Have you ever read the Buddhist tale about the man whose son breaks his leg while riding his horse and everyone says “what bad luck.” And then because of his broken leg he is not able to enlist in the army and go off to war where he would potentially die. People say, ” what good luck” and then his father has to go in his place and so on. There is no good luck or bad luck, only luck says the moral of the story. This week has been all kinds of what seems like bad luck has been good and what seemed good turned out to be both good and bad.
Perspective is the name of the game.
I am renovating my kitchen which is all good, except for the inconvenience, the cost and oh, the giant section of rotten wood under my wood floor. Still better to find out this way than creating a me shaped hole in the floor at some point. renovations always take longer and cost more than you anticipate in the beginning. That is true for kitchens as well as for people.
I’m still in repair as I cast my gaze towards the two year anniversary, there is still work to be done and it feels like healing takes forever. But taking all the steps is still really important. I don’t want to cover over my rotten feelings only for someone else to find them later. Surprise there is a giant hole here. Careful you don’t fall in.
if I had three wishes it would be for a faster, more predictable healing schedule, that I had not had to March out of three different rooms to get the quiet space to type this post and for thinner thighs and abs. If I had four wishes I’d wish for world peace.
I I miss my daughters.
They have been at nana’s house in North Carolina for a few days, having a great time. They went swimming, to a place called fun depot and got pizza in a movie theatre. The quiet house provided me the opportunity to tuck Christmas back into its boxes and start packing up the kitchen. (My next adventure is a kitchen redo!)I also got to go to target, alone.
But I can’t shake the feeling that this house is supposed to be filled with a certain amount of chaos and shouting. I sorta miss the nearly constant discontent, it gives me something to push against. I’m an addict, for the noise that is. Can’t live with it, can’t sleep in when they are gone.
It’s good to miss them and good for them to miss me. Despite what you might hear from them, we spend a lot of time together. Sharing a house, even a big house, we run into each other often. Not to mention we are just enough alike and just enough different to really get on each other’s nerves.
I grew up as an only child, typically setting my on pace. I enjoyed playing alone, being alone. According to Myers Briggs I am exactly halfway between an introvert and an extrovert, meaning I need time alone. Living in a house with three lively, precocious, talkative, grieving teens and preteens does not provide for much quiet alone time.
All that said, I like to keep them close. We share the bond of struggling through and surviving the last couple of years. I truly appreciate the time we have apart, but I am defiantly looking forward to the familiar eye roll, sighs and occasional slammed door. Of course what I really miss is the bleary-eyed morning hugs, the sweet smell of them, the sound of “mommy”.
Yesterday R and I looked up the 20 worst jobs. One of them was dog food tester. Dog food tester? My dog eats garbage, cat poop and basically anything that falls on the floor, including rubber bands and fluff from the inside of a dog toy. He does not need to have his food tested. I could douse it in bacon grease, set it on fire and throw it in the landfill and he’d still eat until he threw up. I think we can take that table away from career day.
I awoke this morning at 830 with a smug grin upon my face happy to see the warm beam of sunlight stretched across my bedroom. It’s New Year’s Day and I feel great. But I realize it’s happened.
I’ve gotten pretty good at ignoring the scraggly, grey hair peeking out along my root line or pretending everyone makes noises when they stand up out of a chair or even believing the dryer is shortening all my pants. But I could not deny that last night when we briefly tuned in on the NYE celebration and some odd looking kid was singing something with the word “nasty” in it while contorted scantily clad women hung precariously over a crowd of bouncing drunken people that it had to go away. I’d rather sleep than try to make sense of that; on New Year’s Eve or any other random Tuesday.
I imagine I noticed it first with my shoes. I favor comfort over all other choices for shoes. I once wore the most ridiculous and uncomfortable shoes, high heels, blister rubbing straps, pointy toes. Not so much anymore. I like to look nice, but it’s not a prerequisite for leaving the house. I went for a walk today with my jeans rolled up past my ankles, wearing argyle socks and running shoes. I cared enough to notice it, but not enough to take the time to change. Anne Lamont once said (and this is not meant as an exact quote) it’s not that I think less of myself, it’s just that I think of myself less.
It’s nice, to give up on the facade a little bit. Relax. Embrace the wrinkles, well perhaps not embrace just yet. But at least I’m comfortable, happier even staying home on New Year’s Eve.
I probably mentioned I’m not a fan of NYE parties (and don’t even get me started on valentines day). Way too many NYEs ended in disappointment. That day holds way too much weight for just one day. It’s like blaming the kicker for losing the state championship in the last seconds of the football game. We forget there’s a whole game leading up to that point, a whole season. It seems like there’s one last chance to pull out a win, but there were hundreds of other opportunities buried in the middle of all those other minutes.
It’s really not my intention to sound pessimistic, in fact just the opposite. Every moment is an opportunity to start over, to try again, to let go something that’s bad for you,to hold something that’s good for you closer. Eat better today, next week and all through the year and if you find yourself in February with an empty box of chocolate covered cherries and a belly ache-start over the next day.
As for me…I shall spend the morning smugly enjoying my coffee and planning to find time to dye my roots.