Lost Week-End

It happened.  The thing I dreaded most – waking up on a long week-end and then sitting down at my work desk to find that I was absolutely stuck.

The beads were quiet, the findings didn’t even want to look at me.  I fingered chain after chain and strand after strand of gemstone beads trying to get a squeak out of my imagination – just a little one enough to kick start me into finishing even just an earring – and still nothing.  Desperate, I walked over to my stash of magazines and books and started leafing through pages of lovely photos and inspiring art work – I looked up to see that it was 4:00 p.m. and I still had nothing. 

I don’t know if it was the rains that week-end that caused it.  The grey skies and gloomy atmosphere certainly made me feel out of sorts somehow – like a cat waiting to give birth my mom said, alternately pacing and then sitting still to brood.  I also don’t know if the prospect of having three whole days to create sort of intimidated me and caused my muse to exit the building for sunnier climes.  I can do that to myself you see – scare myself  by expecting too much from little ol’ me that I literally freeze and all my creativity turns to something that looks like a plate of cold french fries.

It also could have been because I was still recovering from the flu.  A bad cough on Tuesday had signalled the start of two days of fever and chills, not to mention bones and muscles feeling like they had just been pulled through a thresher.  I had to go to the office on Friday even if I wasn’t totally okay yet and I don’t really know how I got through the day.  So maybe there were still remnants of the virus lurking in my system and my body was telling me to take it slow and not over exert myself.  

During all three days, I woke up slowly each morning and, for the first time in a long time, my feet didn’t feel the urge to hit the floor running.  I lay there, listening to the rain fall on the roof and the muffled sounds of a house slowly coming back to life after an evening of rest. 

And I didn’t make anything.  Not even a wrapped bead.

I sat through the week-end doodling in my sketchbook and now these strange faces are staring back at me.  I rediscovered collage and remembered how much fun it was to just cut and paste random bits of paper with no real end in mind.  I splattered paint with my 2-year old niece and together we marvelled at how watercolour can form puddles of bright rainbows on paper and she surprised me at how well she knew her colors (“That’s OWANGE! That’s PURPOW! This is GWEEN and that’s YEWOW!”).  I took up my pliers and tools for a while to fix a favourite necklace for my 8-year old niece – and was promptly rewarded with the sweetest smile and a hug.   

And still I created nothing.

I sat through lunch and dinner with my children, laughing at the antics of my 17-year old son and listening to the little bits of trivia my 12-year old passed onto me now and then.  I looked across the table and realized that my daughter had grown into a woman – and I didn’t feel old, just really, really fortunate to have them.  

And I created nothing.

I went to bed on Monday evening wallowing in the thought that I wasted three whole days. 

Or did I?