Yesterday was the last day of the month. Although it was grey and misty outside I spent time earlier walking the yard just to get some air. The last snow has melted but we’re expecting another storm mid week. Spring takes its time here, so I sat in front of a comforting fire as I wrote while my dog Wanda snuffled quietly in her bed at my feet. She loves a nice fire.
(more…)Tag: change
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When Pigs Fly
Early in January two years ago, I thought — no, believed that before the year had drawn to a close, we would be well on our way to living life much differently from what we were familiar with. Although daunting, nothing could cloud the excitement of moving to another country. I’d lived in Spain as a child, and so the idea was a familiar one. With enough research and careful planning, it seemed as if anything was possible. When the time was right, I believed pigs truly could fly. Since then, I’ve learned that not only can they fly, but in ways completely unexpected
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2020: Glancing back, gazing ahead
On New Year’s Eve at the dawn of the last decade, I was fairly miserable. Not by the “foreign power laying siege to my homeland” standard, or the “bank repossessing my house on Christmas Eve” standard. The “finding out I have a catastrophic disease” standard also did not compare, because I know people who have heard that news and seen the effect it has had on their lives. I have to make the distinction because qualifying my unhappiness by comparing it to that of others is part of who I am. The guilt that surrounds whatever feelings of dissatisfaction I may have with certain life circumstances is palpable regardless of what those more knowledgeable of the human psyche have said. “There is no hierarchy of suffering,” states Dr. Edith Eva Eger, holocaust survivor and author of The Choice: Embrace the Possible. “There’s nothing that makes my pain worse or better than yours, no graph on which we can plot the relative importance of one sorrow versus another.” Still, I tend to measure, and that’s what I was doing ten years ago. Telling myself I had nothing to be unhappy about and everything to be grateful for.
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Avoidance, my old friend
I keep a pretty close eye on myself.
At this point in my life, there is little reason for one day to be much different from the next unless I want it to be, and I like it like that. I like that each day has promise and possibility and that I can wallow in all of it. I look forward to every day, anticipating what each will bring with a sort of giddiness. Yes, I’m fortunate, and I’m grateful for the life I enjoy knowing others do not have the same simple joy.
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What’s the point of this, anyway?
It’s funny how things sometimes change, and as much as I can see that beginning to happen — to not want it to happen — it does anyway. There’s nothing I can do about it. Things that once mattered end up in a place we never intended for them to be, and they get lost amongst all the other parts of life that are…well, life.I guess I’ve reached the point where I’m wondering what this is all about. This. At first, I began here to simply write. But I’ve never been a journaler, not having the patience to put down what happened in a day’s time I’ve always been more of someone who has a noisy mind, and writing always helped to get some of what was there, out. It’s been nice that in the process, I’ve also gotten to do something I love: work with words.
I love words. And as odd as it may seem, the simple look of some, or the feel of others as I speak are fascinating. Regardless that English has myriad synonyms able to get across a particular point, only one of those synonyms is the best for a sentence to convey exactly what I intend. When it matters.
But there seems to be so little time now, and I’m not sure why that is.
I’ve had my other speck in the bloggosphere as long as I’ve had this one, so that certainly isn’t the issue, although that speck is extremely high maintenance. Sometimes, unbearably.
I’ve enjoyed working with them both, as they’ve allowed me to know a variety of people with different interests. But with the growth of my high maintenance speck, this one — troubled as it’s been with its identity crisis — seems to get pushed aside. And now, often, it just sits here. Doing nothing.
That makes me quite sad.
As much as I love all things food, and as much as I can have my mind wrapped around it quite a good portion of my day, writing about it doesn’t provide me what this space does. And when I don’t take that time for myself, I miss it. No one wants to hear my horror-scope and then take a gander at my cookie recipe. Or survive my latest rant, and then dig into a chocolate mousse. Somehow, that doesn’t quite work. When I’m in my kitchen, I’m usually not waving a wooden spoon and complaining about the guy I have to listen to on the radio each morning when the alarm goes off. As much as writing here provides me a sense of balance, so does being in my kitchen. The two are completely unrelated.
I miss being here quite a bit.Are blog years like dog years?
So is this the part where I sort of fade off into the sunset? I’ve noticed when others have stopped writing. Their blogs sit there unattended. Forever. Others just disappear. I know I couldn’t do that. There’s too much of my life wrapped up in these words and to me, a significant part of my life. I’d have to put it somewhere because like all the photos I’ve taken in my life, it’s part of me.
I’ve always embraced change and chided those who avoid it. Change is inevitable. It is the one thing we can count on in life — and learn from. But I also know that in spite of change, constants remain.
Maybe the constant for me here is to write when I can.
For me.
There is a little box I can check to keep my writing private.
Is that what I need? I doubt it.
I was going to write about something I saw on one of those network morning shows yesterday that really got me going. But today, it’s overcast and chilly, and I just don’t care now.
This is the part where Scarlett O’Hara would remind herself that tomorrow is another day, and Annie would begin singing, Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow, you’re always a day away…
Tuesday has never been my favorite day of the week.
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Needing Company in Any Form
When I’m home, Precious (aka Fresh-ness or The Yack Star) is now rarely far from either myself or the RTR. And if neither of us is available, the doggo seems to do. She’s not howling as much as she was a month ago, but still does, and will respond when one of us howls back at her.
We have entire conversations with her and have no idea what we’re talking about, so at some point, she becomes disgusted with us, turns her head away, and saunters in the direction of her food bowl.Usually, she’s got something to say about having just come in from the patio, or to remind us about food time.
Food time has expanded from once a day to once in the morning, and then again 12 hours later. But she wants more so she can drown her sorrows over her lost companion of ten years.I understand. I’d probably want to do the same thing.
I’ve thought a little of getting a kitten, but don’t have the energy to make a decision like that right now. Kittens are like babies. They need so much attention, it’s not fair to not be able to provide it, and right now, I can’t provide it.
Besides, I don’t think the oldsters would appreciate the intrusion in their lives.
But maybe soon…
It could help that hitch in the doggo’s giddy-up and mend The Yack Star’s broken heart.
