Felted Nest by Lisa BrobstAt Christmas our wonderful friend, Chris gave us a felted nest created by another friend and local artist, Lisa. The nest is a symbol of the legend that all the birds sang in unison the day Christ was born. Though we are not particularly religious, we loved the legend and the wish it represented for a year of health, wealth and happiness. With the economy going the way it is I don’t think the wealth wish is going to happen at least not in any financial way. We would be happy with two out of three. I immediately set it on the windowsill where the light caught the blue of the eggs and the pattern of the feather. It remains there to remind us of the love, hope and faith behind the gift. The nest was also a appropriate symbol for what I had been feeling for the past few months.
When my husband’s PSA test was elevated and the urologist recommended an ultrasound and biopsy to determine if he had prostate cancer, an inner strength was activated within me along with a frenzied level of energy. The nesting phenomenon that I thought I had seen the last of after the children were born kicked in immediately. Though I was not painting nursery walls or stocking up on baby wipes I felt this same urgency to make sure everything was in order in and around our home for this next stage of our lives.
It was a time when all of those terrifying trips to the emergency room with our sick or injured children seemed to have happened for the sole purpose of building up an inner strength to draw on in later life. They were dry runs that had been thrown at us to show us that things could work out; to teach us to have faith.
My level of energy was high but my concentration span was extremely short. I could not focus on activities like reading a book or working in my darkroom but I was great at short bursts of cleaning out the junk drawer, stocking up on comfort foods at the grocery store and making sure bills were paid as soon as they arrived in the mail. These were the things I clearly had tangible control over and I was wielding that control with a fierceness that I didn’t know I had in me. When you have no idea what the future will bring I found that you want to keep the present as ordered as you can.
During that endless week of waiting for the test results I bought boxes of garden and leaf bags and began tearing out dead flowers and collapsed vegetables from my garden. It was October and I knew cold weather would be arriving soon. My parents usually help me with this chore but they were both recovering from the flu. They had no idea of what was impending as we wanted to spare them worry. I was sorry they had the flu but relieved that I had this time alone. The contrast of the earthy soil and the fragrant sweet alyssum was just the therapy I needed.
I hauled carloads of the bagged vegetation to the compost area of our town’s recycling center. There was something satisfying about grabbing the black bags out of the back of the car, ripping them open and flinging the shriveled but still faintly colored petunias on the compost heap.
I felt guilty about pulling the still blooming snapdragons from the front fence. They are pretty hardy and left alone they might continue blooming for another week or two. Our neighbor’s gardener walked across the street to say, “ Awww... I have enjoyed the flowers so much this year. Sorry to see them go.” I really felt guilty now about cutting their blooming season short but a storm with possible snow was predicted for the weekend and I had no idea what the next week would bring. When the light dusting of snow did come, seeing my gardens emptied and prepared for winter gave me some peace.
From the gardens I moved inside to the guest rooms that had projects to be finished. The larger room had been our daughter’s and then became our son’s after she went off to college. I had finally repainted the room and rearranged the furnishings to make it into a guest room as it was clear that our son was permanently settling in the Twin Cites after college. I bought new drapes and hung some of my framed black and white photos on the walls. Their stillness and simplicity seemed to add calm to the space.
The second bedroom needed a new bed and bedding which I quickly ordered. I had a nagging need to see everything completed; to have my entire house in order. I rearranged the artwork on the walls of the second bedroom, all created by friends from different corners of the world. On a sunny day the room radiates warmth. The final pieces I placed in the rooms were two rocking chairs.
In the larger room I placed the chair that belonged to my mom and dad. My mom used it to rock both my brother and I when we were young and I had used it to rock both of my children. Made of solid mahogany, it is one of the most comfortable rocking chairs I have ever sat in. That was handy for my mom as I suffered from croup as a child and she spent endless hours in the chair with me in her arms. I spent many hours comforting my children with the rhythm of that chair also.
It is painted white because my brother accidentally broke off one of the rockers when he was young and my grandfather hand carved a rocker to match but he could only find pine for the piece. My mom still regrets not trying to match the finish of the original wood but it is fine with me that it is painted white. I have no memories of its former color only of the perfect way it fits my body.
I remember my mom giving it to me when I became pregnant with our daughter. It was one of the first pieces we placed in the nursery. Before we painted the walls or bought the crib, the rocker waited patiently in the corner.
The other rocker was used by my husband’s mother to rock him and his brother and sister. I am sure it got a lot of use also. It had only come into our possession a few years ago after she died. Its presence added comfort to the second bedroom.
Now that the rooms are done, I find myself migrating there during the day trying first one and then the other chair. I gently rock, closing my eyes and have silent conversations with the all the wonderful women I have known. Nurturing women sending me their strength and love.
It was a time when all of those terrifying trips to the emergency room with our sick or injured children seemed to have happened for the sole purpose of building up an inner strength to draw on in later life. They were dry runs that had been thrown at us to show us that things could work out; to teach us to have faith.
My level of energy was high but my concentration span was extremely short. I could not focus on activities like reading a book or working in my darkroom but I was great at short bursts of cleaning out the junk drawer, stocking up on comfort foods at the grocery store and making sure bills were paid as soon as they arrived in the mail. These were the things I clearly had tangible control over and I was wielding that control with a fierceness that I didn’t know I had in me. When you have no idea what the future will bring I found that you want to keep the present as ordered as you can.
During that endless week of waiting for the test results I bought boxes of garden and leaf bags and began tearing out dead flowers and collapsed vegetables from my garden. It was October and I knew cold weather would be arriving soon. My parents usually help me with this chore but they were both recovering from the flu. They had no idea of what was impending as we wanted to spare them worry. I was sorry they had the flu but relieved that I had this time alone. The contrast of the earthy soil and the fragrant sweet alyssum was just the therapy I needed.
I hauled carloads of the bagged vegetation to the compost area of our town’s recycling center. There was something satisfying about grabbing the black bags out of the back of the car, ripping them open and flinging the shriveled but still faintly colored petunias on the compost heap.
I felt guilty about pulling the still blooming snapdragons from the front fence. They are pretty hardy and left alone they might continue blooming for another week or two. Our neighbor’s gardener walked across the street to say, “ Awww... I have enjoyed the flowers so much this year. Sorry to see them go.” I really felt guilty now about cutting their blooming season short but a storm with possible snow was predicted for the weekend and I had no idea what the next week would bring. When the light dusting of snow did come, seeing my gardens emptied and prepared for winter gave me some peace.
From the gardens I moved inside to the guest rooms that had projects to be finished. The larger room had been our daughter’s and then became our son’s after she went off to college. I had finally repainted the room and rearranged the furnishings to make it into a guest room as it was clear that our son was permanently settling in the Twin Cites after college. I bought new drapes and hung some of my framed black and white photos on the walls. Their stillness and simplicity seemed to add calm to the space.
The second bedroom needed a new bed and bedding which I quickly ordered. I had a nagging need to see everything completed; to have my entire house in order. I rearranged the artwork on the walls of the second bedroom, all created by friends from different corners of the world. On a sunny day the room radiates warmth. The final pieces I placed in the rooms were two rocking chairs.
In the larger room I placed the chair that belonged to my mom and dad. My mom used it to rock both my brother and I when we were young and I had used it to rock both of my children. Made of solid mahogany, it is one of the most comfortable rocking chairs I have ever sat in. That was handy for my mom as I suffered from croup as a child and she spent endless hours in the chair with me in her arms. I spent many hours comforting my children with the rhythm of that chair also.
It is painted white because my brother accidentally broke off one of the rockers when he was young and my grandfather hand carved a rocker to match but he could only find pine for the piece. My mom still regrets not trying to match the finish of the original wood but it is fine with me that it is painted white. I have no memories of its former color only of the perfect way it fits my body.
I remember my mom giving it to me when I became pregnant with our daughter. It was one of the first pieces we placed in the nursery. Before we painted the walls or bought the crib, the rocker waited patiently in the corner.
The other rocker was used by my husband’s mother to rock him and his brother and sister. I am sure it got a lot of use also. It had only come into our possession a few years ago after she died. Its presence added comfort to the second bedroom.
Now that the rooms are done, I find myself migrating there during the day trying first one and then the other chair. I gently rock, closing my eyes and have silent conversations with the all the wonderful women I have known. Nurturing women sending me their strength and love.
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