I’ve been able to avoid using my sewing machine for almost four years.  Now that there’s a need for face masks, I got on the mask making bandwagon.  Those diy YouTube videos make it look so easy.  I thought it would be a breeze.

First I needed to get the sewing machine from my laundry room to the dining room, so I could see what I was doing.  That was a monumental feat.  The machine weighs more than a bag of groceries, which is the extent of weight lifting I can handle these days.

Threading the machine was a breeze.  I guess it’s like riding a bike.  Once you’ve mastered something, you never forget.  The bobbin case was another story. Since our move four years ago, I noticed that a part was missing and had it replaced, but never had a need to use the machine.  It was the wrong part.  I was about to give up when suddenly I discovered the original part.  I guess nothing was going to stop me.  Then I realized there was no needle in the machine.

The fabric was cut.  I made a prototype.  It turned out to be too small.  The second one was too big.  The elastic didn’t fit right.  I was fighting a losing battle and wondering why.  I’m too old for this.  My fingers are no longer nimble, even though I can fly across my computer keyboard with ease.

Making a mask for me has always had to do with something theatrical.   I don’t even like wearing those surgical things.  I can’t breathe, which could easily do me in more than actually wearing one.

Some days we just want to scream.  We think things are going smoothly and then a project comes along that tests every ounce of our tenacity.  Our world – our new normal – our political arena – the back biting and name calling all get in the way of our goals.  We try to avoid the news reports and still feel the pressures of things that are an ordinary part of living.  We feel the weight of everyone else’s struggles.  We hope this disease will not get in the way of our final days on earth.  We want things as they used to be. We’re anxious, frightened and sad.

One of the heroines in my novel has a habit of going to a comfortable spot in the woods to be alone – to pray and to scream.  We need to get rid of that pressure somehow.  Screaming can do it for some of us.  Going to a remote area is good, because no one will hear you except for God.  He doesn’t need us to scream at Him, but He wants us to call on Him when we’re going through tough times – when we can’t get through the day alone.  Maybe it’s time to go to the woods.