I think I used to have patience. Loads of it. I could sit for hours and attend to the tiny details of sewing or knitting. I would give a book 100 pages before determining it wasn’t worth my time (and until recently, only one book didn’t make the cut: Insomnia by Stephen King). I could actually listen to someone as they chatted about something terribly mundane and keep eye contact, look interested and pay attention.
Maybe I used to be a better person?
Even after Simon was born I could do the above things. His cousin, Lilly, really benefited from all that patience. Simon was Owen’s age when I made Lilly a quilt. That was followed by dresses, outfits, costumes and play clothes. Her sister, Brynn, does have an outfit and a poodle costume but my patience ran out by the time Ava came along.
It was sewing that made me notice this whole patience issue. This afternoon turned out to be nicer than expected and Gabe got new Nikes last night so the combination meant the boys were going for a walk. I stayed home to work on a skirt I want to wear Saturday. Halfway through cutting out the second piece (of four) I completely lost interest. The scissors were being stupid and I had no patience for it; I was frustrated and wanted to quit. So I did. Here I was, with an empty house, no one to distract me and I couldn’t even bring myself to cut out a few hexagons.
I just quit reading a book because I didn’t have the patience for decoding Yiddish expressions and sounding out last names common to Eskimos. A few years ago, that wouldn’t have stopped me.
I don’t even have the patience to think of a conclusion to all this.
some days, all you can say is, "uff dah" 