Shalom

so many years in so few boxes

Two days ago, my daughter-in-law and I returned to my former home to hopefully finalise packing my things. we had been there a week before and packed most of my books and some other stuff. My husband was surprisingly polite, too polite in my estimation. However, he stayed out of our way and we packed up in pouring rain. The grey skies suited my mood. I had been extremely nervous for several days before we went but had been buoyed by the support of many friends and my family. Some friends rang me from interstate on the morning and this touched my deeply.

This week I did not feel too bad as we went. However we had a fairly sullen and surly reception although we were not hindered. This time I took my clothes and the remaining things on my list of items. Sentimental value was attached to most and some were family heirlooms.

I was surprised at my reaction yestrday. I felt as if a piece of string had snapped. I was weepy and morose. Today I was just plain tired from lack of sleep but I started sorting. He had thrown my clothes into bags and I had to go through everything. I have a smallish room opening onto a large balcony. It is important to me that I keep this room as pleasant as possible. It's my private retreat. Lots of boxes are already in the garage and I'm trying to go through others and see that I keep only what I really want.

As my heading says, so many years in so few boxes. A few dozen boxes of books, and about the same again of keepsakes, a good dinner set, heirlooms and some clothes. Is this all for that time? I took my sewing machine, but left a lot of kitchenware and saucepans. All my spices are still in the cupboard and the breadmaker. Everyday essentials like pegs and laundry baskets I left behind.

Why? They are just things. To me they are not worth fighting over. They can be replaced. Many of my books are out of print and hard to find. How could I replace the Mother's Day cards made by my sons in kindergarten? What about my small steam tug from my own childhood which runs on candle power and chugs noisily around in a bathtub of water? It is from such things that memories come. Anything else can be replaced or done without. Memories there are in plenty and they have come rushing to the surface as I sorted. There are good memories among them. Things were not always bad.

However, after my sorting today and the apology offered by the Prime Minister to Aborigines, I am exhausted. It has been an emotional day.

spring cleanout

Spring has sprung down here and almost everything around needs a spring clean. A spiderweb snagged my hair in the hall outside the bathroom at 4:30 am the other day. Not pleasant. Obviously a good cleanup was in order. It took quite a while to get rid of the bits. Just as well I'm not bothered by spiders or the thought of them.

My life is still very messed up and has lots of nasty bits hanging around, much like the spiderweb I mentioned. However, they will take longer to clean than the webs and the spiders. I'm tired of all of this. I'm tired of feeling depressed about the past and the future. I'm tired of writing nothing because I can't get my act together. So some spring cleaning is in process. I'm not sure how well I'll go, but will try.

I have no idea what lies ahead or where I will be and I have at times felt as if I'm held together only by the care and compassion of my sons and their families and by the thoughts and prayers of many friends. Hiding in the back of my mind is a hope which comes to the surface occasionally. It is definitely hope, although formless. It tells me that while I can't see them, good times are ahead for me in ways I cannot imagine. Now I can daydream and build castles in the air. Whether the hope is connectd to the castles I cannot tell. What I do know is that I will pass through this and be stronger and happier than I have been for very many years.

Accordingly, I'm going to try some mental spring cleaning.

black dog and knitting

I know this is not a knitting blog, (although I do have one of those LOL), but I found this post this morning and wanted to link to it.

The black dog is nipping at my heels and getting in more than nips too. Bites, quite deep lately.

I have found knitting to be meditative. The slide of the yarn through my fingers, the similar action repeated over and over, the concentration on the patter and sometimes too, the repetitive action of an easy stitch withut concentration...all these have a meditative quality to them. As my prayer beads slip through my fingers as an aid to prayer, I find the yarn and stitches have a similar calming effect.

One of my sons suffers from bipolar disease and descends so far sometimes that I wonder how he will ever get back to the surface. I'm not suggesting he knits, although I know men who do. I'm posting this here as an acknowledgement of his struggles and the struggles of a multitude of others.