I'm trying to get back into the swing of things after the car accident. It took me about 6 months to even feel like I could pick up a needle again without pain. I've started again, but have since found that work takes so much more out of me than it did before.
I'm trying to remind myself that it takes time, and that progress is progress. I've traditionally also not been very kind to myself which is something I'm trying to change as well. With embroidery, at least it's good to know that you can still do good work when you're moving slowly.
Recently something happened that got me thinking about my name again. A woman who works in the same building dropped by to pass me a note, and we had this exchange:
L: I don't think we've officially met, my name is L.
Me: Oh hi L, my name is Mei.
L: Is that M-a-i?
Me: Actually no, it's M-e-i.
L then rolled her eyes at me.
As a child, my pohpoh frequently warned/scolded me:
“Every grain of rice left on your plate is a pock-mark on your husband’s face!"
I wonder now about my husband’s plates of rice when he was growing up. Was it how much he ate or how much he left on his plate that contributed to the sickness in his gut? And to his marrying me?
Because now he can no longer eat rice.
And I am the one with the pock-marks.