You know, it's funny. So many things are funny. I have had an urge to write so many times this past week. About all the things that are funny. And strange. And confusing.
I had an interesting day today. I kept my cool in a way I have not been able to before with my four year old. For almost two hours, I stayed calm while he flailed around, feeling his way through his life, through his experience, his day, his emotions. Directing his frustration at me. And I stood like a polished marble wall, let is all slide right off. Instead of like the velcro ball I can be so often, holding onto his fit. Or like a spider web, catching his tantrum and holding it up. At the same time, I was able to love him and be patient and walk through it beside him and we both came out the other end, calm and exhausted. I lay next to him in his bed as he settled himself for a nap. Moving my hand over his hair, remembering the way my mom used to move her hand over my hair, so gently. Placing my hand on his little shoulder. Sending him love and healing thoughts through my palms. Then we both slept.
I read somewhere recently, something about how a hug can express things we cannot say. I felt today, when I was hugging my husband, like my heart was speaking to his heart. I have a feeling that my heart has been very careful since my mom died. When I was in college, I had a boyfriend. We used to stare into each others eyes. Just very much in love, looking into each others eyes, smiling, for minutes at a time, quietly being in love and settling into each other. For some reason, that memory of that feeling stands out to me as a feeling of abandon. Being in love. That falling feeling, the falling in love, letting yourself fall and drifting, following it completely.
After my mom died, that boyfriend and I broke up. And I don't think I ever looked at anyone that way again. It is only recently in my life, that I have been able to spend time gazing into my husband's eyes, before I have to look away. I think after my mom died, I suddenly understood something. There are no guarantees and everything ends. You can love someone but you should also be prepared to lose them. And I think, I lost the desire to lose myself in love that way. I sort of ended up loving in a way that was a bit guarded. A careful kind of love.
But every once in a while, that veil slips away. Today, holding onto my husband, I felt a great, full, whole sort of love, including the conscious awareness that someday he will be gone. I felt the great sadness of missing him in his future absence. A wild and clutching sort of "don't leave me" feeling, welling up and taking hold of me and in turn, him. My heart reached out and held onto his for dear life. I don't know. The funny thing is, it doesn't sound like a good feeling, but it felt honest. It felt like the truth and I felt grateful for the feeling and for this person in my life. Love is a scary thing sometimes. Because it feels so important, and necessary, and big, and at the same time, so fragile.
Later, we stood in the kitchen and talked about that hug. I told him, I had felt sad that some day he would be gone. He smiled at me and said he was not going anywhere. That's what my mom said, I told him. Before she died, when she knew she was dying, I told her how much I would miss her and that I didn't want her to go. She said, "Where would I go?" And maybe she is still here, beside me. But her physical presence is what my heart and my body misses. Two of my husband's fingertips rested on my hand as he spoke to me, grinning about his immortal self. I could weep thinking of those two fingertips not existing anymore. But this is life. Life ends. And until you experience losing someone you love, it may seem.... like a light and airy idea. But oh, the body, and all of the love it holds, the energy it radiates, the way a body feels, it's warm skin, it's soft hair, the lines and creases, the moles and freckles, the tiny hairs, the fuzz, the eyes, the teeth, their breath, their hair, their scent, the weight of them, the gravity, their feet planted on the earth, their hand in your hand, their voice, their laughter, their fingertips on your hand.... these things are golden, precious in every way. And when they are gone, they are gone. The love I feel, includes the knowledge of how fleeting these things are. How temporary. How lovely. How missed they will be. And my heart is bigger for it. I love you now. I miss you already. I am grateful for this moment of feeling you here with me and at the same time, a little sad that it will be gone some day.
I was driving in my car tonight, by myself, listening to a David Sedaris audio book. I laughed out loud and it sounded so much like my mother's laugh. But it wasn't her laugh, it was mine. Still, things like that can take my breath away and make my heart skip a beat. Maybe a little bit of my mother lives in my laugh. Certainly some of my mother lives on in me, in my body. It's funny. And sad at the same time. And I suppose some of my mom, and me, and my husband live on in my little boy. I hope they both outlive me. I hope we all grow to be very old. And I hope, by the time I die, I am less attached to this physical world and it's warm bodies. And it's ice cream. And pizza. I already miss pizza.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Saturday, November 23, 2013
The Message
It has been over a month since my last post. I have not forgotten you. In fact, I think of you often. I think a lot about what I could write about. Some things feel too personal or too preachy or too boring. But one thing I have been thinking a lot about this month feels just right.
If you know me..... I think I just found a tiny dead worm in my salad.
If you know me, you probably know my mom died a while back. It seems to come up eventually. It's something I carry with me and sometimes I take it out to show other people. Look, see? I had a mom. She died. Breast cancer. I was 21. I am still sad about it. Then I put it back in my pocket.
You may also know, that I have been to a few mediums. I have always had an interest in psychics, mediums, ghosts, the paranormal, all that stuff, since I was a little girl. When I was a kid, I only wanted books from the library that were ghost stories, and I watched tons of Scooby Doo episodes. Forever disappointed that it was never really a ghost or a monster, just someone in a costume.
Long story short, recently, a friend of mine urged me to go with him to see a medium. He had seen the medium before and said she had changed his life. She is in New Jersey, my friend is in Beacon. So he made an appointment for each of us on November 4th. I drove the hour down to Beacon and jumped in his car and he drove us to New Jersey.
This friend of mine is a friend from college. We lived in the same dorm, the only dorm at our small school. He always listened to great music. We were not close friends but thanks to Facebook we have been in touch and have come to know each other a little better. He has a brother who passed in a tragic boating accident. This brother is who he had gone to try to connect with when he first found this medium. And it changed things for him.
I don't remember the medium's name. Lynn something? I don't know what town we were in. I didn't much care for the details. I just wanted to spend the day with a new, old friend and go somewhere I had never been and maybe have my life changed, maybe not. Even more than I love going someplace new, I love to be taken someplace new.
My friend is a mystical kind of guy. I didn't know this before. And I was so thoroughly intrigued and entertained by him. Talking with him in the car there and back and over dim sum, made all things seem possible. Because he believes in some pretty far out things. And I believe in him. All in all, that day was a perfect adventure.
This medium, she was legit, I think. She told me a lot about my mom, a lot about how she died. She told me my mom is always with me, that she is always talking to me, comforting me or advising me. She said that my mom rests her hand on my right shoulder a lot. She also said that my mom likes to sit at my kitchen table, which I translated to my kitchen desk. We do have a desk with a chair in our kitchen but no table. It seems like an appropriate place to sit to observe things in my house. And whether this is true or not, I like to imagine her there now, keeping me company. I wish she would fold some laundry while she is sitting there.
But, here's the thing. I guess my big wish, every time I see a medium, is that they will say, "Your mom is with you. She wants to tell you how much she loves you, that she knows you miss her, that she is so proud of you, what a wonderful mother you are, how much she loves your son, that she is watching over him, and what a wonderful man you've married and the home you've created is so lovely. And you will see her again when it is your time to pass on. And she's never appeared as a ghost to you because..... And the person you should talk to about publishing your book is......." But that never happens. But this time, was the worst. She did not relay any of those messages, other than "your mother is with you". What she did say was, "Your mother says you're very uptight. You worry too much. Stop avoiding stressful situations, it's creating more stress in your life." What? Really? That's what she wants to tell me from beyond the grave? That I'm uptight? I know I'm uptight! And that I worry too much.
When I left, I felt annoyed. It is ultimately aggravating to sit down across from someone who may actually be talking to my dead mother, for only an hour and then hand them money and walk away. It is hard to walk away from someone who can talk to my dead mother. I want to talk to her. And I don't want to hear this bullshit about how uptight I am.
But, here's the other thing. I heard what she said. She the medium, or she, my mother, it doesn't matter really where the message came from, I heard it. And it was true. And it was important to hear and to take it in. She was right. And it was not news to me. But maybe, if that was what my mother felt it was most important to say in that moment, not that she was proud of me, but that I should chill out? Then maybe that was what would she thought would help me most. And maybe it was.
Since that day, I have thought a lot about how uptight I am, how worried, how caught up I am in all the things I can't figure out, that I have not accomplished, all the things that I am doing wrong, or not doing at all, should be doing, or shouldn't be doing. I am missing out on the moment. Which is also not a new thought, but one I forget. To be in the moment. This is where it's at. In this moment, I have an awesome life. I have this little boy who is four years old in this moment and he will not be four forever. Every day, he is older and is growing and changing. And HE is the very best thing I've done so far and the very thing I've wanted most in my life. And I am so proud of him. I love my husband, he is a great man. I love our house. I love this life. I am healthy. We are all, the three of us, healthy. These are amazing things and they can also change at any moment. But, in this moment, they are here, they are true and I am paying attention to them. Experiencing joy. I am allowed. It is important.
I have been letting go, and letting go, and letting go some more. There is no rush, there is no pressure, there is no deadline. I have been thinking about being led. Letting the Universe guide me and seeing where it is it will take me. I am open to the adventure and the experience. It feels good to step out of my head and into my shoes and walk, or sit, or lay flat on the floor and breathe. Just be.
For however long this lasts, I hope to be able to just let go and float with the tide. Trust that all is well. And if it doesn't seem quite right, it is just a bend in the road that will take me where I am meant to go. All the while, expecting joy and letting it in.
Deep breath.
And another.
Good job.
If you know me..... I think I just found a tiny dead worm in my salad.
If you know me, you probably know my mom died a while back. It seems to come up eventually. It's something I carry with me and sometimes I take it out to show other people. Look, see? I had a mom. She died. Breast cancer. I was 21. I am still sad about it. Then I put it back in my pocket.
You may also know, that I have been to a few mediums. I have always had an interest in psychics, mediums, ghosts, the paranormal, all that stuff, since I was a little girl. When I was a kid, I only wanted books from the library that were ghost stories, and I watched tons of Scooby Doo episodes. Forever disappointed that it was never really a ghost or a monster, just someone in a costume.
Long story short, recently, a friend of mine urged me to go with him to see a medium. He had seen the medium before and said she had changed his life. She is in New Jersey, my friend is in Beacon. So he made an appointment for each of us on November 4th. I drove the hour down to Beacon and jumped in his car and he drove us to New Jersey.
This friend of mine is a friend from college. We lived in the same dorm, the only dorm at our small school. He always listened to great music. We were not close friends but thanks to Facebook we have been in touch and have come to know each other a little better. He has a brother who passed in a tragic boating accident. This brother is who he had gone to try to connect with when he first found this medium. And it changed things for him.
I don't remember the medium's name. Lynn something? I don't know what town we were in. I didn't much care for the details. I just wanted to spend the day with a new, old friend and go somewhere I had never been and maybe have my life changed, maybe not. Even more than I love going someplace new, I love to be taken someplace new.
My friend is a mystical kind of guy. I didn't know this before. And I was so thoroughly intrigued and entertained by him. Talking with him in the car there and back and over dim sum, made all things seem possible. Because he believes in some pretty far out things. And I believe in him. All in all, that day was a perfect adventure.
This medium, she was legit, I think. She told me a lot about my mom, a lot about how she died. She told me my mom is always with me, that she is always talking to me, comforting me or advising me. She said that my mom rests her hand on my right shoulder a lot. She also said that my mom likes to sit at my kitchen table, which I translated to my kitchen desk. We do have a desk with a chair in our kitchen but no table. It seems like an appropriate place to sit to observe things in my house. And whether this is true or not, I like to imagine her there now, keeping me company. I wish she would fold some laundry while she is sitting there.
But, here's the thing. I guess my big wish, every time I see a medium, is that they will say, "Your mom is with you. She wants to tell you how much she loves you, that she knows you miss her, that she is so proud of you, what a wonderful mother you are, how much she loves your son, that she is watching over him, and what a wonderful man you've married and the home you've created is so lovely. And you will see her again when it is your time to pass on. And she's never appeared as a ghost to you because..... And the person you should talk to about publishing your book is......." But that never happens. But this time, was the worst. She did not relay any of those messages, other than "your mother is with you". What she did say was, "Your mother says you're very uptight. You worry too much. Stop avoiding stressful situations, it's creating more stress in your life." What? Really? That's what she wants to tell me from beyond the grave? That I'm uptight? I know I'm uptight! And that I worry too much.
When I left, I felt annoyed. It is ultimately aggravating to sit down across from someone who may actually be talking to my dead mother, for only an hour and then hand them money and walk away. It is hard to walk away from someone who can talk to my dead mother. I want to talk to her. And I don't want to hear this bullshit about how uptight I am.
But, here's the other thing. I heard what she said. She the medium, or she, my mother, it doesn't matter really where the message came from, I heard it. And it was true. And it was important to hear and to take it in. She was right. And it was not news to me. But maybe, if that was what my mother felt it was most important to say in that moment, not that she was proud of me, but that I should chill out? Then maybe that was what would she thought would help me most. And maybe it was.
Since that day, I have thought a lot about how uptight I am, how worried, how caught up I am in all the things I can't figure out, that I have not accomplished, all the things that I am doing wrong, or not doing at all, should be doing, or shouldn't be doing. I am missing out on the moment. Which is also not a new thought, but one I forget. To be in the moment. This is where it's at. In this moment, I have an awesome life. I have this little boy who is four years old in this moment and he will not be four forever. Every day, he is older and is growing and changing. And HE is the very best thing I've done so far and the very thing I've wanted most in my life. And I am so proud of him. I love my husband, he is a great man. I love our house. I love this life. I am healthy. We are all, the three of us, healthy. These are amazing things and they can also change at any moment. But, in this moment, they are here, they are true and I am paying attention to them. Experiencing joy. I am allowed. It is important.
I have been letting go, and letting go, and letting go some more. There is no rush, there is no pressure, there is no deadline. I have been thinking about being led. Letting the Universe guide me and seeing where it is it will take me. I am open to the adventure and the experience. It feels good to step out of my head and into my shoes and walk, or sit, or lay flat on the floor and breathe. Just be.
For however long this lasts, I hope to be able to just let go and float with the tide. Trust that all is well. And if it doesn't seem quite right, it is just a bend in the road that will take me where I am meant to go. All the while, expecting joy and letting it in.
Deep breath.
And another.
Good job.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Morning
I think it's unfortunate that I should wake up in a bad mood, ever. I think there should be a reset button and when I wake in the morning, I should at the very least, feel neutral. I have had a string of days that I have felt extra tired, and have had extra aggravations. Some are my own doing, some are not. I can't control the spot stealer at the gym, although I can change how I look at it, I suppose. I left my interior light on in my car once again this week, killing the battery. I don't even know how this is possible, as I was not IN the car in the dark and would not need that light on. You would think the car would beep when I turn off the ignition if a light is on. It beeps incessantly for everything else. The one thing I'd want a beep for, it's not into. I hate beeping. I had an unpleasant Facebook event a couple of days ago. Last night, determined to cook the dinner I had planned, frantically cooking at 7:30, I dumped half of my peeled, cubed and marinated eggplant into the hot oven, the oven drawer beneath the oven and the floor. I keep having aggravating dreams.
Sometimes, I wake up in the morning with a feeling of worry. Wondering what will happen today. A general grumpy, cloudy, feeling. And I think, oh man, you are setting yourself up. Do not step a foot out of this bed until you are happy. That doesn't work. Most of the time I have all of 30 seconds to wake up and get out of bed. I must teach my four year old to call for me in a nicer way. His morning, "MAHMMEHHHhhhhhhhhhh......." is so whiny. I have to get quickly out of bed or else I have to hear it repeatedly.
I am in bed right now. I got to sleep in today. And woke from dreams about my dead mother being alive and not calling me on my birthday. I have a ton of things to do today and feel a bit overwhelmed and worried. I have a sense that my feelings in the morning call the day to me. I am ordering off a menu and I am choosing events that will fit my mood. This makes me more nervous.
Writing is making me feel better though.
The more I focus on that spot stealer at the gym, the more she's gonna drive me crazy. I know it. I guess I'll be shopping for a new spot. I love the gym. I love the classes I take and the child care, the hour I get to move my body and feel strong, follow instructions and not worry about anything else. I love the people there. I love that it is only a four minute drive from my house. I love that we can afford the $25 a month membership, worth every penny. I would not give up the gym for anything. I would give up my spot for my happiness though.
Shitty dreams are just shitty dreams. My dead mother didn't call me in my dream but when she was alive, she never missed my birthday. She made me the same pink lemonade ice cream cake from scratch every year. She was always, always, happy to see me.
When my car battery died yet again in one week, my husband, yet again, jumped it for me and let it run in the driveway. When I dumped all that eggplant into the oven and stood there staring at it and said, "I don't even know what to do with that!", my husband said, "I got it." And he cleaned it up. When Facebook slapped me in the face, I had friends that said, it's okay, we love you. And my husband offered me a massage. I knew what he really meant though and I said no thank you, I just wanted to go to sleep.
The point is, my life has got my back. I am loved. The morning after the Facebook debacle, I went into my son's room to get him up and he held my face in his little hands and kissed me all over for my face while I laughed. Life is predominantly good. I am very lucky. I am very blessed. I try very hard to keep it that way. I wish I could wake up happy every day. But I suppose, I am human and human nature says differently. Especially in America. What a strange world we live in. So much abundance, so much worry. So much safety, so much fear. But, I love my little town. The freshly painted red bridge, the chocolate shop. I love my friends here. I love this amazingly warm Fall weather we're having, the trees leaves changing and falling, the light changing. Halloween coming.
The window curtain at the head of my bed is a vintage cream and blue grey flowery thing. It has a hole in it that I keep thinking I have to mend, and I will. Right now, through that little hole, I can see some leaves blowing in the breeze, in the sun, on a tree in my yard. Just a tiny window into the the day outside. It looks so beautiful. For this moment, I am glad that hole is there. It's like a little floating, shimmering, morning jewel. Good morning.
I think I can get up now. Did I mention I got to sleep in? Today is going to be okay.
Sometimes, I wake up in the morning with a feeling of worry. Wondering what will happen today. A general grumpy, cloudy, feeling. And I think, oh man, you are setting yourself up. Do not step a foot out of this bed until you are happy. That doesn't work. Most of the time I have all of 30 seconds to wake up and get out of bed. I must teach my four year old to call for me in a nicer way. His morning, "MAHMMEHHHhhhhhhhhhh......." is so whiny. I have to get quickly out of bed or else I have to hear it repeatedly.
I am in bed right now. I got to sleep in today. And woke from dreams about my dead mother being alive and not calling me on my birthday. I have a ton of things to do today and feel a bit overwhelmed and worried. I have a sense that my feelings in the morning call the day to me. I am ordering off a menu and I am choosing events that will fit my mood. This makes me more nervous.
Writing is making me feel better though.
The more I focus on that spot stealer at the gym, the more she's gonna drive me crazy. I know it. I guess I'll be shopping for a new spot. I love the gym. I love the classes I take and the child care, the hour I get to move my body and feel strong, follow instructions and not worry about anything else. I love the people there. I love that it is only a four minute drive from my house. I love that we can afford the $25 a month membership, worth every penny. I would not give up the gym for anything. I would give up my spot for my happiness though.
Shitty dreams are just shitty dreams. My dead mother didn't call me in my dream but when she was alive, she never missed my birthday. She made me the same pink lemonade ice cream cake from scratch every year. She was always, always, happy to see me.
When my car battery died yet again in one week, my husband, yet again, jumped it for me and let it run in the driveway. When I dumped all that eggplant into the oven and stood there staring at it and said, "I don't even know what to do with that!", my husband said, "I got it." And he cleaned it up. When Facebook slapped me in the face, I had friends that said, it's okay, we love you. And my husband offered me a massage. I knew what he really meant though and I said no thank you, I just wanted to go to sleep.
The point is, my life has got my back. I am loved. The morning after the Facebook debacle, I went into my son's room to get him up and he held my face in his little hands and kissed me all over for my face while I laughed. Life is predominantly good. I am very lucky. I am very blessed. I try very hard to keep it that way. I wish I could wake up happy every day. But I suppose, I am human and human nature says differently. Especially in America. What a strange world we live in. So much abundance, so much worry. So much safety, so much fear. But, I love my little town. The freshly painted red bridge, the chocolate shop. I love my friends here. I love this amazingly warm Fall weather we're having, the trees leaves changing and falling, the light changing. Halloween coming.
The window curtain at the head of my bed is a vintage cream and blue grey flowery thing. It has a hole in it that I keep thinking I have to mend, and I will. Right now, through that little hole, I can see some leaves blowing in the breeze, in the sun, on a tree in my yard. Just a tiny window into the the day outside. It looks so beautiful. For this moment, I am glad that hole is there. It's like a little floating, shimmering, morning jewel. Good morning.
I think I can get up now. Did I mention I got to sleep in? Today is going to be okay.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Estate Sale
There is really nothing else like an estate sale. Have you ever been? It is like a yard sale except it is always indoors. Sometimes it happens when people are moving. But most often it is when someone has died. Someone old. People are hired to run a sale out of the house. Some doors are closed and have signs that say "keep door closed".
It occurs to me now, it also happens when someone old has had to leave their home. They just had one at my grandpa's house. My grandpa has not died, he has gone to live with my uncle.
Last week, I went to an estate sale. It was at a house around the corner from me. I had some free time one day and there were signs and I followed them there. It was a small house and in ways it was caught in a time warp as old people's homes often are. I love old people's homes. I love when most everything they own, the have owned for a long time. Old people don't redecorate or renovate, they are comfortable. Things are "outdated" but well cared for.
I am making great generalizations here, I realize. Let me say, in my experience at estate sales in the Hudson Valley in NY, this seems to be the case. I am sure it varies as all things do.
At the sale, the books were still on their shelves, there were no personal photographs or items around, but there were clothes still on their hangers in the closets, the kitchen was closed off and the dishes were laid out on a table. I have gone to estate sales where the dishes are still in the cabinets, the sliver ware in the drawers and it is all for sale. It is all for the buying and the looking. It feels strange to delight in such a thing. I wonder if the former owner of these things has died, if they are annoyed with people picking through their things. I guess if I were old and had passed away and there was an estate sale in my house it might bug me. And make me glad, depending on who took what. I also suppose if I were dead, I would not care about such things because everything would finally make sense and none of it would have to do with "things". But our things in this life bring us comfort or anxiety or pleasure. We attach ourselves to things and we "love" them. Or we don't want them anymore but can't seem to let go of them. Things are funny like that. For me anyway.
There was a room in the house that had a walk in closet. It was full of baskets. Maybe 100 or more baskets. And in the back of the closet there were some boxes that looked like they had not been opened. I opened them and found stationary and old wedding cards and a wedding program from what I assumed was the owners wedding. There was a composition notebook filled with a child's writing, just lists and lists of names. There was a photograph of two women standing inside the house, downstairs, smiling together. One was an older woman and she looked familiar. I decided it was her house, her things and I had probably seen her around town. I put the photograph back where I found it.
She made hooked rugs. While I was there, the woman running the sale pulled them out and laid them on the floor. There were about 10 or so, maybe a dozen. I picked out four of them. They were $5.00 each. Hand made. Three with flowers and one with an eagle. I also found a pile of white cotton curtains with white pom pom trim. Many windows worth, maybe the whole house, so many of them. $10.00 for all of them. I bought those too. I found a box in another room and opened it. Inside were ladies gloves. Leather and that Isotoner sort of glove, in browns, reds, black and tan. I tried them all on. I bought two pairs, $1.00 each.
There were other people milling around the whole time I was there. Some old people too and I wondered if they were thinking about their own things and their own estate sales that might happen some day. If they bought anything, maybe those things would end up in their estate sale. Maybe the things I bought there will end up in my estate sale some day too.
There were christmas decorations, old paper plates, christmas and thanksgiving themed. I thought about the entertaining she had done. And wondered if anyone would take these plates and napkins. I almost did.
I asked the woman running the sale if the house would be sold. She said she thought the son of the owner was moving in. I wondered what he was like.
I left with my treasures. It was a Saturday and a sign told me that everything would be half off on Sunday.
I brought the rugs and curtains and gloves home. I found a spot for each rug. One is under my desk in my studio and keeps my feet warm, one is in the kitchen in front of the kitchen sink and cushions my feet when I stand there and will keep them warm this winter, one I gave to Joseph, the one with the eagle, to put under his desk in his studio to keep his feet warm. The fourth and most beautiful, is white with a colorful bunch of flowers in the center, I put in the living room on the other side of my four year old's train table. When he came home with his father, he walked in the front door, kicked off his sneakers and walked right up to the rug, clasped his hands in front of his chest and said, "Oh Mommy! Thank you for this cozy rug!" He pulled a pillow and a blanket off of the couch and laid down on the rug. I think he has played on it every day since.
A few months ago, before my uncle arranged the estate sale at my grandfather's house, he let me come to the house while he was there with my aunt, clearing our their childhood things and taking things that were important to them, after he had packed away all the things that were still important to my grandpa. It was very much like an estate sale except it was before all of the personal things had been removed. I found amazing black and white photographs of my grandparents when they were teenagers with their friends, playing baseball, having picnics and on vacation. I found a box of glasses that had been my great grandfather's. A tin full of my mother's dancing shoes from when she was very small. An old Halloween decoration, a paper skeleton shade for a lamp. I took a bunch of old thread bare towels. Pretty old dishes, Christmas cloth napkins. Random things. I also ended up with my great grandfather's desk and my grandfathers scroll saw. I filled my car. Blankets, a pair of overalls, magnets, drinking glasses, a sewing box.
It occurs to me now, it also happens when someone old has had to leave their home. They just had one at my grandpa's house. My grandpa has not died, he has gone to live with my uncle.
Last week, I went to an estate sale. It was at a house around the corner from me. I had some free time one day and there were signs and I followed them there. It was a small house and in ways it was caught in a time warp as old people's homes often are. I love old people's homes. I love when most everything they own, the have owned for a long time. Old people don't redecorate or renovate, they are comfortable. Things are "outdated" but well cared for.
I am making great generalizations here, I realize. Let me say, in my experience at estate sales in the Hudson Valley in NY, this seems to be the case. I am sure it varies as all things do.
At the sale, the books were still on their shelves, there were no personal photographs or items around, but there were clothes still on their hangers in the closets, the kitchen was closed off and the dishes were laid out on a table. I have gone to estate sales where the dishes are still in the cabinets, the sliver ware in the drawers and it is all for sale. It is all for the buying and the looking. It feels strange to delight in such a thing. I wonder if the former owner of these things has died, if they are annoyed with people picking through their things. I guess if I were old and had passed away and there was an estate sale in my house it might bug me. And make me glad, depending on who took what. I also suppose if I were dead, I would not care about such things because everything would finally make sense and none of it would have to do with "things". But our things in this life bring us comfort or anxiety or pleasure. We attach ourselves to things and we "love" them. Or we don't want them anymore but can't seem to let go of them. Things are funny like that. For me anyway.
There was a room in the house that had a walk in closet. It was full of baskets. Maybe 100 or more baskets. And in the back of the closet there were some boxes that looked like they had not been opened. I opened them and found stationary and old wedding cards and a wedding program from what I assumed was the owners wedding. There was a composition notebook filled with a child's writing, just lists and lists of names. There was a photograph of two women standing inside the house, downstairs, smiling together. One was an older woman and she looked familiar. I decided it was her house, her things and I had probably seen her around town. I put the photograph back where I found it.
She made hooked rugs. While I was there, the woman running the sale pulled them out and laid them on the floor. There were about 10 or so, maybe a dozen. I picked out four of them. They were $5.00 each. Hand made. Three with flowers and one with an eagle. I also found a pile of white cotton curtains with white pom pom trim. Many windows worth, maybe the whole house, so many of them. $10.00 for all of them. I bought those too. I found a box in another room and opened it. Inside were ladies gloves. Leather and that Isotoner sort of glove, in browns, reds, black and tan. I tried them all on. I bought two pairs, $1.00 each.
There were other people milling around the whole time I was there. Some old people too and I wondered if they were thinking about their own things and their own estate sales that might happen some day. If they bought anything, maybe those things would end up in their estate sale. Maybe the things I bought there will end up in my estate sale some day too.
There were christmas decorations, old paper plates, christmas and thanksgiving themed. I thought about the entertaining she had done. And wondered if anyone would take these plates and napkins. I almost did.
I asked the woman running the sale if the house would be sold. She said she thought the son of the owner was moving in. I wondered what he was like.
I left with my treasures. It was a Saturday and a sign told me that everything would be half off on Sunday.
I brought the rugs and curtains and gloves home. I found a spot for each rug. One is under my desk in my studio and keeps my feet warm, one is in the kitchen in front of the kitchen sink and cushions my feet when I stand there and will keep them warm this winter, one I gave to Joseph, the one with the eagle, to put under his desk in his studio to keep his feet warm. The fourth and most beautiful, is white with a colorful bunch of flowers in the center, I put in the living room on the other side of my four year old's train table. When he came home with his father, he walked in the front door, kicked off his sneakers and walked right up to the rug, clasped his hands in front of his chest and said, "Oh Mommy! Thank you for this cozy rug!" He pulled a pillow and a blanket off of the couch and laid down on the rug. I think he has played on it every day since.
A few months ago, before my uncle arranged the estate sale at my grandfather's house, he let me come to the house while he was there with my aunt, clearing our their childhood things and taking things that were important to them, after he had packed away all the things that were still important to my grandpa. It was very much like an estate sale except it was before all of the personal things had been removed. I found amazing black and white photographs of my grandparents when they were teenagers with their friends, playing baseball, having picnics and on vacation. I found a box of glasses that had been my great grandfather's. A tin full of my mother's dancing shoes from when she was very small. An old Halloween decoration, a paper skeleton shade for a lamp. I took a bunch of old thread bare towels. Pretty old dishes, Christmas cloth napkins. Random things. I also ended up with my great grandfather's desk and my grandfathers scroll saw. I filled my car. Blankets, a pair of overalls, magnets, drinking glasses, a sewing box.
My grandfather was there but I don't know if he knew exactly what we were doing there and I don't think he was crazy about it all. These were his things and he was not gone. Maybe he thought we were just packing them up for him. I am not sure. I love having my grandparents things. I love the connection these things have to them and to my great grandparents. It is amazing to me that I can put my great grandfather's glasses on my face and look through the same lenses he did. These objects are connected to another time and other people. And these people, unlike the people whose homes I have been in for estate sales, are my people. People who made me, people I love. And I love their old towels. I probably used those towels to dry off at their old house in Valley Stream after swimming in their backyard pool when I was very small.
I like to think of the lady who made the hooked rugs being happy that they have found a good home and are so loved. I like to think my great grandfather likes to see his glasses on my face. And that my grandfather is glad I will use his scroll saw. When I look at my grandmother's sewing box, I see my grandmother. Some day, someone may run an estate sale in my home when I am gone and maybe someone will buy my grandmother's sewing box and they will not know it was hers, but maybe it will delight them because it is pretty cool the way it folds up and holds so many spools of thread, sewing needles and pins. And they will know it is old and had a history and maybe they will even use my thread that is in the box, just as I have been using my grandma's. And me and my grandma will smile together and be glad.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Beautiful Days
Today was a beautiful day. In all ways.
Joseph kissed me goodbye this morning on the back of my head as I lay half asleep in bed. I rolled over and practiced some sleepy Reiki. I got up and made my bed. I got Desmond up. Carried my little boy downstairs and we fed Spidey together like we do every morning. I had delicious organic oatmeal with raisins, cinnamon and milk. We got dressed for the gym and got our Halloween decorations out. We hung black paper bats in our windows. We went to the gym. A girlfriend of mine told me I have great legs. I took the Friday, no joke, kick your ass, class and I felt strong and healthy and good. Desmond played with his friends in the child care. We came home and swept the old cobwebs off the porch so we could hang fake spiderwebs in their place. We decorated the house for Halloween because we just can't wait. Desmond napped his three hour nap. I ate some organic roasted chicken and sweet potato black bean saute for lunch. Had a homemade healthy almond joy bar for dessert. I had hot tea. My good friend and neighbor came over for a haircut. We talked and we laughed. He paid me. Another friend came by and bought a big painting of Joseph's for a big price and I felt nothing but joy for Joseph. I laughed and talked with that friend too. We got Desmond up together. Des and I said goodbye to our friend and we got ready for Desmond's gymnastics class. I watched Desmond, so much more confident and comfortable than he was at his first class last week, swinging from the rings, tumbling on the mats, jumping on the trampoline, playing air guitar to klezmer music while he waited for his turn. I got to spend time with my good friend while we watched our kids roll and jump around. We gave his little friend a ride home. Made a stop at the health food store in town for some cashews, peanut butter, shredded coconut, whole wheat bread, whole wheat tortillas and a $6 pint of organic chocolate ice cream, because, why not. Came home to our Halloween house, with it's twin ghosts lit up and candy corn lights glowing in the dark. I managed to resist the urge to buy Chinese food and had home made mushroom soup and toast with Joseph's home made pesto instead. Desmond and I ate our chocolate ice cream cones together and talked about our day. Joseph's car pulled up to the house and we all went outside to greet him, Desmond, Spidey and I, and we talked about our spooooooky house. I got a kiss, a hug and a smile. Joseph got Desmond ready for bed, giggling and cuddling. I tucked Desmond in and was tickled, kissed and hugged. I made tea.
And now, I am sitting next to my cup of hot tea, at my friendly lap top, listening to Joseph talk with his new designer contact that wants to sell his art. I am writing to you. I have an incredibly blessed life. I am OK. Today was a good day. Tomorrow is Saturday. All is well.
And, I love you. Goodnight.
Joseph kissed me goodbye this morning on the back of my head as I lay half asleep in bed. I rolled over and practiced some sleepy Reiki. I got up and made my bed. I got Desmond up. Carried my little boy downstairs and we fed Spidey together like we do every morning. I had delicious organic oatmeal with raisins, cinnamon and milk. We got dressed for the gym and got our Halloween decorations out. We hung black paper bats in our windows. We went to the gym. A girlfriend of mine told me I have great legs. I took the Friday, no joke, kick your ass, class and I felt strong and healthy and good. Desmond played with his friends in the child care. We came home and swept the old cobwebs off the porch so we could hang fake spiderwebs in their place. We decorated the house for Halloween because we just can't wait. Desmond napped his three hour nap. I ate some organic roasted chicken and sweet potato black bean saute for lunch. Had a homemade healthy almond joy bar for dessert. I had hot tea. My good friend and neighbor came over for a haircut. We talked and we laughed. He paid me. Another friend came by and bought a big painting of Joseph's for a big price and I felt nothing but joy for Joseph. I laughed and talked with that friend too. We got Desmond up together. Des and I said goodbye to our friend and we got ready for Desmond's gymnastics class. I watched Desmond, so much more confident and comfortable than he was at his first class last week, swinging from the rings, tumbling on the mats, jumping on the trampoline, playing air guitar to klezmer music while he waited for his turn. I got to spend time with my good friend while we watched our kids roll and jump around. We gave his little friend a ride home. Made a stop at the health food store in town for some cashews, peanut butter, shredded coconut, whole wheat bread, whole wheat tortillas and a $6 pint of organic chocolate ice cream, because, why not. Came home to our Halloween house, with it's twin ghosts lit up and candy corn lights glowing in the dark. I managed to resist the urge to buy Chinese food and had home made mushroom soup and toast with Joseph's home made pesto instead. Desmond and I ate our chocolate ice cream cones together and talked about our day. Joseph's car pulled up to the house and we all went outside to greet him, Desmond, Spidey and I, and we talked about our spooooooky house. I got a kiss, a hug and a smile. Joseph got Desmond ready for bed, giggling and cuddling. I tucked Desmond in and was tickled, kissed and hugged. I made tea.
And now, I am sitting next to my cup of hot tea, at my friendly lap top, listening to Joseph talk with his new designer contact that wants to sell his art. I am writing to you. I have an incredibly blessed life. I am OK. Today was a good day. Tomorrow is Saturday. All is well.
And, I love you. Goodnight.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Spiderman
My dog's name is Spiderman. Before I got him, I worked on coming up with the perfect name for a dog. It was between Spiderman and Boy Howdy. I polled my friends and Spiderman won. If I ever have another dog, I will name him Bill Murray.
We call Spiderman, Spidey. Or Spider, or Spide. I like when Desmond calls him Spide. Spidey was 9 years old when Desmond was born and before that, the dog was my baby. I was never an over the top dog owner. I didn't buy him clothes although he did have antlers for Christmas. I have baked him dog treats a couple of times in his life.
When Desmond was born, Spidey limped for a few days. I think he was looking for some attention. One day, while my sister was visiting. Desmond was a week old or so. Spidey was at the back door barking. My sister said, "I think the dog wants to come in." And I said, "He doesn't bark like that when he wants to come in." And she said, "He does now." My sister is very smart. From then on, he did. He needs to. Because otherwise me might forget he is out there.
He is 13 now. He was a 2000 baby and his birthday is exactly three months before mine. I bought him for my 26th birthday. Picked him up November 19th, 2000 and he was exactly three months old. He was brown like a bear with a black face. He is a wheaten terrier and they are all dark when they are puppies and then they grow light fur. Desmond did the same thing, come to think of it. He was born with a full head of dark hair and now he is all blond.
So Spidey had 9 good years of being the baby. When Des was born, he was demoted to dog. I could not manage walking both of them at the same time very well. I tried. The older Desmond got, the harder it got to bring Spidey on walks. Desmond tormented him. I think I have finally trained Des to leave our poor old Spide alone mostly but he still gets some over excited hits and shoves and too tight hugs.
This year, Spidey suddenly got old. He does not see as well or hear as well or climb stairs as well. Today he seems especially troubled by getting his legs to do what he wants them to. I put some coconut oil in his food and some of Desmond's liquid vitamin C in his water. I gave him a warm gentle bath, his doggy vitamin for his joints and half an ibuprofen in a banana. Although Joseph, my nurse husband says dogs should not have ibuprofen. Oh well.
I have had a few dogs in my life. I have never had one just die peacefully in it's sleep. Seems most dogs go according to when it's owner decides the dog or the owner has had enough. I hate to think about making this decision. And how will I tell Desmond? Oofa.
I tell myself I will do some reiki for him. And maybe that will help. And I am afraid I won't. Because there does not seem to be enough time in the day to reiki my old dog.
This is really depressing.
I thought because this is what's on my mind today, I should write about it. So I did. And then you read it. And now we both feel bad about my poor old dog.
Mostly I wanted to say that I gave him a warm bath and a banana and that felt good. I wanted to say that I love that old dog.
I would also like to say that I hate picking up dog poop. It is one of my least favorite things to do in the whole world. Especially if it has rained recently.
One last thing. There are moments in our lives, that remind us of past similar moments. And the memories of those past moments can make the present ones much harder. As we get older, our collection of memories grows. It's like our wing span gets so much bigger and there is ever so much more to feel. It can, at times, be a little overwhelming.
We call Spiderman, Spidey. Or Spider, or Spide. I like when Desmond calls him Spide. Spidey was 9 years old when Desmond was born and before that, the dog was my baby. I was never an over the top dog owner. I didn't buy him clothes although he did have antlers for Christmas. I have baked him dog treats a couple of times in his life.
When Desmond was born, Spidey limped for a few days. I think he was looking for some attention. One day, while my sister was visiting. Desmond was a week old or so. Spidey was at the back door barking. My sister said, "I think the dog wants to come in." And I said, "He doesn't bark like that when he wants to come in." And she said, "He does now." My sister is very smart. From then on, he did. He needs to. Because otherwise me might forget he is out there.
He is 13 now. He was a 2000 baby and his birthday is exactly three months before mine. I bought him for my 26th birthday. Picked him up November 19th, 2000 and he was exactly three months old. He was brown like a bear with a black face. He is a wheaten terrier and they are all dark when they are puppies and then they grow light fur. Desmond did the same thing, come to think of it. He was born with a full head of dark hair and now he is all blond.
So Spidey had 9 good years of being the baby. When Des was born, he was demoted to dog. I could not manage walking both of them at the same time very well. I tried. The older Desmond got, the harder it got to bring Spidey on walks. Desmond tormented him. I think I have finally trained Des to leave our poor old Spide alone mostly but he still gets some over excited hits and shoves and too tight hugs.
This year, Spidey suddenly got old. He does not see as well or hear as well or climb stairs as well. Today he seems especially troubled by getting his legs to do what he wants them to. I put some coconut oil in his food and some of Desmond's liquid vitamin C in his water. I gave him a warm gentle bath, his doggy vitamin for his joints and half an ibuprofen in a banana. Although Joseph, my nurse husband says dogs should not have ibuprofen. Oh well.
I have had a few dogs in my life. I have never had one just die peacefully in it's sleep. Seems most dogs go according to when it's owner decides the dog or the owner has had enough. I hate to think about making this decision. And how will I tell Desmond? Oofa.
I tell myself I will do some reiki for him. And maybe that will help. And I am afraid I won't. Because there does not seem to be enough time in the day to reiki my old dog.
This is really depressing.
I thought because this is what's on my mind today, I should write about it. So I did. And then you read it. And now we both feel bad about my poor old dog.
Mostly I wanted to say that I gave him a warm bath and a banana and that felt good. I wanted to say that I love that old dog.
I would also like to say that I hate picking up dog poop. It is one of my least favorite things to do in the whole world. Especially if it has rained recently.
One last thing. There are moments in our lives, that remind us of past similar moments. And the memories of those past moments can make the present ones much harder. As we get older, our collection of memories grows. It's like our wing span gets so much bigger and there is ever so much more to feel. It can, at times, be a little overwhelming.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Friends
My friend David called me today. Said he'd been reading my blog and he wanted to check up on me. So sweet of him. I realize my blog seems a little depressed. Cheer up, little blog, it's not so bad. I assured him everything was actually better than OK and that it is merely the landscape of my inner mind that is defunct. Not to minimize the importance of my inside world, my inside voice, as quiet and polite as it may be. It is not fun to feel blue when everything around you is quite fine.
Staying home for 4 plus years to raise a little person will send you to weird mental places. I have checked this theory with several other moms. Particularly moms whose children have grown, who can look back and say, yes, that was a very hard time, maybe the hardest of my life. No shit! For real. So I am in good company. And this too shall pass.
Do you know what has been a fantastic part of becoming a mom that I did not foresee? Meeting some amazing women who live in my town and are being moms at the very same time as me. I probably would not have met them otherwise and certainly would not have shared the moments we have shared. This morning I plopped Desmond in his stroller and we walked to our lighthouse on the Hudson River. It is about a 25 minute walk from our house to the small parking lot and a 10 or 15 minute walk out to the light house where there is a big deck that juts right out into the water, with tables and chairs and steps down into the water. There is always a strong breeze blowing and on a hot day like today it was particularly glorious.
I put a post up on Facebook last night that we were heading to the light house this morning and four wonderful women and their children came to join us.
These women are beautiful. They are strong. They are smart. They are funny. They are quick to laugh. The are brave. They are patient. They are my mirrors and my examples. We compare notes and stories. They are especially impressive to me because they all have two children and I only have one. When I am with them I am reminded of why I have only one and just as often I am tempted to have another. I am so grateful for these women. I love them.
There are moments when I am with them when I want to yell, "I love you guys!!" Like a crazy, drunk might except without slurring my words and without falling over them. This morning I stood on the deck of the lighthouse, looking down at them standing in the sand, talking together, their kids splashing around them in the water and I wanted to shout into the wind, "I love you!" But I didn't. I didn't shout it. But I thought it. And it washed through my inner mind, settling the racket, like the wind that flew in off the river, keeping us cool and smiling.
I want to bottle that wind. I want to bottle the sun, the wind, the sound of the water, my friends talking, our kids laughing and keep it. Where would I keep it.... On a shelf? In a drawer? In the freezer? I guess it is just as well I keep it in my mind. Where it needs to be, to balance out the racket and the roar when I am alone the air is so still.
Staying home for 4 plus years to raise a little person will send you to weird mental places. I have checked this theory with several other moms. Particularly moms whose children have grown, who can look back and say, yes, that was a very hard time, maybe the hardest of my life. No shit! For real. So I am in good company. And this too shall pass.
Do you know what has been a fantastic part of becoming a mom that I did not foresee? Meeting some amazing women who live in my town and are being moms at the very same time as me. I probably would not have met them otherwise and certainly would not have shared the moments we have shared. This morning I plopped Desmond in his stroller and we walked to our lighthouse on the Hudson River. It is about a 25 minute walk from our house to the small parking lot and a 10 or 15 minute walk out to the light house where there is a big deck that juts right out into the water, with tables and chairs and steps down into the water. There is always a strong breeze blowing and on a hot day like today it was particularly glorious.
I put a post up on Facebook last night that we were heading to the light house this morning and four wonderful women and their children came to join us.
These women are beautiful. They are strong. They are smart. They are funny. They are quick to laugh. The are brave. They are patient. They are my mirrors and my examples. We compare notes and stories. They are especially impressive to me because they all have two children and I only have one. When I am with them I am reminded of why I have only one and just as often I am tempted to have another. I am so grateful for these women. I love them.
There are moments when I am with them when I want to yell, "I love you guys!!" Like a crazy, drunk might except without slurring my words and without falling over them. This morning I stood on the deck of the lighthouse, looking down at them standing in the sand, talking together, their kids splashing around them in the water and I wanted to shout into the wind, "I love you!" But I didn't. I didn't shout it. But I thought it. And it washed through my inner mind, settling the racket, like the wind that flew in off the river, keeping us cool and smiling.
I want to bottle that wind. I want to bottle the sun, the wind, the sound of the water, my friends talking, our kids laughing and keep it. Where would I keep it.... On a shelf? In a drawer? In the freezer? I guess it is just as well I keep it in my mind. Where it needs to be, to balance out the racket and the roar when I am alone the air is so still.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Balloons
Sometimes I obsess. About all sorts of things. Food, people, my shortcomings, my failures, my body, my face, aging, the color of the walls, my patio table, weeds, the internets, shopping, money, you know, stuff. Mostly things I perceive as negative, wrong, off, or broken. I think about how to fix them and feel sad they are broken. I hate it a ten. If I could snip that cord in my brain, I would. Unplug it. Dowse it. Wash it away. Burn it down. Stomp it out. Or gently tie it to a hot air balloon and let it float away.
It is important to be aware of these things, is it not? When I become aware of my next obsessive thought maybe I will imagine tying it to a hot air balloon and watching it float away. I will imagine my neighbor Jim across the street, taking a break from blowing his leaves around his yard and leaning on his fence, taking a drag off his cigarette and watching the hot air balloons floating up through the roof of my house, into the blue sky, his face set in concentration, squinting. I don't know anything about Jim. He is old, he likes to work on his yard. We smile and wave at each other. He smokes. He has a wife inside his house. For some reason, I think he would not be phased by hot air balloons rising off my house like seeds blown off a dandelion. They would come in bursts. A series of balloons. Then nothing. Maybe sometimes a steady stream like a bubble machine. Bloop bloop bloopbloopbloop. Bloop bloop. Bloop.
Be gone, balloons. Blow high and away into outer space and splinter apart. Let the splinters float and tumble and burst into tiny clouds of dust. And the dust will dissipate then disappear, with a sigh.
I will try.
It is important to be aware of these things, is it not? When I become aware of my next obsessive thought maybe I will imagine tying it to a hot air balloon and watching it float away. I will imagine my neighbor Jim across the street, taking a break from blowing his leaves around his yard and leaning on his fence, taking a drag off his cigarette and watching the hot air balloons floating up through the roof of my house, into the blue sky, his face set in concentration, squinting. I don't know anything about Jim. He is old, he likes to work on his yard. We smile and wave at each other. He smokes. He has a wife inside his house. For some reason, I think he would not be phased by hot air balloons rising off my house like seeds blown off a dandelion. They would come in bursts. A series of balloons. Then nothing. Maybe sometimes a steady stream like a bubble machine. Bloop bloop bloopbloopbloop. Bloop bloop. Bloop.
Be gone, balloons. Blow high and away into outer space and splinter apart. Let the splinters float and tumble and burst into tiny clouds of dust. And the dust will dissipate then disappear, with a sigh.
I will try.
Nap time
It's nap time, people. My kid naps about 3 hours a DAY. Every day. No joke. He's 4. It's awesome. And it's boring. For three hours a day, mid-day, I hang out in my house, by myself. Ho-hum. It's lovely, because for 3 hours I get some me time. I can sleep, watch TV, do house work, waste time on the computer, work in my studio, write, whatever. Mostly, I waste time on the computer. Probably because it's a lonely job and I want to see what you're up to. I am not up to much. I just ordered some sunglasses off a website. After my $5 coupon was applied for subscribing to their mailing list and the $7 shipping fee, they came to $11. I saw them in a photograph on a pretty blond, young woman and they looked so great. They may be ridiculous on me and in that case, I will give them to you. They are red and big.
I also stumbled onto a friend's blog which I decided I should follow. So I clicked on something called bloglove to follow it and it made me come up with 5 blogs to follow. I think I wasted at least 30 minutes trying to find 4 other blogs to add.
I made a cup of tea that is probably cold by now. It's all the way over there. I checked Facebook 20 times. I checked Gmail 10 times. I ate a bowl of blueberry chia seed pudding, a gummi vitamin and 4 prunes. I have no good junk food. If I did, I would have eaten it all already. Junk food can't live here. It lives in my mouth if it gets anywhere near me.
You'd think with 3 hours a day, at home, to yourself, you could learn to play guitar or learn to speak french or finish that novel you started 4 years ago. Maybe you could. Maybe even I could. But I have not. When he goes to sleep, I am too tired. I am too drained. I want to sleep but if I sleep, I will miss my 3 hours of quiet. It will be over too fast. I have in the past started and completed big projects. Like painting rooms or the foundation of the house, sewing slip covers and quilts, painting paintings, baking cakes, all kinds of stuff. I should give myself a little credit. Some days I am very productive.
But today is a lazy day. It is supposed to be warm but it feels cool. My feet are cold. It's cloudy and wet outside. It is a good day to curl up on the couch and watch TV. But there is nothing to watch.
Am I boring you? I am boring me. I told you, it's boring.
I also stumbled onto a friend's blog which I decided I should follow. So I clicked on something called bloglove to follow it and it made me come up with 5 blogs to follow. I think I wasted at least 30 minutes trying to find 4 other blogs to add.
I made a cup of tea that is probably cold by now. It's all the way over there. I checked Facebook 20 times. I checked Gmail 10 times. I ate a bowl of blueberry chia seed pudding, a gummi vitamin and 4 prunes. I have no good junk food. If I did, I would have eaten it all already. Junk food can't live here. It lives in my mouth if it gets anywhere near me.
You'd think with 3 hours a day, at home, to yourself, you could learn to play guitar or learn to speak french or finish that novel you started 4 years ago. Maybe you could. Maybe even I could. But I have not. When he goes to sleep, I am too tired. I am too drained. I want to sleep but if I sleep, I will miss my 3 hours of quiet. It will be over too fast. I have in the past started and completed big projects. Like painting rooms or the foundation of the house, sewing slip covers and quilts, painting paintings, baking cakes, all kinds of stuff. I should give myself a little credit. Some days I am very productive.
But today is a lazy day. It is supposed to be warm but it feels cool. My feet are cold. It's cloudy and wet outside. It is a good day to curl up on the couch and watch TV. But there is nothing to watch.
Am I boring you? I am boring me. I told you, it's boring.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Oh, you know.
Hello, good person, reading my blog. I'm not sure what we're doing here just yet but I feel like I should be writing. And I feel like you keep asking me to write. So let's hang out. Facebook posts are just too flimsy for us, I know. And nobody quite understands why I post so much stuff there anyway. Maybe they are all misdirected blips and bloops that really should be channeled into a blog. Surely, I have more to say. Of course I do. Who doesn't. Oprah said, the one thing that everyone she ever met wanted, was to be heard. We all want someone to listen and to hear us. So if you're reading and "listening", I thank you. You are kind and good.
I am sitting beside a bowl of gemstones and crystals that I intended to "cleanse" today. Happily my new crystal bible says I can just use my MIND. So glad. So let us imagine, as I am writing and you are reading, my bowl of stones are being cleared and recharged. We don't have to get up or measure salt or get our hands wet or nothin. Good news.
When I was a kid, I loved crystals. For my thirteenth birthday my mom took me and two girlfriends to a gem and mineral show. That's what I wanted to do. I had a small collection of pretty rocks. I wonder what happened to them. I didn't use them for anything, I just really liked having them. I kept some in a pouch that I wore. A rainbow, crocheted pouch. I know.
These days, I am older. So much older. And I am on my own really. I am home mostly with my little boy, who is 4 now. Other than taking care of him and his needs, keeping him safe, clean, fed, healthy, happy, and answering his many, many, daily questions, I am with myself. He is in his four year old world and I am in my 38 year old world and we wander through our days together, holding hands. I have no-one to please but myself these days. My husband seems to love me no matter what I do, or say, or wear. He's good like that. I'd like to say I don't care what anyone thinks of me. But that is not entirely true. I am hoping as I age I will become gradually more and more eccentric. I am going to work my way there. By the time I am 80, I will be a full-on wack-nut. But for now, I'm going with becoming a Reiki Master and gettin my crystal on.
You know, all this stuff like Reiki and crystals, astrology, psychics, mediums, tarot cards, I believe in it. I don't understand how any of it works. I love not knowing. I get the feeling that what I think I know about this life is not really accurate and this is comforting to me because what I think, freaks me out. I figure the "truth" is better than what it seems.
I would like to go to a metaphysical college where you could take classes in this stuff. I would major in astral projection and time travel. Do they have colleges like that? Underground? I hope they are free. I bet they have conferences like that. Maybe for my 80th birthday, I will go. Covered in sequins and glitter, with a big feathery hat. That sounds like a show-girl. I guess I'll grow up to be a show-girl. An elderly, astral projecting, show girl. And I'll sing too. Watch out.
I am sitting beside a bowl of gemstones and crystals that I intended to "cleanse" today. Happily my new crystal bible says I can just use my MIND. So glad. So let us imagine, as I am writing and you are reading, my bowl of stones are being cleared and recharged. We don't have to get up or measure salt or get our hands wet or nothin. Good news.
When I was a kid, I loved crystals. For my thirteenth birthday my mom took me and two girlfriends to a gem and mineral show. That's what I wanted to do. I had a small collection of pretty rocks. I wonder what happened to them. I didn't use them for anything, I just really liked having them. I kept some in a pouch that I wore. A rainbow, crocheted pouch. I know.
These days, I am older. So much older. And I am on my own really. I am home mostly with my little boy, who is 4 now. Other than taking care of him and his needs, keeping him safe, clean, fed, healthy, happy, and answering his many, many, daily questions, I am with myself. He is in his four year old world and I am in my 38 year old world and we wander through our days together, holding hands. I have no-one to please but myself these days. My husband seems to love me no matter what I do, or say, or wear. He's good like that. I'd like to say I don't care what anyone thinks of me. But that is not entirely true. I am hoping as I age I will become gradually more and more eccentric. I am going to work my way there. By the time I am 80, I will be a full-on wack-nut. But for now, I'm going with becoming a Reiki Master and gettin my crystal on.
You know, all this stuff like Reiki and crystals, astrology, psychics, mediums, tarot cards, I believe in it. I don't understand how any of it works. I love not knowing. I get the feeling that what I think I know about this life is not really accurate and this is comforting to me because what I think, freaks me out. I figure the "truth" is better than what it seems.
I would like to go to a metaphysical college where you could take classes in this stuff. I would major in astral projection and time travel. Do they have colleges like that? Underground? I hope they are free. I bet they have conferences like that. Maybe for my 80th birthday, I will go. Covered in sequins and glitter, with a big feathery hat. That sounds like a show-girl. I guess I'll grow up to be a show-girl. An elderly, astral projecting, show girl. And I'll sing too. Watch out.
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