My instructors are correct. They usually are; but lately one concept has especially been driven into my brain. That is: When you remove the junkie's crutch, you damn well better have something more adaptive to replace it ready to go. Well, one of my crutches has been removed. I removed it and know it was a positive choice. The trick is to find that replacement prop.
Unpacking is a gas. I cried when I held my first Fiestaware plate after not seeing it for three years. I cackled jubilantly as I smashed coffee mugs I no longer wanted. I trembled with humility as I was aided over and over again by my daughters and friends. I gazed at blank walls realizing I liked the bareness and the space. This is taking some getting used to. I hope I am up to the task.
These are some of my replacement props.I think this woman and I were separated at birth. Click that purple link to see some beautiful stuff. She's been published in my favorite magazine and she loves vintage buttons! Come to think of it she's probably from a doppleganger universe and I've just discovered her. I use her blog to inspire and calm myself when the four o'clock meanies begin to mass.
Not the gen-you-wine articles, but you get the idea...
Also generic gourmet jelly beans. I spilled the entire bag into a thrifted wooden bowl. The vessel on its own brings me joy; it has three little round feet and a great grain visible through the finish. I always wanted to be able to display a bowl of candy. Now I can! I also made a rule forcing myself to eat the beans one at a time. Savoring and imagining the names of each flavor so that I feel pampered and splendid. Tricks of the trade.
Finally I am learning how to perform old tasks in new ways. Baby Sister told me she knew it would be hard. She was right, of course. She, too, usually is. I think I'm glad she kept the information from me. Had I known I would have been more terrified than I was. Than I am.
This unpacking is a gas; but how do people lift things up to those highest of shelves? How do they transport the books to be donated? What do they carry groceries in again? Bags? And how on earth do they deal with all these damn bureaucratic stumbling blocks? (Of course I have the forms! If you had told me to bring them in the first place I would have!!!) And where do all these birds come from before there is light outside? Somebody please let them know the serenade would be much more appreciated at noon. And what language is that woman speaking when she stands outside my window using her phone for over an hour every single day? Words need vowels!
Joys? You bet! Hard to call them to mind in the darkness of despair. The smiling hallway people and their willingness to hold doors open. Neighbor promising tomatoes from the bucket plants he is growing on the patio. Gas station attendants and 911 telephone operators who ask what they can do to help. Instructors who encourage and praise and validate and laugh at jokes. Daughters who listen and, most blessed of all, do not give up on me. Who don't let me give up on myself either. These are my gifts. These are the opposite of pebbles and toenail clippings.
Unpacking is a gas. I cried when I held my first Fiestaware plate after not seeing it for three years. I cackled jubilantly as I smashed coffee mugs I no longer wanted. I trembled with humility as I was aided over and over again by my daughters and friends. I gazed at blank walls realizing I liked the bareness and the space. This is taking some getting used to. I hope I am up to the task.
These are some of my replacement props.I think this woman and I were separated at birth. Click that purple link to see some beautiful stuff. She's been published in my favorite magazine and she loves vintage buttons! Come to think of it she's probably from a doppleganger universe and I've just discovered her. I use her blog to inspire and calm myself when the four o'clock meanies begin to mass.
Not the gen-you-wine articles, but you get the idea...
Also generic gourmet jelly beans. I spilled the entire bag into a thrifted wooden bowl. The vessel on its own brings me joy; it has three little round feet and a great grain visible through the finish. I always wanted to be able to display a bowl of candy. Now I can! I also made a rule forcing myself to eat the beans one at a time. Savoring and imagining the names of each flavor so that I feel pampered and splendid. Tricks of the trade.
Finally I am learning how to perform old tasks in new ways. Baby Sister told me she knew it would be hard. She was right, of course. She, too, usually is. I think I'm glad she kept the information from me. Had I known I would have been more terrified than I was. Than I am.
She's a lot prettier in real life!
Joys? You bet! Hard to call them to mind in the darkness of despair. The smiling hallway people and their willingness to hold doors open. Neighbor promising tomatoes from the bucket plants he is growing on the patio. Gas station attendants and 911 telephone operators who ask what they can do to help. Instructors who encourage and praise and validate and laugh at jokes. Daughters who listen and, most blessed of all, do not give up on me. Who don't let me give up on myself either. These are my gifts. These are the opposite of pebbles and toenail clippings.
I take it you have moved - terrific news; I know how much you wanted a place of your own! Waiting for more information . . . .
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