I’ve been listening to David Copperfield, read by my favorite audio book reader, Tadhg Hynes. (Tadhg is pronounced like the first syllable of tiger.) It’s a long book—1.3 days, according to iTunes—so I’ve been listening for quite a while.

While I listen to Dickens’ yarn, I spin yarn of my own. It’s amazing what I’ve accomplished in less than 1.3 days (I haven’t finished the book yet).

Merino on the wheel

Results of the recent spindle and bobbin purge … and new yarn already filling up the drop spindles

Drying on the rack

Yes sir, yes sir, two bobbins full

While I’m spinning and listening, I also ponder (especially during Mr. Micawber’s epistles). Do I miss things I’ve given up—such as writing fiction? It was a wrench giving that up. Ballet? Teaching? And sundry other things I still cherish though I’ve relinquished them.

Do I miss crawling? Not being able to read, write, and cipher? Obviously I don’t miss things I don’t remember, things that limited me.

Now, that’s something to think about: “things that limited me.” One of the things Maria says in The Sound of Music is, “When God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.” You know what comes out of the windows of heaven, don’t you?

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