In the vernacular...

 Are we done yet?  

As you know, Gentle Readers, I started this blog way back when my father died.  I just sat down at the computer, started typing and off we went.  The iniquities of the Real Estate industry, the humour of dealing with various bureaucracies, the frustration of trying to clean out somebody's life whilst on crutches.  You know.  Standard stuff.

I didn't mourn him, not at all.  I hadn't spoken to him for 27 years.  I mourned the idea of him, what I wanted my father to be like, what he was like before it all turned to dren, when I was about 8, and I didn't miss him, because for the 27 years since I'd seen him, I'd had so many other things going on that I didn't miss the heartache and the sorrow he caused us all, just by being.

On the other side of that coin, I spoke to my mother nearly every day.  I could ring her up just to hear her say "I was just going to ring you, you must be psychotic" (obviously an oldie but a goody), or to say "how do I do xzy", or to ask how her beautiful garden was, or how the dogs were.

Every single day I go to pick up that phone to ring her.  Just to say "our flowering gum is about to pop", "our new native gardenia has 5 new flowers on it", "should I put my hydrangea in a pot", "how do I stitch the backing for this cot quilt together", even stupidly mundane stuff like "what are you having for dinner, we're having pizza".  My mother believed we lived off pizza, and no matter how many times I told her it was only once a week, I don't think she ever believed it.

So, what do I miss?  Every single thing.  And I'm struggling with the quickness of it, the speed with which she went, leaving us all shell shocked, though I don't know why, she never was one to hang around prevaricating.

She was so much a part of my crafting life.  She inspired me to start, she helped me cut out that first skirt, back in 1993, on the floor.  She patiently explained to me what the selvedges were, what grain was, how to align the pattern with the edge of the fabric. Every single thing in my sewing room, and even the room itself is down to her.  And, sadly, Gentle Readers, just the writing of this has reduced me to tears.  Crafting, my parents and this blog are so intertwined that I don't think I can do it anymore.

I think this will be my last post.  Perhaps for some time, perhaps for good.  We'll see.  I hope to see you if I return, with a new project, and my heart somewhat less sad.

Ciao.