Weaving a mind of peace.

I love the week between Christmas and New Year. I can forgive myself for getting nothing done, and then be surprised by actual accomplishments.

There's a peace about this time. Of course, I don't have hordes of children to tend---just my own unruly mind, which I decided to keep busy this week by erecting my tapestry loom and thinking about my first project. My body is cooperating, and for this I'm grateful.

But my spirit's been low and my emotions volatile. Immersion in projects I love is always a good cure. Weaving is wonderful for this. It's grounding and centering and engrossing all at once. It keeps my mind thinking positively about the next steps, reaching for solutions, envisioning the final result.

This is how we create our lives every day. Like clockwork, our thoughts become reality.

I tend to be a wallower. Dredge it up and roll around in it, that's me. I wish I were naturally optimistic and forward-looking, tasting life and dashing on to the next wonderful unknown. But my mind is still in training, and until boot camp is over I like to keep it occupied with color and beauty and interesting, fiddly things to do. It increases the chance that the life I create will be colorful, beautiful, and interesting...if a bit fiddly.

So the loom is up and ready to go, complete with obligatory cat (that's Willy) napping in the corner.

My little living room is now a weaving studio with two chairs and a TV. Nice.

In my peaceful corner of the world, I thank God for this quiet week between the holidays. When January comes, I'll revise my novel and trawl for work once again. But for the next few days, I can drape my living room with color and my mind with something other than my own complaints.

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It's amazing what one can do.

The rain is pouring down. It's gray as far as the eye can see. But I've made my cottage a cozy little nest. I feel positively Dickensian.

Sick of my own sad-sack attitude lately, I went out before breakfast today, dodging raindrops, and carried my tapestry loom in pieces from the weaving shed to the living room. Don't ask how I made room for it.

This gray weather has my creativity gushing. I'm a winter lover who struggles in the balmy climate of Baja. Still, it's probably best not to have too much gushing at once. My greatest downfall is to try to enact everything that flies into my mind.

Believe it or not, fibro has been a helpful friend in this regard. Among other things, it's taught me the value of limitations. One...all right, maybe two or three...projects at a time, but no more than that. I get more done, have a better chance of actually finishing something, and avoid total collapse.

As New Year approaches, however, I can't help but think about resolutions. I don't write them---I've disappointed myself too many times. I'd rather add up what I've accomplished at the end of the year and call them fulfilled resolutions. It makes me feel much better.

But every year, like clockwork, a new theme presents itself of its own accord. This last year's theme turned out to be hopes and dreams: what I wanted for myself and what would get me up in the morning. This, it turns out, is still a work in progress. Yet now there are rumblings from the deep, and they're even more colorful than last year's. I sense an increasingly creative time ahead, and I'm excited.

After this last series of difficult flares, I'm embarking on my new journey with care. Yes, it's true, I hauled my loom cross-country this morning. But now that it's here, it will assemble itself piece by piece, and I can---finally---get back to work.

As the rain rages outside, I'm snuggling down in my bastion of warmth and tea. I may need to take my creative journey a step at a time, but soon there will be projects that get me up in the morning.

I'm ready to amaze myself again.

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