Arranged in bed
From east to west
Door to window
A comma at the end of our bed.
Finally, got a few nights of good sleep and feel less scattered energy and ready to play at writing and other planned projects, like hemming my pants, which is necessary and oddly soothing. Sewing always reminds me of my mother, who taught me to use the sewing machine at a young age, although she was afraid to teach me cooking because of the hot stove. Sewing also reminds me of Nonne, my grandmother, who taught me how to sew buttons back on. We sat at the card table in the dining room, right next to the window overlooking the onion-domed Eastern Orthodox Church. I miss them both, although it almost seems silly since Nonne, born in 1890, would be 123 years old today.
Lately, I am thinking about the people I have lost. A good friend just died. She was only ten years older than me, young still. Annemarie Kreybig Manning was a fabulous artist, a natural painter, whereas I only succeed at my craft through hard work. Of course she worked hard too. Annemarie was an inspiration, with her large canvases. I still have a sketch she gave me of trees blown by wind. I can hear the wind.