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

[Cara]

You know what's funny? Rhinebeck was the only place I HAVEN'T felt like crying in a really long time. ;-)

I'm sorry we didn't get more time together. There's always so much I want to talk with you about - questions I want to ask you - and I never get the chance. Most of that is my fault.

I think life goes in and out of being small. That's an excellent way to describe the last two years of my life - and things are finally opening up. I hope things open up for you soon. Humongous hugs. L, C

[Manise]

It is I now who is weeping at your post once again since the "Weekend Idyll" and made to realize what a truly beautiful person you are and how very lucky I am to be able to call you "friend". We all love you Cate and that net of kindess and support will always be there for you.

[Sara]

What a sweet post.

[Amanda]

From talking to friends with young kids, it seems like the "small world" feeling is pretty common...glad to hear you you got a chance to broaden your horizons for a bit, and someone to lean on when it was needed.

[Cassie]

I'm still dealing with the fallout from the festival - the realization that I was flabbergasted by the feeling of happiness and being surrounded by so many friends. A scary thought, that so much good can freak me out so much.

I was worried about you on Sunday morning, but very glad that Marcy was there to drive you home. Life with little people is always "small" - I don't think there's any way to get around it. I've been thinking that we need these fiber/friendship breaks more often, and maybe in smaller groups.

[Thorny]

I'm so glad to hear there were folks around to make sure you got home safe and sound. After we got back to our room Saturday night (morning?) I kinda went, "Zounds! It's stupid-late." And while I was so happy to have finally met you and been able to trade Henry Tales, I also was a smidge guilty, knowing you needed to spend at least some of your 36 hours of freedom sleeping.

It was really awesome to meet you, even if I'm not exactly sure I let you get in more than two words edgewise. grin.

You're right - it is hard sometimes, when our lives become "small". Having twins sure shrinks a life, at least for a time, and adding in a home renovation can't make it any easier. I suppose I'd just suggest you try to remember that this is probably a lot how you felt when your twins were infants, and how some days if felt like they would /always/ need to be fed 600 times a day, for the rest of your life. And of course it passed, and now it's just a smudgy bit of half-memory that you can shake your head over and go, "I don't know how we got through that, but thank goodness we did. Let's try not do that again, shall we?" This will pass, and someday you'll look back on these months spent living out of your dining room, and you'll think, "I don't know how we got through it, but we did and just /look/ how good things are now." :)

Many hugs, lady! Thanks for staying up with us (if I manage to score that almond cake recipe, I'll be sure to send it your way... ;) ).

This time while y'all are packed into a fraction of your own home... at some point you'll look on it the way you look at the first few months of you twins' lives - as something that you didn't so much "experience "as "weather" - but which nonetheless led to something rich and wonderful. And that the memories of this time, which seems endless right now, blur into a something smudgily

[Thorny]

Oh crappity-boo. That last unfinished paragraph was supposed to get deleted. I are smart!

[Lucia]

You have no idea how much this post resonates with me. My life is small, and has been small, and will remain so for quite a long time yet. Your issues and mine are very different, and yet they have this in common -- and I couldn't articulate that (or much of anything else) over the weekend, and now I can. Thank you, thank you.

It was too short, and yet it was there.

[maryse]

i love the way you express yourself.

[Carole]

Damn, Cate. You're so eloquent. I feel lucky to have had the time we did on Saturday night. And, can I also say? I'm worried about you.

[Lee Ann]

You completely made my weekend, Cate.

[Laurie]

I felt the tugs of all kinds of unfinished stuff during the weekend. Smaller, more frequent makes sense.

The house is just the final stress on top of stresses. When that lessens, then it's just more usual stresses.

[PumpkinMama]

A really wonderful post. Its a shame we cannot feel that way all the time, but I suppose we all might take it for granted if we did.

[julia fc]

Cassie's right, life with children is small, hemmed in by their limitations and our protection of them from the "too much". Me, I like a little too much every now and then. Heck, once a week would suit me fine, but for now, while I can protect the Boy, too much happens rarely and preciously. It was good to see you, if only briefly across the table Friday night. It reminds me you're there, and that we're in parallel lives in a way. I wish we lived closer, or that Will liked the car as mucg=h as he used to and we could come ovber and let the kids run around on the grass while we gabbed and knit and drank coffee. Perhaps when they're less little, and life will be bigger.

[Kathy]

Oh, Cate. I'm all weepy at work. I think that life with small kids is small to begin with and then with some unexpected twists and turns thrown in, well things just totally shrink down. But you are not alone -- none of us are, despite our tendency to want to handle everything ourselves. I am so glad that you had some time for yourself (albeit not long enough) this weekend -- And this group of women -- stunning in their love and support.

[Rachel H]

It was great to be able to give you a hug, however briefly on Friday night. And hearing about your safety net when you needed it make me that much more grateful for this wonderful world of fibre friends that we have.

[amysue]

Yeah. Just like that, it's overwhleming sometimes and I am so happy you had friends there to hold you up for abit. You don't have to read my whole rant on my blog today but the quote at the end from Spider Robinson is my mantra:
"Shared pain is lessened, shared joy is increased, thus do we refute entropy".

Take care.

[mamamarta]

i adore you cate. you know that, right?

cate has meant so much to me. while i know what you mean about your life feeling small right now, of course you also know how very not small it is in all the ways that really matter, right?

here's my homage to cate: http://thewidetent.blogspot.com/2006/10/some-of-my-favorite-people-series-in_15.html

[Norma]

I cannot believe I did not see you, except from afar, leaving a building with a fleece, after Friday night. Which makes me all the more thankful that I gave you strict instructions to contact me no matter what the hour on Friday night. really big hugs.

[wenders]

Beautiful.

[Martha]

That explains why you left behind your beautiful spindle and luscious roving. Now I understand (I missed the tears etc at the cocktail party--I wasn't fully functioning myself).

Somehow Rhinebeck--while a wonderful experience, don't get me wrong--is stressful in itself. So many people, so little time, so much to see and do, so little sleep. It's kind of too much, and too little all at the same time. And add that to everything else that's going on in your life, and a meltdown is completely understandable. It's kind of surprising, when you think of it that way, that more of us weren't crying. (Instead of crying, I kind of withdrew and needed "alone time." We all react differently...)

[JessaLu]

Well, I'm glad that I got to say a quick 'hi' to you before I had to run home :o)

My daughter is about to turn 17 and trust me, my life is small also so I can relate. I can't leave the house for extended periods of time for fear that Dobby's bf (who has a car and knows where we live) will show up at any time. And babysitters are out of the question - have you ever mentioned 'babysitter' to a 17-year-old? Trust me, it's not pretty.

It will get better, though. We do have more quiet/alone time now that she's working, which helps :o)

[mapgirl]

Bug Crazy Lanea for the almond cake recipe. Good stuff for breakfast, like an angel food cake almost.

[Steph]

First . It was great to see you, even for too short a time.

And I have so many things to say about your post but they make me all weepy and schmaltzy so how about just *yes*.

[CarolineF]

There's nothing like a rampant cranky small child to make one's house seem very small even when it ISN'T. and yours IS. I hope it all gets bigger soon.