Passion

Passion: n strong and barely controllable emotion > an outburst of such emotion […] an intense enthusiasm for something

Obsession: n the state of being obsessed: v preoccupy continually or to a troubling extent

(Oxford English Dictionary 10th Ed Rev.)

Both words have been used to describe my various love affairs.

I’m sitting on my sofa with my dog curled up asleep next to me knitting and watching episodes of my favorite paranormal shows.  If you look up to what little is left of what was an extensive collection of books you see my passion/obsessions (and the occasional bit of obsessive-compulsiveness, but we’re not going to talk about the OCD, m’kay?) clearly.

I have a shelf of knitting books, a pile of sheet music, a few psychology manuals, books on travel and religion.  There are a passel of dictionaries (the Oxford I quoted above, one on various Gods, medicine, Shakespeare, psychology) a well thumbed copy of Gray’s Anatomy settled with a set of writers guides on everything from how to kill someone (in writing) to seduction.  There is a Bible and a couple books on the occult.  I have a book around somewhere that has everything in it from the velocity of sound through air at given temperatures to what to do if someone has a “sucking” chest wound – besides the obvious call 9-1-1…

Books were one of my first obsessions.  I still have some of those books that drove that original compulsion to read.  There are pictures of me sitting in a pile of books with a pile of yarn on my head.  I think we can all see where this has lead to.

My love of reading lead me to a love for both science fiction and fantasy.  That branched to science fact and the occult and woven through that was a love to write.

I still have a copy of the first poem I wrote, the first books I was read.  Packed away in a box labeled “Christmas” are the delicate crochet ornaments made by my Nan, the woman who taught me a love of sticks and string long before I realized the importance of what she taught me.  Sitting on my new stash chest is the knitting basket that was always somewhere in the house growing up and next to it a pewter Stine still holds the needles that were once stuck in the projects of my childhood.

I’ve been thinking lately of what I have learned over the years.  The little things that I never really thought anything of that I have always dismissed as “things everyone knows”.

I can cook.  Give me a recipe and I’ll produce it.  I can make a meal from scratch, I’ve baked bread and made pie crust, I can make soup stock from memory and make fresh eggnog for Christmas.  To me this is nothing special, it’s something that everyone can do.

I can sew more then just a button (sewing machine?  What sewing machine?  I have no idea what you’re talking about, that’s not a sewing machine … it’s … a … umm … hey look is that an angora rabbit?).  Given enough time I can sew clothing, I’ve made some fairly elaborate things in the past.  Although I will admit (when I admit to knowing how to sew at all) that the cow pants are still my pride and joy.

I can keep a house to the standard of even the most discerning of Mother-in-Laws, you couldn’t tell that from the state of my house right now, but it’s true.  A friend and I were talking while I made the bed a while back, I just haphazardly threw the sheets on, tucked in the corners and threw the blankets over it.  It didn’t even occur to me what I’d done until she pointed out the hospital corners that I’d done without thinking.  That’s how you make a bed, right?

I’ve always looked at what those around me can do and marveled, it wasn’t until recently that it even occurred to me that something I was doing might just be a marvel to someone else.

It took me a long hard road to find a “me” that I’m happy with.  I am a loner, I hate to ask for help, I can do anything that I put my mind to.  That is what has gotten me where I am today, it’s been the drive behind everything that I’ve done.

I’ve finally found the mountain that I can’t climb alone.  I asked for help, and we’ll see what comes of this but I don’t think that there is a way to make lemonade out of these lemons.

I try and keep the private part of life out of the blog but some is going to creep in over the next month likely.

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About Jadedknitter

I'm an author, a knitwear designer, a painter, and trying to find my love of the kitchen again. I write romance novels (they're candy, for the brain!) and read mostly history. I love to knit in the evenings curled up with my pug and watching whatever documentary strikes my fancy. My designs are born from a desire to knit something that I can see in my minds eye but can't find a pattern for. My current crop of paintings have been Celtic knots, I've drawn them for years now I'm colouring them in. Who knows what I'll end up doing next!
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One Response to Passion

  1. Mara says:

    “I’ve always looked at what those around me can do and marveled, it wasn’t until recently that it even occurred to me that something I was doing might just be a marvel to someone else.”

    This. So much this. Society always hammers home negatives, like, “No matter how good you are, there’s always someone better.” But the fact that anyone can act as an inspiration to someone else, no matter what they’re doing, is a much more important life lesson.. and one that is very rarely taught, unfortunately.

    If you’ll permit me to be a tad dramatic, I really believe that seeing your creations (and being encouraged by you to try to make my own) helped me dig my way out of a huge hole of depression. Your work really matters to me in a way I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully express. Suffice it to say that you inspire me. 🙂

    Also: lol hospital corners. I’m the same way.

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