The detritus of life is everywhere—physical, emotional, spiritual. A little piece of wool sitting on my bathroom counter this morning sent me down that rabbit hole.

the detritus of life
How did this bit of wool end up on my bathroom counter?

Meet Gack the Hairball

A couple of months ago, I created Gack, the hairball. (I’ve been making little crochet critters for a while.) I made him partly because I wanted to try hand-knitting (ie with my hands and without needles) a ball. Also, I had this idea of making a hairball because I’m always finding bits of yarn and wool around my apartment. It seems like I find them even when I’m not working on anything, but maybe that’s not true—and I’ve usually got something on my wheel, hook, needles, or fingers.

gack--made of the detritus of life
Gack the hairball

I found this YouTube video with instructions for a beautiful round pillow and made it my own (after watching it several times–and it took more like half an hour)!

Today, as I saw this little bit of wool on my bathroom counter and wondered how on earth it got there, I also started wondering about the detritus of life that we don’t see.

Gack's back--detritus of life
Gack’s back–soon to be covered with fluff and flotsam

Wash your hair with mud

Today, for the first time in a long time, the temperature rose into the 60’s today. Most of the ice has now melted from the play yard, and a few luscious muddy puddles remained. I looked out the window just before snack time and saw 4 little girls washing their hair with muddy water and the bar soap they had been carving. They looked very happy! Somehow in my mind, this tied in with the fuzz and fluff in my apartment, even though their hair was wetter and plastered to their heads, in contrast with my light and airy bit of wool.

By the end of the day, I felt like Pigpen from the Peanuts cartoons, trailing a cloud of dust (or is it a cloud of glory?) wherever I go. And so I wrote this poem:

The detritus of life–a poem

What pieces of myself have I dropped by the wayside

Bits of fluff or scraps of soap,

Hard pebbles or perhaps the occasional boulder.

Traces of laughter, echoes of anger,

Dust bunnies of silliness,

puddles of thought, deep or shallow,

clear or murky.

Will a child pick them up and put them in

Their pocket with their own detritus

And save them as treasures

Will they get thrown in the washing machine

Or fall under the car seat or between the

Cushions of a sofa to be vacuumed away at

Some unspecified date?

If I come across them again,

Will I even remember what they are

Or why they sit upon my bathroom counter

Or if they even belong to me?


What detritus did you find today?

And as always, thanks for stopping by!