Small World

A couple of weeks ago, still reeling from the preschool thing, I went back and read some of my blog archives.  I was sort of going back, looking to see how it used to be, and what had changed, I suppose.  And it was striking: life is very different than it used to be, more than I think we've even acknowledged.  We're cramped, we're hemmed in, we're off-balance. 

So I talked to Rhys about it.  I told her I'd been reading my archives and that it seemed like our lives now were so...and there I was grasping for words.  She finished my sentence for me: "small," she said.  Small.  That's it.  Our lives have become very small.

And it's true.  We're living in a tiny space.  We have minimal child care, so we don't go out.  We go to work, we rush home, we shepherd people through rituals to bed, we watch TV, we discuss paint colors, we sleep.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  I suppose some of that is just grownup life, but it feels so very small right now.  Things could be oh so much worse--life is good in many ways--but right now, it's small.  Just that simple.  It has been a while that I've been living in tight quarters--I was ready to take a break and go somewhere a little bit bigger, if only for a very short time.  And Rhinebeck was it.

Rhinebeck is a big event for our small knitblog world.  I like the way Laurie thinks about it--our motley tribe gathering at market to ally and trade and stock winter stores.  I had 36 hours in which to participate.  It wasn't enough.  I was so starved for an outlet, a certain number of glasses of red wine caused me to burst into sudden tears and then to stay up until two hours before I had to get up and go home.  It wasn't smart.  But then again, I wouldn't have traded a single minute of it.  There were too many people I barely saw for a moment (more than I can link in a single clause); a few I got to spend good time with and a few I connected with, but there wasn't enough time with anyone. (I missed too many people with those links: forgive me.)

Sunday morning was Not Good as I sat woozily at the breakfast table and tried to make coffee and yogurt signal my body that it wasn't two hours past bedtime.  I was hopeless and useless and without a single prayer of any sort of adult functioning.  And suddenly, in contrast to, I don't know, most of my life, there were people around me who were taking care of me.  There was Marcy who was ready to drive me home on my schedule, even though she could have stayed.  There was Kristen who went and got the fleece out of her car and brought it to me so I didn't have to make more movements than were absolutely necessary.  (Kristen also had Excedrin.  I love Kristen.)  There was Cassie in the lobby with quiet words and a warm goodbye.

I have a kind and loving partner who takes wonderful care of me, it's true.  But we have twins and jobs and a house renovation and someone needs to take care of her too, and I'm all too rarely up to the task.  I didn't grow up expecting that if I was lagging, I'd have people there to lift me up.  But Sunday morning, and Saturday night too, it just felt like there was this net of kindness below me; like there were people who were concerned about me, who wanted to help, who had stories and hope and warmth to share and who were funny and kind and real. 

So if you saw me weeping in the inappropriate setting of a cocktail party, that's why.  It's the support when you don't quite expect it, the kind words that come out of left field and the friend who tells you they admire how you do something you don't think you did very well at all, but maybe it's not so terrible.  It's the surprising disclosures of personal sorrows, and the remembering of so many heartbreaks tucked into pockets and folds and brought tenderly and quietly into the light to show someone else she might not be completely alone.  It's the sitting in a room making jokes and then with some shift of the air our humanity is uncovered and it's breathtaking and beautiful and deeply sad at the same time.

I feel like I've said all this before, and I have.  It's just that it's gathering time again, and I'm storing up stocks for the winter.

Comments

[JoVE]

That sounds really good. I'm a big believer in crying. It is a good thing. Especially when it is for that sort of reason -- knowing you are loved. Surprising how often we forget that.

[The Feminist Mafia]

What a beautiful post! Bittersweet. My life is also small. I rinse and repeat. The size of life seems to be directly related to the size of the smallest people in your house. Just think, you can feed them more, they'll grow more, and life will get bigger. Or some crack-pot theory like that. Clearly, I should've been a philosopher. ;-)
BIG hugs and snorgles.

[Katherine]

I understand what you mean about small life, Cate. I didn't go to Rhinebeck, and I think it would totally overwhelm me, but what a blessing that it gave you that lift of friendship. I wish I lived near you; we could trade baby-sitting (the fact that I'm some unknown possibly-crazy internet person aside, I mean). It could help us both out, you know?

[Bookish Wendy]

Cate, I love you. You hold the power of words. I am so sorry I wasn't there to add to the net. What a great way to diffuse for a few days! Women with a common cause is an absolutely incredible thing.

[Liz]

Life with kids is small. It shrinks to its essentials: out the door in the a.m.; work for the day; dinner, bath, book, bed for the kids at night; then collapse (TV, knitting, etc.) or be productive (pay bills, tidy the house). On weekends, it's dry cleaning and dump and all the myriad other things that keep the house running. It was really, really good to get away to Rhinebeck. I hope the kindness you experienced there gave you some reserves of strength to hang in there until the smallness of life dissipates a bit. In the meantime, ((HUGS)), and thank you for putting so eloquently what so many of us seem to be feeling.

[Lisa]

Tears are coming to my eyes as I read this at work (please don't let anyone know I'm reading blogs at work :)). I'm so grateful for even our quick hug at breakfast. I apologize for not spending more time with the group, but family came up and I did want to let a certain 6 year old do stuff she wanted to do. Which meant spending a lot of time in the pool as Carole can attest to. You take care of yourself and your family and know that I'm here if you need anything at all.

[christine]

Oh, you said it so well. Next year, can I sit next you and cry along with you? After a few glasses of wine, though..........

[MelissaKnits]

I'm all sniffly and I wasn't even there.
Life expands again, in a few more years.

[claudia]

Maybe for my party in January (yes there will be one) you should just sleep over.

;-)

[Linda]

It was wonderful to meet you. You have such a beautiful soul. Remember that life doesn't always get easier, but that it is your family and friends that help you put it all into perspective and make it all worthwhile. Weekends like Rhinebeck help us all.

[melanie]

Ya know, minus the whole home renovation thing and the fact that you're *way* more eloquent, I could have written this post myself. I'm glad I did get to see you for those few minutes. I just like knowing that you're there. :)

[Teresa C]

It is so difficult to set yourself aside and be just the family some days. It takes a total mind shift from the self and the bigger world. And yet, as you well know, to raise those little lovelies to be everything they can be, you really need to do it. With the exception of the occasional weekend like this past one. It seems so hard when you are in the midst of it. Take heart and listen to the moms that have been there. Life gradually gets bigger and before you know it you and Rhys will be looking at each other on a night that both kids have been asked out on spontaneous sleepovers or (these are the best) weekends on the Cape and you have the whole time To.Your.Selves! And trust me when I tell you, it is bittersweet. This from a not so very sentimental mother, trust me. I'm not great at the correspondance thing, but I think of you often, and for all that is worth, I hope it helps. You know. The collective energy thing.

[--Deb]

It can be hard, sometimes, feeling confined in your life . . . but then I'm mostly a curl up on the couch kind of girl and feel secure when things are cozy. But cozy is different from constrained (although from day to day the exact same routine can feel both ways). I'm sure this is a passing thing, though--there are so many things going on in your life right now that won't always be there (hello, renovation?), that this will get better, different. And what's the old saying? A change is as good as a rest. I'm so glad you had a good, emotionally freeing weekend--you obviously needed it! And at least we had a chance, however small, to say hello. In a crowd like that, it counts for a lot.

[Judi]

Oh yeah, I think we can all relate, but most of us can't put it so eloquently. It helps not one bit that the smallness is inside our own perceptions. You DO live in a large world populated by many people that love and care for you, but right now it feels like you have been four cats in a sack for about 8 years.

The best thing about situations like that is that when the world opens up and you become once more aware of the love and beauty surrounding you, you appreciate it all the more. Thus the tears. And more tears. And renewed appreciation for the other 3 cats and even, heavens to gracious, the SACK.

Love from someone who has been there, and sometimes still is.

Judi

[Katy]

"It's the surprising disclosures of personal sorrows, and the remembering of so many heartbreaks tucked into pockets and folds and brought tenderly and quietly into the light to show someone else she might not be completely alone. It's the sitting in a room making jokes and then with some shift of the air our humanity is uncovered and it's breathtaking and beautiful and deeply sad at the same time."
Just lovely. I so needed this today, as it's been a Small Day here.
I only saw you for a minute, and managed to only blurt out the life things that have been stressing me, and not even check in with you--and I think it's time for a Sunday night spin-in. Really. My house is not so small, or far. November?

[Judy]

keeping you in my thoughts..
can't tell you how many times your posts have lifted me.

[Jessica]

Sending you a big cyber hug since I didn't get to give you one in "real life". And if I can cheer you up in some small way, the little lesson in spindling you gave me last year led to the purchase of a WHEEL this year! So life really isn't all that small. And I hope to pass it on real soon. So THANKS!!

[Ruth]

Well said.

Getting to spend time talking with you was a highlight of my weekend.

[Kit]

Small child time is deep time. It's filled to the brim with just a few very important things. I have been learning this week how deep the connections are, and am drawn back into a relationship that I thought wholly belonging to the children and long over. You live more or less nearabouts where I grew up, and your blog gives me glimpses of a place I am no longer at home, but where I am grounded. It's a gift to me, and I am grateful. If ever I can be of service to you, I would be grateful for that as well. Those who know you in real life are very fortunate.

[Caroline M]

Small people like to live in a small world. They like the comfort of the same food, the same book, the same routine. It can feel like a straightjacket but it doesn't last forever. One day at a time things are changing but so slowly that you don't notice it. It must have been a massive shock to you to hit the big world with all those people and the noise.

It can't be too long until you stop camping and "move" back home again, at least then the small world will have bigger headquarters. Hang on in there.

[Kristen]

my thoughts from the weekend are still trying to sort themselves out, but I can't thank you enough for your company while in NY. The quiet moments are the ones I treasure the most and your presence and advice are worth more than all of the wool I came home with. thank you - with as much love as this overfilled heart has to offer.

[Jennie]

(gulp) Thank you for sharing the experience of Rhinebeck so beautifully for someone who couldn't be there... what a wonderful picture you paint.

[Diane]

I really wish we had been able to meet up. Rhinebeck totally overwhelmed me between all the vendors, people and bloggers.

[Sneaksleep]

I really can't add anything to your words. I just wish I could have been there too, to offer Excedrin and openheartedness.

[Beth S.]

I wish I'd been able to buy you that drink, and toast to the future with it... a future which includes a finished house, answers to the complicated family stuff, and enough time to yourself.