Some things have been started...
...and put aside. No painting. No writing.
Tired on the inside, not sleeping well, nightmares, so tired on the outside too. Too much thinking, not enough doing.
Taxes were looming. Every year feels like reinventing the wheel. Last time I took notes, but the form has changed, and I was lost as usual. The helpline person held my virtual hand and did an ok job of not sounding exasperated with me. Perhaps because she could hear my anxiety and tears brinking. At least that's done and dusted. I did take screen shots and notes to refer to next time. Fingers crossed that nothing changes.
"Where the Light Might Go"
Some things got finished.
Including a pair of socks for my sister-in-law. She's a narrow size six, they go fast. A purple pair are on the needles now.
They were delivered during a weekend in Oregon visiting family. One afternoon, Mom and I went for a drive around the area. My aunt wasn't home, but a bit of her passion was visible in the front window. I love how she loves him...
We also went looking for the house we lived in when I was three to five years old. I've tried finding it on my own over the years but couldn't. When we lived there, it was countryside- gravel road, ditches, woods, blackberry bushes, and only a few homes. Now the fields are filled with houses, shops, office buildings. Nothing looks familiar.
It was getting late, almost dusk, and then the road began the curving up around the hill. There was a body memory of riding in the car on the way home... There was my best friend's house, and her big yard where we ran after her Dachshund. Around the corner, some of the woods were still standing, and after one more turn, there was the house and its memories.
The rock wall that Dad built was still there. My brother and I had watched him lift and maneuver the big stones, and "helped" him mix the cement in the wheelbarrow. I remember thinking how strong he was. Mom's garden was gone. Flashbacks of mud pies, learning to ride a bike, "Gumby" on Saturday mornings, Midnight the cat, Lincoln Logs and Matchbox cars, and eating the cake that I had won playing musical chairs at the kindergarten carnival.
I got out of the car to get a better look. The rain and night beginning to fall. Standing there, getting wet, staring at that house, recalling other memories, that won't be erased by time or therapy, it was the topper to a week that had felt like a synchronicity of gloom.
Yesterday I wallowed in it all. Today I thought, "That's enough for now," and stitched a red tree named "Carmine," shaking loose the downheartedness for now. An attempt at "rising above" as a friend suggested.
Time to start swimming again.
