On Wednesday night, after Carin left from the week’s recording session, I sat back to let the mind bubble for a bit. It’s been a hectic week. A good one, but still hectic. The kind of hectic where things seem a whole lot more important than they are.

All evening, we’d been warned by some lightning flashes that perhaps a summer storm was on the way. Thunder kept rumbling, and we’d checked weather.com to see if it was all flash and no rain…only to find out that no, in fact, there was a big’un heading right for us. Carin had left quickly, while the first spittings were just coming down, and since I like the sound of rain, I’d grabbed my sock-in-progress and curled up in the nest chair (the one the dogs usually like to occupy) in my mostly-quiet house.

You never really know *how* quiet the Quiet really is. Right now, for instance, other than the sound of my fingers on the keyboard (my nails click on the plastic), and the air conditioner’s blowing, and maybe a distant fan from the guest bedroom — it seems pretty quiet to me. Like if I took those things away, there would be nothing.

But silence is deceptive, and layered.

On Wednesday, shortly after I started the sock knitting, a lightning strike knocked out our power. All of a sudden, everything went black (losing this week’s recording, I might add…grrr…) and *still*. VERY still. The dogs woke up, and I could hear them breathing. I could hear my own breathing. I could hear the cars on the road a mile away from the house, and looking out the window, I could see the overhead streetlights were off, too — so the silence extended far away. There was a deadness to the air, because all the fans had stopped working. No hum from the computer or monitor, no electrical white noise from refrigerators or dryers or switched-off electronics equipment.

I sat there in the dark for a minute, waiting for the power to flicker back on. It usually does — it’s one of the fun things about living in the country. The power flickers a lot. (And by “fun”, I mean the kind of fun you get from smashing your thumb with a hammer, not the kind of fun you get from visiting yarn stores. I’m just sayin’.) The power flickered once, and then went off again, not returning this time.

Stumbling through the house with a lighter in front of me (we hide the flashlights because of Shenzi’s strange fascination with chasing lights like a cat does), I tried to find the candles, and settled on the three that usually hang on the wall in the hallway. I lit them, put them on a circular mirror that’s also in the hall since I heard that having them on mirrors increases the light they put out, and came back in the office to wait for the power company to restore service.

For almost an hour, I kept at the sock knitting, going very, very slowly since I could barely see what I was doing. It occurred to me that *back in the day*, this is how people lived after the sun went down. That there wasn’t an easy access to electric lighting or the internet to distract them from the fact that it was late at night, and I could see how the whole early-riser thing would be necessary. Candlelight is great for ambience, not so great for detail.

And I thought about my own history, too. I felt a little anxious — had the podcast finished saving? what about the email I was planning to answer before bed? what was I going to *do* with myself if I wasn’t able to read blogs to wind down? — and I tried to remember what I did with all my time before there was The Internets to keep me busy.

How sad is it that *I couldn’t remember*? (Don’t answer that. It’s rhetorical.) I knew I used to read a lot. Write a lot in paper journals and make stuff. I remember watching television, when we had cable. I remember writing lots of letters and going out with friends. I still couldn’t account for all the hours of the day I’m online now.

The prospect of an internet-free life kind of terrified me and thrilled me all at once. It’s not feasible, at least not right now. Lime & Violet’s online. Most of my friends are scattered around the world and email’s the only cheap and quick way to talk to them. I get phone numbers and movie show times online, and almost 100% of the sock yarn that comes to me is purchased online since my local stores don’t have much of it.

But it was intriguing to me, as I sat there in the mostly-dark mostly-silence, thinking that if I could just *unplug* for a few days a week, my house would probably be cleaner, I’d read more books instead of blogs, and more knitting would probably get done since I wouldn’t be looking at new yarn to buy instead of using what I have. I might actually talk to my friends on the phone rather than just emailing them, which is wonderful but not quite as personal. I might actually *leave the house more often*, and would have time to hit some of those farmer’s markets and fruit/vegetable stands I’ve seen while whizzing by on my way somewhere for a quick errand.

Most of my *really* happy times are times when I’m not sitting in front of a keyboard. Times when I’ve gone somewhere and there’s no wireless access or public terminals. Times when “journaling” isn’t prefaced by the word “online”, and involves a pen and maybe a brush or two.

I think maybe some balance is in order. I think I might try unplugging the modem a few days a week, even. Sending the cord to work with my husband so I’m not even tempted. See if maybe some of those good things about not being attached to the keyboard to check Ravelry groups just *one more time before bed* can help me get back in touch with not just a stillness in the house, but a stillness inside, too.

I think I’ll keep the electric lights, though. Makes that sock knitting much easier.

What better says “Happy Birthday, America!” than a giant two-dozen batch of white cupcakes with blue sugar and strawberries?

Well, fireworks. But since that’s too dangerous for most people to deal with responsibly these days, apparently, cupcakes will have to do. (The local news is full of people who blew off digits or put out eyeballs or who lit themselves on fire. Back in the day, we didn’t call this “news”, we called this “being stupid” and wondered how much beer was consumed before lighting the punk on fire. I’m just sayin’.)

Anyway, today’s a day to celebrate the founding of our country and to cherish the independence for which our forefathers fought to achieve. All day today, I’ve been thinking about my own independence, too. (And cupcakes. C’mon…look at them. Wouldn’t you be thinking about them? Even when I was seasoning steaks and making tons of pasta salad and chopping vegetables, I was thinking about cupcakes. Mmm. Anyway….)

There are a few things in my life that I could do without. Yes, cupcakes are probably one of them, if you look at the mammoth size of my hips these days. But aside from taking up a macrobiotic diet, which I’m not ready to do quite yet, there are other things that I would be perfectly fine without. So it’s time for some declarations of my own.

1. I declare my independence from crap…er…clutter.
My house is a disaster. And really, it’s not as bad as some that I’ve seen online and in real life, but to me, it’s bad. There’s just too much stuff and not enough usable storage space, and that’s just a recipe for piles all over the place, which I hate with the hate that burns like a thousand suns. It makes me tired, it makes me cranky, and it makes me listless. I’ve got way too much going on in my life to be tired, cranky, and listless. I could really go for a little energy, peace, and listness instead. So the clutter and crap that has accumulated over the past few years has got to go. I’m done with it, and I’m declaring my indpendence from having too much stuff, today.

2. I’m declaring my independence from housework.
Yes, I know this seems like a contradiction with number 1, but it’s really not. I’m tired of thinking of it as WORK. WORK implies it’s hard and unenjoyable. And here’s the thing — it IS, kind of, unenjoyable. Cleaning the toilet in the husband’s bathroom? I should have nuclear protection gear. But it’s NOT unenjoyable to have a clean(ish) house. And it’s really not all that hard, just time-consuming. And it burns calories, which means I get more cupcakes without my ass threatening to get its own zip code. Life is good. Cleaning is good. Think of it as homekeeping instead of housework.

3. I declare my independence from Teh Busy(tm).
I have a lot to do. But honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I just need to start doing what’s important first, and then get on with the business of being busied by the things I want to do afterward. It’s a more balanced way to live.

4. I declare my independence from negativity.
I’m tired of naysayers. I’m tired of people for whom nothing ever goes right and they have to take it out on the world. I’m tired of the cynical, the chronically insecure, and the never-perfect-enoughs. If they’re not careful, I’m going to dump tea in their bathtubs. I like Starbucks better anyway.

5. I declare my independence from UFOs.
No, not the little green aliens kind. The oh-my-god-I-have-been-working-on-this-FOREVER-and-I-HATE-IT kind. I hereby grant Rip Amnesty for any half-knit ugly creations, half-sewn monsters, and half-written flops. Trash or stash — one of the two, but either way, I’m not wasting any more psychic energy on those unfinished objects.

That’s not all of them, but it’s a good start. Even the founding fathers left some of it all up to interpretation. I figure I can set off a few fireworks (sans beer or exploded fingers) and revel a bit in the liberation.

I already crossed the Delaware once, but I could be perfectly happy if a guy on a horse would come to tell me the cupcakes were coming. (My friend Kate still laughs at me for speaking up at a half-finished thought that started out with “There’s WATER in the Delaware….”. I don’t remember what the second half of it was supposed to be, but she has teased me for YEARS about that half-statement. Well, DUH there’s water in the Delaware. There usually IS in RIVERS. Sheesh.)

Sometimes, when I really need to just clear my head and think, I’ll drag out the spinning wheel. God knows I have enough fiber to think my way through most of the world’s crises, and the repetitive motions and hum of the wheel are just perfectly conducive to a nice long stretch of uninterrupted thought.

Last week, I put in an application at a local realty for a storefront. It was a huge decision, and honestly, one that I jumped into a little prematurely, since I felt a little pressured. The store where we have our weekly stitch & b*tch is closing (the owner is having some health issues), and since the web shop for Lime & Violet is doing relatively well, I thought maybe I could take it over. Sell hand-dyed sock yarns and spinning fibers, because there’s nowhere else in about a zillion-mile radius of Omaha sells either. And I could have indie crafts and classes and let it be a meeting place for creative communities.

I was really chuffed, to say the least.

But the fact is — I don’t know anything about bricks and mortar store-running. I know I could learn. But the volume of stuff there IS to learn is mind-boggling. I kept talking myself in and out of it, and went forward with it with my stomach in knots. After all, there are no guarantees in this life — it’s only what you take ahold of and squeeze that makes it worth living. Safety is only an illusion.

This morning, I got word that the store needs some structural, electrical, and plumbing updates. That I wouldn’t be able to move in right away…but I could put my money down on it and be assured that I’d have it once the stuff’s complete. The store’s former owner said the owner is really slow about such things, and honestly, it set off one too many red flags for me. I told the realty thank you for letting me know, and said I’d reapply when the work was done, instead, if I was still interested.

Three bobbins’-worth of thinking all weekend, and it ends up it wasn’t even my decision really, in the end. I should be sad about it — and I am, in a way — but when I’m quiet and honest with myself, I think it’s probably for the best. I feel like a weight’s been lifted off my brain, and with as many other concerns as I often have, this feels like it’s the right thing right now. Not that it’s not kind of a bummer, though.

There’s more on the bobbin of the wheel now (some Yarn Love roving, in the “Violets” colorway, which seemed apropos…), and I’ll probably have more thinking to do as I go forward. At least the hum of the wheel will keep me company.

(left to right: pigeonroof studios’ “greek isles” BFL, cider moon’s “Jackie O” superwash merino, and crosspatch creations’ untitled crazy batt with silk noil and wool and other varied and sundry fibers for content.)