After the initial blast of hospital gowns and masks calmed down, I cleaned my sewing room. I mean, such that I could vacuum the floor. This enabled me to find yards of favorite prints that I have been saving. Saving for what I am not sure. Which is why I indulged in a series of batik, and fairy panel, and Laurel Burch beauties, which if you have never been in the market for them let me mention that they are not bargains. But they sure look gorgeous in a quilt top. 

 

The thing is, the room stayed tidy. For weeks. Which is not the normal state of affairs when I have young kids arriving to snip and sew to their hearts content. It has been my policy never to ask sewing students to clean up. Maybe I am setting them up for disappointment later but for now I want them to leave with their pockets filled with well dressed dolls and a curly head full of confidence. But the aftermath of three girls yanking fabric off the shelves and buttons spilled on the carpet is, well, colorful. 

 

But three months into hibernation, I find that I miss the mess. More precisely I miss the children who make it. 

 

Relationships are messy, it turns out. Interacting with people who are poor substitutes for clones leads to such things as spilled feelings, and yanked opinions. Yet while the absence of such differences in life choices can keep our world view undisturbed, it can also be lonely.