No sooner had we entered the shop than my eyes — and arms — were full of yarn: five hanks of Manos del Uruguay Maxima in Ultramarine and two hanks of angora wool spun by a local artist (pictured below, top left). Add three hanks of Manos del Uruguay Maxima in Prairie that caught Keith’s attention, and despite — or perhaps in spite of — the indomitable summer, an autumn crochet frenzy had been ignited.

After purchasing some additional yarn online, I’ve started on a vest for Keith to wear when we visit Vermont in October, plus a sweater or two (or three) for myself. There’s still plenty of yarn that hasn’t been designated yet, but I’ve got a few ideas. And, using the momentum all these other projects have given me, I started crocheting Christmas ornaments with a view to finally entering a local ornament show and sale this year.

Yet, with all of these cool-season projects going on, it seems that I’m now succumbing to some sort of seasonal dissociative disorder. I want to put on jeans and a sweater, but it’s still over eighty degrees outside every day. The greenness of the trees outside is sometimes startling. Forget grilled hamburgers and fruit salads and cold soups; all I can think about is roast turkey and squash and potatoes. And hot chocolate. And pie. At this rate, I’ll be ready to put up the Christmas tree by Halloween.

If you’re a perfectionist, like me, or just someone who likes the sensation of crossing things off lists — like me — you probably put a lot of value on quantifying your accomplishments. For people like us, there’s a positive correlation between accomplishments and self-worth: the more you get done, the more valuable you feel.

I woke up this morning feeling weighed down — physically and emotionally — feeling almost sad, lethargic, apathetic. I was hungry, but didn’t feel like eating; tired, but didn’t feel like sleeping. The house was dirty, but I didn’t feel like cleaning. I was bored, but didn’t feel like doing.

It’s tough, on a day like this, to get anything done. (Well, anything other than eating Ritz crackers and ice cream and watching season one of Star Trek: The Next Generation on Netflix. …What?!) Whether it’s motivation or inspiration you lack, the longer you sit around doing nothing, the worse you feel; and the worse you feel, the less motivated you are to get up and do something useful.

It finally occurred to me that there are two ways to approach this kind of situation, to deal with the ever-deepening hole. The first way is to sink in and let it take over. For an hour or two, I mindlessly sat in the living room, staring at Facebook, staring at the floor, thinking about how long my to-do list was, dreading it all. Cleaning. Crocheting. Designing. And at the same time, I was dreading reaching the end of the weekend and finding it wasted, feeling ill-equipped to tackle the week ahead.

The second way is to look toward the light at the other end. Instead of thinking about how much cleaning there is to do, I think about how good I feel when the house is clean and I work toward that. Instead of focusing on how much work is involved in cooking breakfast, I choose a dish that reminds me of fall and winter — my favorite time of year — and I make it. Now, I feel my spirits begin to lift, motivation to get moving, to feel productive — and happy.

I think of this as making your own happiness, and it’s largely about perspective. It applies to a single crummy day, or a crummy month, or a crummy year. You aren’t changing your circumstances, which often are (or seem to be) beyond your control; instead, you’re changing the way you view your circumstances. You can dwell on the negative aspects of the present situation, or you can focus on the positive aspects: what opportunities does this situation offer? Realizing that you have a choice is a tremendously powerful moment. A simple shift in perspective is often all it takes to start getting things accomplished and feeling more like a worthwhile, happy human being. No — a human doing.

Yours touchy-feelily,

Sarah

Softly tapping against the glass; tinny percussion on the car’s roof. Thunder rolls and vibrations in the air make my fingers tingle. The sharp scent of wet soil and bark tickles my nose. I close my eyes and drink in the sensations, feeling lighter with every lightning flash, feeling quieter with every easy, wet breeze.

The swelling heat and humidity has been weighing on me like a moon-sized water balloon pressing me down into a frying pan. I hate the summer, I grumble silently over and over again: my spiteful mantra. The air is laden with moisture; even the nearest treeline is hazy. My skin feels sticky and dirty whenever I step outside and I’m sweating before I’ve even walked fifty yards. My stride becomes lazy and slow, and I’m nearly dragging my heels along the ground trying to wade through the thickened atmosphere. I hate the summer.

As I go about my day, suddenly, the skies grow dark with steely gray clouds. The tension builds between the ground and the sky like static electricity until POW! a flash of lightning and CRACK! a wave of thunder and PAT! PAT! PATPATPATPAT! the rain begins to drop. Resentment-tensed muscles begin to loosen and I breathe deeply. Relief. My spirits soar, feeling lighter, cooler, cleaner, freer. I love the rain, I whisper silently over and over again, as if it will continue for as long as I think it. I love the rain.

Ah, summer. Seems like we’ve been going from here to there and back again almost every weekend for the last few months — and will be for a few months more. It’s as exhausting as it is exciting. A new weekend approaches: what new adventures await?

Lately, I’ve been noticing lots of crochet projects based on the simple granny square. I think, for most crocheters, the granny square holds a special place in the heart. It was one of the first patterns I learned when my mom taught me to crochet. When I picked the craft back up several years ago, I ignored the granny in favor of cleaner, more delicate and modern patterns. But with the right yarn and color palette, the classic crochet motif  can be elevated from crafty kitsch to an artful juxtaposition of sweet nostalgia and modern aesthetics. And that suits me just fine.

So when I saw the tutorial for Granny Circle Placemats on The Purl Bee blog last week, I knew that the timing was right. Simple. Useful. And I was just thinking about buying circle placemats the other day! Now I’ll just make them.

I’ve been keeping Project Spectrum in the back of my mind as I plan personal projects, so I decided to accent my placemats with green. Even though I won’t finish a full set before the end of June (I’ll be lucky to finish one placemat!), it’s a fun, easy project to use up some green and white stash yarn and help me get back to basics.

I did precisely that more than once this past weekend, after I started stenciling my bathroom walls — “started” being the operative word here, because I stenciled for an approximate total of twenty hours and finished only about seventy-five percent of the project. My hands hurt. My back aches. My feet are sore. There’s not a square corner in the room. I swore a lot. And I lack motivation such as having my old rival Raphael lurking down the hall just waiting for me to throw in the towel so he can pounce on the job and take all the glory. And if he was? I would let him. In fact, I would pay ten thousand lire for him to come back from the dead and finish it now.

Granted, Michelangelo, if he were here, would probably slap the back of my head and say, “SAH-rah! You SEE-ssy! Thees-a tineh lee-tle room eez-a NAH-thing!”

And anyway, who can I really blame but myself — which I did, many times — for tackling such an ambitious first-time wall stenciling project? If I ever stencil again, I think I’ll skip doing corners. The stencil (Chez Ali Large from Royal Design Studio) is nice and sturdy, but doesn’t go easily into the ceiling corners; because the corners aren’t really even remotely close to being square, I spent a lot of time fighting the stencil from buckling and popping off the wall, and as a result the pattern ended up distorted. I ultimately found that it was easier to freehand the corners. In theory, this wasn’t so bad, being pretty confident with my freehand skills, but it’s a tiny little bathroom and with all the main fixtures in place, it was incredibly uncomfortable to work for long periods of time in odd, contorted positions.

The only thing I could do to keep my spirits up was drink tea, eat ice cream, crank up the music and sing along.

To be perfectly honest, I thought I would resent that room forever. But, after three months of construction and this grueling, frustrating weekend, I was determined to have the inaugural shower at long last. So I did. And magic happened. The whole room was brighter, the fresh tile gleaming, the formerly cramped shower felt spacious enough for a dance party. Staring up at the pattern surrounding me, suds in my hair and still singing along to the music, I was a little proud of the work I’d accomplished. And a whole lot of happy.

As I was uploading the photos and drafting a quick blog post, I heard the clicking and jingling of keys in the front door lock. A moment later, Keith was striding through the living room, carrying dinner, ice cream, and two huge bouquets of white and yellow flowers. “I couldn’t decide between them,” he said, “so I got both!”

It reminds me of fall and winter, the time of year that brings me the most comfort, when I feel — oddly enough — most connected with the world around me. Instead of tea, I decide, I’m going to drink hot chocolate. I light a candle to add just enough of a glow to make reading easier, and the scent of smoke and cinnamon and vanilla fills my stuffy nose.

We still have unpacking to do from our beach vacation, laundry to sort, grocery shopping to do. And plenty of summer ahead. But I’m going to let myself hide from it for now and imagine that there are pumpkins to pick, fallen leaves to collect, and flannel and down linens on the bed. And books to read. Stories to write. Things to draw.

Finally, I hear the sound of rain tapping the skylight, faster and faster. The best soundtrack for my hideaway morning.

Maybe I’ll bake brownies, I think. Eh, if I feel like it, and I make another cup of hot chocolate. After all, I have more important things to do.