Wednesday, May 28, 2014

in the gloaming

Gloaming. What is not to love about that word. The time after the sun sets.  From the Old English--glow. So much less cliched than "twilight" these days. "Dusk" seems almost harsh. But there is a mystery about gloaming isn't there? Doesn't it just roll off your tongue?

My neighbor and I chat on the back porch. Ellie of the Bridge of Flowers Beauty Salon. I will miss her. And the wonderful ladies who visit every week. Such grace they show in the twilight of their years. The couple--been together for 73 years. Moved  across the country to be near their son. Now, they don't want to let each other out of their sight as they walk oh so slowly to the appointment. One on the arm of the son. One helped by Ellie. Each step deliberate and careful. Yet worth the effort. Bravely moving ever onward.

The others come too. Brought by daughters and sons. Home health care workers and grandchildren. Some walk by themselves. Always the anticipation. Meeting friends. Getting their hair just perfect for the holidays. Talking about the weather and family. A weekly ritual of faith and hope that this week will go well. I will miss watching them all. Such familiar faces. One step at a time but always moving forward.

Bridge Street has been kind to me. A home when I needed it most. A place to make quilts and continue. To get my feet back on the ground and figure out the next step.  Finally I know where my fabric is. Where I have stashed extra stock. I know the light. The parking lot. How to keep it cool in summer and warm in winter. I could have made quilts hear quite happily for years. Great neighbors. Foot traffic. Enough space.

But still as I stood at my counter cutting fabric I could see that empty hole where my studio had been. And I realized that there was a hole in my heart too. As a friend of mine said, I still had my best quilts ahead of me. That I had to take the risk and build the new studio. To trust the future.

I made one final quilt in the old studio. I named it "in the gloaming" to celebrate the move. The bittersweet feelings of change. Just finished it yesterday. Of course it took longer than expected. The light did not hold in the studio but still I took a snapshot. Maybe the sun will come out and I can get a better image today.

in the gloaming--quilt--Ann Brauer

Yes, finally. Today is moving day. I can't believe that I am actually saying that. It seems such a long process. So much to do. So much still unknown. How will I arrange the studio? How long will it take me to adapt to the new space? Are we ever ready for change? And yet, change will happen. One foot ahead of the other. Calmly. Surely. I can do this.

And hopefully tonight or tomorrow I can post images of the new studio. And the move.


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