Rhinebeck was the weekend before last, and it was glorious, folks.
Sam and I went as civilians this year, our first time ever; we’d only gone as vendors before, which means we’d never really properly seen the show. We rented a house with our friends at Cooperative Press (with bonus Stefanie!) again- sort of a Rhinebeck tradition at this point, and a big part of the joy of the trip, too. There’s something that’s just deep- down fun about an annual, get- away, grown- up sleep- over party, and that’s what this feels like, each year.
I’d headed out to New York with some hesitation this time around: I was worried it might be painful. I dawdled getting packed, which (understandably) annoyed Sam, and it set a tone to the beginning of the trip that was less than pleasant, but by the time we were halfway there, I’d begun to release a lot of my anxiety. If it hurts, that’s okay, I thought. I can be with that. It’s part of this process.
It was good, though. Solidly, heartily good. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was bittersweet; I did miss the excitement of being a vendor, absolutely. But we helped CP set up and tear down, which made things feel better, somehow, and seeing our very good friends Dragonfly Fibers in our old spot made me feel so happy. Watching Kate and Nancye gain that dazed but joyful Rhinebeck- vendor glow as the weekend progressed was both terrific and a little frightening; I remember that feeling. It was so exciting and so draining, all at once.
Which brings me to the most important part of the whole weekend: realizing, on a real gut level, that I had made the right choice this summer.
I knew, cognitively, that I was doing the right thing in retiring from dyeing. You know how that works, though, right? How a body can know a thing is true, but not really feel it to be true, deep down in their gut, where it really matters? Once it was all done, I’d keep wondering: what if I had just tried LDN, or what if I’d just tried to stick it out through August (it was a very mild summer for Baltimore, after all), or what if I’d tried switching to the other oral medication, or what if… It’s the “what- if”s that will kill you, I swear. They’re brutal. They come for you in the middle of the night, and they just won’t leave you alone.
Saturday, I left the show an hour early; I was completely exhausted from being there. It was shocking, really; I hadn’t done anything but catch up with friends, eat French artichokes, pet some sheep, browse the barns, the normal things, but I was worn down in that painful, exhausted- down- to- your- bones way that I associate with- well, chronic illness or being the parent of a very small child. I hated heading back to the house early, but it was also a strange relief: now I knew. It sucked, and made me sad, but also: it was an established fact. If I couldn’t manage this, just the act of just wandering the fairgrounds as a civvie, then no— working the festival as a vendor would have been completely out of my reach. Hell, I’ve actually been resting for the last six weeks (I really did listen to my doctor, which is remarkable), so making it up to this point might not have even happened, if we’re looking at this with a truly critical eye. It was a confirmation, and one I really needed: I feel better than I did this summer, and I still couldn’t have done this thing, and that’s okay.
I’ve been in this holding pattern, waiting for my strength to come back, for these muscles to stop the whatever it is that they’re doing and be something approaching average again for far too long. That might happen, but my body has felt this way for about a year now, longer than I’ve had most of my other symptoms, which come and go; it also might not. This could be my new normal. MS is funny like that. Not funny: ha- ha; more like funny: I keyed your car and pissed in the gas tank, but you get the idea. Being at Rhinebeck this year, in an entirely new context, that was important, and I’m happy we didn’t skip going. I’m extra glad it happened as soon after the closure of the studio as it did.
It was different, being there as a designer and editor. Really, really different. I got to see things, for one. Assess trends, shop a little, eat, all of that. And actually spend time with people, which was good. I didn’t get to see everyone I wanted to- I missed out on a few important folks, actually (Lisa R, Penny S-G, how did we miss each other!? My stupid phone died on Sunday, to my absolute heartbreak) but I did get to talk with lot of the people I wanted to see, and that was wonderful— and not the quickie conversations that I would have needed to have in the booth, either. I met with many of the yarnies I wanted to see, started plotting for the next year (I have Ideas, obviously), started making my list of colors and bases for upcoming designs, and overall realized that while not at all like my life as a dyer, this was all right. No, better than all right: this was solidly, happily good.
That’s what I’ve needed, as I’ve been grieving over these last couple of months. Closure, sure, which Rhinebeck provided in a neat and tidy way, but also the real and solid feeling that I had made the correct decision, difficult as it was, and some sense of what things would be like, moving forward. The reassurance that I would be happy, in this new existence: I needed that, in a serious way. I’m still not in love with all of this, but that’s all right- I don’t have to be. That would be a lot to expect at this point, honestly. Being in a place of acceptance and surrender is so much better than where I was before; it positions me to create a new way of living that I can fall in love with, instead of just mourning a life I can’t have any more.
So, Rhinebeck: always surprising, always magic. I should have known that would be what brought me back to myself. It’s a bit like waking up, like surfacing after a dive. I’m sorry I’ve been so absent- not just from the blog, but from just about everything lately. To say that I’ve been “in retreat” would be putting it mildly, but I think I’m coming to the end of that now, and that’s a goodness.