Women’s Work

I started a hand-worked quilt in March and, best assessment, it will be ready to put together and quilt by March next year. I only work on it at night when Gordy and I and all the dogs are settled into our evenings of TV watching — usually British murder mysteries. The work is slow but rewarding as it emerges; tiny details, little touches to make it mine. The project is called “Women’s Work” and oh, how that phrase catches me. I have not done the most significant of women’s work — that is, to have and raise children, but still, I feel described. So much of what matters to me, especially as I age, is the hidden work, typically ascribed to women; the work of caring. I need a support group for this — how to care in moderation. It doesn’t seem possible. One rescue dog, means you can do two, and why not three, and after that, what is the point of having a limit? Caring is a door impossible to close because of all the damn need in this world. The deeper you go, the deeper you go. It makes me feel small so I soothe myself by stitching tiny curls for hair and tight buttons for flowers, putting order into an imaginary world where caring matters and makes everything alright.

Day 38

Writing about what sings to me from a life made full with animals.

2 thoughts on “Women’s Work

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