter when the caretaker’s busy taking care?”  When I’m stressed, I often find myself singing that refrain.  It’s a reminder to me that I need to turn my attention to myself.  And then I start taking care.

My Level One response is trash talk.  I find someone I can talk trash with.  It’s a great release and does no harm to others.  It also often leads to Level Two which isSometimes I have to go to Level Three.  That’s a bit more work.  It’s not something I can do on the spot.  But I’m always prepared to head to the 
pool and swim off all my stress.  Nothing beats a good swim.  Sometimes I go there with my tears and weep as I swim.  Lately, I’ve taken to bowing to the water before I slide into the pool.  

If I still can’t shake the stress of the day or season of my life, I turn to my stash of fabric and plan my next quilt.  Right now I have yards of different kinds of white-on-white fabric piled on the ironing board and a huge pile of indigo blue scraps on the counter–all there for me to play with as I draft out a kimono quilt.  I know the top will look something like this:

But a bit more polished.  I’m going to make a boro cloth kimono and ground it on a white-on-white background.  (Funny, even writing about it ratchets down my stress level this morning!)

My last-ditch, when-all-else-fails response to stress is silence.  It’s the way I start my day and it’s the place I return to when I feel the need to be restored.  I’m going there now.  Will you join me?