It’s been gradually dawning on me why I write blogs. They are a form of innocent distraction from the everyday. But sometimes it’s a way to make something more meaningful of the everyday. You who have moved recently know what I mean by that.
Thank goodness the everyday things I do today are not to be forever. Unpacking boxes, finding places to put things, bemoaning the fact that I have to part with so much; glad to part with it too. Constant decisions. Constant evaluations. “Will I ever get around to reading this book again? But I can’t give it away; it has all my favorite Robert Frost poems in it. I should have memorized them by now. Better keep it.”
And that’s just the books. The big problem with the keepers is that I’m running out of shelves. Justification for keeping books or any other thing must be weighed in mind carefully. That takes time. Other boxes can have anything in them. When everything is in its proper place in my new home it will be easier to make it through a day, but the sad thing is that everything in its place is often putting it out of sight and out of sight is out of mind. Will I have to wait until another move to even see these things again? Oh dear!
Between raids on the boxes the house looks so inviting! But the boxes on the patio are an eyesore. I must let Robin haul in another load and then it starts all over again. A box for keepers, a box for give-aways. A box for the dumping of old papers and letters. Things I should shred. At least now we’re down to the last few boxes. Pictures are nearly all hung. The ones that passed the keepers test that is.
Robin has been staying with me and helping immensely, but she’s also keeping up with her own life except for the painting hours. That is a real sacrifice for her but she spontaneously comes up with comments like, “Oh, I just love being here with you, Mom! Your new home feels like it’s partly mine and it’s so peaceful and quiet. When we go out the people are so friendly and the dining room meals are delicious!” I’d love to take her in but she’s not ready for that. She has a lovely home of her own only minutes away.
Well, you see why I need a distraction now and then. The computer sits over here on the secretary looking so innocent. “It won’t take long to write another blog. Maybe you’d like to play your one-a-day game of Solitaire? Better take at least a glance at your e-mail.”
It would be hauntingly quiet here when I’m alone, but I’m never alone. Tommy, who in his molting spell not long ago and didn’t sing a note, is now singing constantly. No more feathers are sticking to the cage and he’s active and happy. I talk to him some and he to me, but the language barrier is a problem. I could go out and sit in the sun before it leaves the patio. Or I could play the piano now that the doors and windows are all shut. I could get started on that new novel I have laid aside. These, too, would be pleasant distractions, but the blog won out. Soon Robin will be home again and she’ll assess the box situation. I can’t let her down.
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