women of a certain age are like sunflowers; they know how to turn their faces to the sun.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

The Thrill of the Hunt

Interesting responses to my last post, in which I pointed out how many trial runs go into a finished design. To a man woman, they offered sympathy for my plight, one even going so far as to quote, "Mama always said there'd be days like this."

But here's the thing:

I LIKE days like this.

Now before you get up from your computers en masse (or en fewe, as the case may be - I have no illusions of grandeur) and rush to your phones to call the funny farm so those nice men in the white coats can lock me up and throw away the key escort me to a restful place with nothing to do all day but knit, hear me out.

There is a place in my head. It doesn't look like much. There are no horses stamping their hooves, raring at the bits. There are no hounds baying, straining at the leash. There are no men and women dressed in fancy red jackets. There is no horn.

There is, however, a prey. And this is where I begin pursuing it.

Sometimes it's a silhouette. Sometimes it's a fiber.Sometimes it's a color. Sometimes it's an idea. Sometimes it's a song. Sometimes it's a place.

But whatever "it" is, it inspires. It conspires. It propels me to a new place where I have never been before. It leads me to the hunt.

I am reminded of EBay's new advertising slogan, "It means more if you win it." How true.

For Morocco, "it" was the color - tupelo honey. Where Anne saw bees (and so beautifully I must add) I saw yellow ochre, curry powder, and saffron. I saw Marco Polo on the Spice Road. So I went hunting for paisley, for minarets, for onion domes and oriental carpet motifs. I toured Persia, and Mesopotamia, and ancient Egypt. I floated on the Nile and contemplated the hanging gardens of Babylonia.

And I let the piece lead me onward in my travels. As I mulled things around in my mind (what's left of it after raising two teenage boys) the shawl began to take shape in my head. Now I just had to commit that shape to the knitted yarn, as I so often commit my ideas to the written word.

The road to Morocco may not be smooth, but I am in no hurry to arrive. I am enjoying the scenery along the way too much.

Because even when it feels like I have been this way before, there is always something new, something different, something once hidden but now revealed, to savor along the way.

As in life, the pleasure lies in the journey, not the destination.

So save your sympathy for someone who needs it.

I'm having too much fun.

Besides, look what showed up in this afternoon's mail...


Carie @ Space for the Butterflies said...

then long may the hunt continue - because where it takes you is pretty!!

Kim said...

Those beads just glow! Beautiful!

Danielle said...

Lovely explanation. I felt the same way, but never been able to put it into words that don't make me sound even nuttier! :)

La Cabeza Grande said...

"The road to Morocco may not be smooth..." but it is a voyage worth taking nonetheless.

Beautiful explanation.

Lucia said...

Oh, I so know this one! Right now there's a sock pattern knocking around my brain, trying like a moth between two windowpanes to batter its way out, or to drive me mad enough to open the window already. How many launches will it take for the critter to fly? Only time will tell.