Stripes – Joyce Bethea McCulloch

Horizontal
Wide, narrow
Narrow, wide
It doesn’t matter

It doesn’t matter that the front
of the sweater will not match
the back when I sew
the two together.

Yes,
I could count every row,
keep track of the number of rows per color,
make sure that everything matches.

I could make it perfect.
But I don’t.

Bright colors
Orange, yellow, pink
Blue. The colors of sunrise,

the orange, yellow, and pink
usher in the new day with the promise
of blue skies.

How do I choose these colors?
Colors evocative of optimism and faith
when I have neither.

The wool
Real. Natural.
Soft in my hands as I work

The lanolin merging with my body
oils, comforting my chapped and rough hands.
Hands that are red and cracked
from continuous washing

as I tried to keep the germs at bay.
The same hands that first touched my daughters
as I picked them up and held them
to my breast.

The same hands that were charged
with an unknown and unexpected energy
sparking up my arms to my heart,
to my blood, and pulsing throughout
my body as I embraced them.

The warm, all encompassing energy
was the purest, most complete love. Two
beautiful little girls. All I had ever wanted.

The needles
Should I choose metal?
No, not metal
Not with their jarring clank
as I try to work the rows.

A discordant sound
only adds to the dark
chaos of my world.

Not with their anesthetic
metallic smell, reminiscent
of hospitals, of blood.

Needles that penetrate
tender skin to deliver drugs
that don’t heal, drugs
that only weaken

the body, cause hair to fall out,
and blacken the eyes.
Needles that stab

me with excruciating guilt
for leaving my two-year old baby
at home. Two

beautiful little girls;
I give all l have to help
heal the older one while fearing
what my absence
will do to the younger.

The smell, the noise, the associations,
the guilt churns my stomach
as bile rises in my throat.

I choose bamboo
Natural. Fast growing.
Smooth but tough. Soft
to the touch and cool
in my rough and cracked hands

Healing?
No, healing is not possible
Not through the darkness
Not through the writhing chaos

Movement is nearly impossible
Only my hands are capable
My mind can only retain the simple
repetition. Knit the odd rows,
purl the even. Again

And again. Knitting.The soft clack,
clack of bamboo.
The comforting richness
of the wool

Repetitive
Meditative
Like praying the rosary
by rote without contemplating
or even understanding the words

A tangle of pink becomes a wide stripe
Followed by a bit of orange
Then yellow
The colors of sunrise?

Warm, bright, alive
Hopeful?
Blue, the only color left
Not navy or indigo, but a fresh,
pure, radiant blue

The promise of blue skies?
My work grows
From that unrelated tangle
of colors to fabric

Stripes that march side by side,
complementing one another,
even though the back
will not match the front

Not perfect, but still,
stripes that form a cohesive whole

Tangible
Strong
Growing

The fabric takes shape
A front, a back, and two sleeves
emerge. I sew everything

together. Of course the stripes don’t
meet on the side and the arms
are a crazy kaleidoscope of different
widths without any consideration
of what color goes where

It is not perfect
But it is whole
It is tangible, it fits its purpose.

A sweater for Caroline
The first winter it extends
below her knees with the sleeves
rolled up three or four times.

Much too big but wearable.
Warm. Soft. She wears it
seven more winters
until it barely covers

her rib cage, the sleeves end
at her elbows, and it is tight
against her developing chest
We still have it
Clean, carefully folded, and stored
on a top shelf, waiting

Waiting for another little girl
One happy, strong, and healthy
With a long, adventurous life
ahead of her

who will learn to be thankful
for the pink, orange, and yellow
of the sunrise and the promise
of blue skies

To be thankful for the tiny,
seemingly insignificant things
like soft wool, bright colors, and strong
smooth bamboo knitting needles;

the little things that can chase
away the darkness
Yes, waiting for another little girl
who will wear it again and again
Maybe even for eight more years

While her Mother lovingly remembers
The big sister who never got
To grow up

Don’t Let It Fester

Just like festering sores become infected, so can our thoughts. A simple bug bite can have disastrous consequences if untreated. (I almost lost my foot once.) And our thoughts are no different. We ignore the problem until the noise in our heads gets so loud that we can’t think straight. This noise echoes and swells and bounces around with so much volume and ferocity that it feels like a raging bear lives inside our heads. Often, this raging bear is just a squeaking mouse with an amplifier. It just needs to be heard, noticed, and managed. The longer we ignore it, the louder it gets.

How many times have we heard, “Mom. Mom. MOM. MOMM! MOMMOMMOMMOM MOMMMMM!!!”? We finally pay attention when it gets loud enough. Stop ignoring the noise and confront it. It’s trying to tell you something.

Our nagging, festering thoughts locked inside our heads act like the contents inside a pressure-cooker. They continue to expand and intensify until the pressure-cooker can no longer contain what’s inside. We’re embarrassed and afraid to let it out, thinking that this problem is so detrimental it will define us in some way. But if we don’t let it out, the pressure-cooker will explode with such force that it can cause permanent damage. This explosion can destroy relationships. It can destroy self-esteem, self-worth. It destroys our thought processes and can create more problems. We start to doubt ourselves, talk down to ourselves, and mistreat ourselves. Call ourselves awful names.

The pressure-cooker has a release valve. Find yours.

Write it down. Write a letter to the festering subject of your thoughts, whether it’s a specific person, an institution, or even yourself. Read it out loud. If writing isn’t your thing, talk to a friend, or a sibling. Find a counselor. You pay them to listen to you gripe, vent, bitch and whine. It’s awesome. You can tell them anything you want, and it’s completely confidential. Plus they help to provide you with a new perspective on addressing your problem. They are not going to judge you. Don’t be embarrassed. Don’t let your thoughts consume and control you. It’s a virus, and you need to get it out of your system. You’ll feel a whole lot better after it’s out.

Climb Out From Under Your Blanket Fort

I’ll admit it, sometimes I just don’t want to deal with the world. Instead of choosing a healthy solution, I’ll often hide under my blanket fort and watch NCIS reruns for hours on end. Having a bad day can send many of us down a very steep and slippery slope. And sometimes, it doesn’t take much. We get down on ourselves, don’t want to talk to anyone, and we think no one wants to talk to us. We hide from our loved ones because we’re afraid they see us the way we see ourselves.

I think about all the things I *should* be doing. That nasty *should* word. I *should* go write a blog. I *should* go look for work. I *should* do my dishes. I *should* take a shower. All of it can seem downright overwhelming, and all I want to do is close my eyes and escape. But I can’t lay on a couch forever under that soft wool blanket in the middle of summer. That’s when the guilt comes, which just makes me feel worse. Does any of this sound familiar?

So what do I do to get myself off the couch, back into living life again? (Usually it’s the very urgent need to pee.) Motivating yourself out of a rut isn’t easy, but you can do it. Everyone has a bad day. And sometimes a bad day can turn into several days spent on the couch. It’s okay to escape into the stupid box every now and then, but is that really where you want to spend your life? It’s easier than dealing with your current situation, sure. But try to remember the things you’ve done. The things you’ve accomplished. Feel good about them. You’re allowed.

What helps me stay off the couch is making a list. If I can cross at least one thing off the list, it can get me out of my rut. Keeping a list keeps me organized, and it keeps me from becoming too overwhelmed. It makes me feel like I’ve contributed to my own life or perhaps touched someone else’s.

What are some things that help you get back up again when you’re having a bad day?