I've written before about being middle-aged, being invisible. On one
hand, it is great being invisible. I can do really stupid things and no
one notices. After all, if you've seen one grey-haired old woman,
you've seen them all! It's great to be invisible because I can dress
for comfort and not for style. But then, even when I was young, I never
dressed for style. But now that I have put on a few pounds, comfort is
even more important. But sometimes, being invisible sucks. Sometimes I
want to be noticed. Sometimes I just want to scream "I used to be
something!
I used to be smart! I used to be important!" I've often thought of
making a T-shirt that said "it's ok to smile at me" just because I was
tired of people looking
through me instead of
at me.
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| Grand Illusion - Bonnie Hunter's 2014 mystery quilt |
I
think that's what I like about quilting. I can hide behind my quilts:
literally and figuratively! I can post on facebook and get likes and
comments and no one seems to think I'm icky because I'm
old/fat/ugly/out-of-style. In return, many times I don't know the maker
of the person behind the quilt that I am liking and commenting on. But
sometimes I would like to see her or him. When I think of other
quilters, I imagine happy, smiling people. Intellectually, I know that
isn't the truth.
I know for a fact that many quilters have experienced
unmentionable heartache and often times, they deal with that heartache
by putting needle to fabric and making a thing of beauty that also
provides comfort.
I think for many of us, quilting is a way of
providing comfort to ourselves or to ourselves through others. I think
quilting for me, is a way to express beauty - to have something that is
still beautiful about me. It is a way to feel connected to others in a
way I never have except through books. For much the same reason, it's
why I like facebook. I don't have to respond in an instant. I have
time to thoughtfully prepare an answer the truly reflects my feelings. I
have a choice of who is allowed into my life but yet have the option of
keeping them at an arm's distance.
So I've started this blog
that is about quilting and thimbles (I really like thimbles and
thimble-related words - and I can't figure out why people think I'm
odd). It's also about sticks because I live out in the sticks with my
chickens and my goats and my pony and cats and dogs.
I heard a woman say that she went from getting too much of the wrong kind of attention when she was young to getting no attention when she got older, and I had to think about that. The fact that I had to think about it suggested that she was right. The same thing is true of men, just not nearly so much. Fortunately, I'm like you in that I don't really care, but in my case, this is because I'm no longer on the prowl. Aa a result, I now regard very few women of any age as pretty, whereas there was a time when I saw "beautiful" women everywhere. Take lust out of the equation, and standards become stricter.
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