I can 't find my darning needle

 I haven't posted for almost six weeks.  Where, indeed, does the time go? 

Well, for the past month I have been looking for my favourite darning needle.  I have had that needle for grafting toes on socks and weaving in the ends after finishing a knitting project FOREVER. 

And suddenly, between one sock and the next it was gone.  

Oh, I have looked for it:

Between the couch cushions

Under the couch

Beside the couch

On the rug in front of my couch 

Under the rug in front of my couch 

In my knitting basket

On the tea table

On the coffee table 

Under the coffee table

In my craft room

In my bedroom

EVERYWHERE

And it is gone. 

And it makes me very, very sad.  

Oh, and I have gone through that list multiple times, even as recently as yesterday. 

I have lost it.  This is my fault. 

I can't let it go. 

Of course I have found two other darning needles in my sewing cabinet, but....one is too fat and the other is too thin.  Mine was perfect. 

I do this. 

I dwell on inconsequential things I have lost.

I have some inherent belief that if I find the lost things then all will be right with my world. 

This is magical thinking. 

I dwell on the little things I have lost so I don't have to dwell on the big things I have lost that will never be found like ..... Trust......Love.....my Father....my big sister....my health....my youth.

So ya, I haven't been posting. 

I have been knitting endless test knits for a competition coming up next year. 

I have been editing my novel(s) and will have two for sale at a craft fair this coming Thursday as well as one going into the library system this Friday. (including an evening soiree for the launch).

I have been applying for (and getting) work at HOpe Centre as a peer support worker. 

I have been singing in the church choir.

I have been learning the art of Chi-walking. 

and there has been shopping and cooking, laundry and dusting. (okay, okay, not dusting, not really)

So life moves along and there are some good things happening. 

But still

I have lost my darning needle, and my diamond stud earring (that was a year ago, but I keep looking).

Saturday I tore my house apart looking for my wedding album.  After searching four rooms I finally found it.  I wept because I also found some things that just made me sad. 

And to be honest - unappreciated. 

But that is another post, for another day. 

Today?

Today I will go for a swim, tidy the kitchen, sweep the floors and probably do another search for the darning needle. 

Because if I can find it that I will know that all will be made right in my world. 

Or at least I will have my trusted needles to graft the toe of the socks I am about to finish. 

Prince

It has taken me a week to acknowledge this loss.  I loved Prince.  I loved his music, his personalities, his spirituality, his energy, his sense of humour, all of it.

I saw him live, in concert, four times.

The first time I was 8 months pregnant, and I remember dancing in the aisle, with my tummy hanging over the railing.

I remember a young girl proclaiming to me "Your baby is so lucky.  It gets to see Prince before it is even born!"

That was the only concert I attended with someone else.

The other times I went alone.  Alone, but not alone, because I was there with myself and I rocked being a Prince fan.

I saw him at the Orpheum for a one night only intimate concert.  I was in row 15, on the aisle, and I was in heaven.

I saw him in 2011 - front row seats.  I never was in the seat, but danced the night away.  You can read my blog about it here.

And now he is gone.

And I am afraid a part of me is gone too.

The part that loved him in Purple Rain and would defend his musicality to the nay-sayers around me.

The part that was brave enough to drive downtown, and park, and attend his concerts by myself.



The part of me that paid $225 for a front row seat.

That part of me that was 33, 42, 47, 56 and went to a concert alone, unafraid, and full of joy.

I just booked tickets to go to see Purple Rain in the Rio Theater in a couple of weeks, and then to go, alone, to see Sign of the Times a few days after that.

Because that woman, that part of me, is still in there.

At 60 I want to hold on to her.

And I want to say good-bye, and thank you, to an artist I have never met, but have always greatly admired, and it is important.

My son called me the day Prince died and asked me if I was ok.

He knew that little part of me. The part that needed someone to acknowledge that this is a hard thing for me to wrap my head around.

Not hard like Robin William dying hard, because he and I shared our struggle with depression.

But hard in the I don't want this to mean that a part of me is now dead too, hard.

It can't mean that.

I won't let it.