Twisting Threads

When I was a very young child, so long ago that I can barely remember anything about the story itself, my mother read me a tale of a lost girl who could only find her way back home with the help of a magical ball of string (The Princess and the Goblin, by Mr. George McDonald, I believe).  I currently possess enough yarn to make afghans for the occupants of a modest orphanage, thread for dozens of doilies, and enough embroidery floss to weave my own tapestry, but the fey lurking in various cluttered corners, capricious little beasts that they are, haven’t seen fit to bestow the threads in my life with any magical powers.  I’d be happy, honestly, if my pile of sewing supplies could untangle themselves and stay that way for once.

So it goes.  I haven’t really tried setting out any bowls of milk for the brownies; It’s impossible to imagine that even a bathtub of the stuff could induce the industrious creatures to clean my house for me.  Besides, someone in my house leaves milk pooling in the bottom of a glass often enough as is.  Often enough that I could claim (I won’t) that I’ve made my own yogurt.

What I’m trying to say is that life is messy, complicated.  Much like my yarn skeins, the threads usually wind up crossing over each other or knotting up unexpectedly, leading to a long, frustrating afternoon trying to untangle them from one another so that I can straighten them out and wrap the whole bundle up into a nice, neat little ball again.  Those little balls make sense, I can follow them from one end to the other, and sometimes, with a little help from a crochet hook, I can even turn them into something useful.

I suppose, at the end of the day, I’m grateful that the task of shaping my life belongs to me and not, after all, someone lurking in the shadowed creases of my floorboards.  The truth is that even if I never make as much progress as I plan to, I can’t help but derive satisfaction from doing these things for myself.  So I have come to the beginning of an admittedly far from magical journey where I’ll be tugging at the metaphorical strings in my own life, trying to make sense of them one snippet or knot at a time.

This blog is going to be a very random sort of something-what’s-it; I have no idea which thread will present itself for inspection from one day to the next, or if it will brush against one of the others, or even a whole clump of others.  Half the time, I’ll be lucky if the text makes any sense at all.

Welcome to chaos.