kellementology

life according to me

Tag: taking up space

  • Walk, write. Just get off your ass.

    I should go outside today and walk.

    The cold isn’t quite as bracing as it’s been the last week or so for my west coast bones, and I’m tempted to stretch them in the warm, bright sunlight somewhat like a fat, old lazy cat.

    Tempted would be the key word there.

    But if I ventured out to traipse back and forth through my old walking course in the neighborhood across the street, what would I think about?  The thought is almost as scary as being stuck on an airplane without a book — nothing to occupy my busy brain.  Nothing to worry about or to plan for, to gossip with a friend over.  Just quiet.  Well, and the occasional home owner who seems surprised to see a human walking down his street after his garage door opens just enough to allow him a line of vision.  Interloper that I’d be, my presence would put him in the awkward position of making eye contact and possibly uttering a greeting, or more commonly, have to avert his gaze so as not to invite one.

    I could use the time to prod myself over writing if I went for a walk.  Or organize my plan of attack on the area of our house that is supposed to be a garage and is more like a junkyard right now.  Or make some kind of a schedule for something.  Anything.  You know, so I can have one.

    Aren’t people supposed to have schedules?

    I think people have schedules to have them — not because they’re necessary.  It takes time to plan them, and keep them, and check things off as you complete them. It fills the time in a day so that when your head hits the pillow at night, you can feel like you’ve been a good productive human instead of a lazy ass.

    If I had a schedule, I would be well into it today, have my grocery list made, probably already have purchased and put away those groceries, and be up to my very sore elbows in some new recipe.  (Minestrone sounds heavenly right now in case you’re wondering, but I’m struggling to decide whether that lentil recipe with orzo would be better….)

    But I’m here instead, thinking about next week, yet another new year, and the overwhelming possibilities that come with that inevitable flip of a single calendar page.

    All I have to do is reach out and choose.

    It’s amazing, isn’t it?

    For instance, I could write a book.  I keep threatening to, but know that I’ll get around to it some day — after I have a schedule.  The world needs another book about yet another human who overcomes challenge and adversity and still has a positive outlook on life, right?  I’d definitely need a schedule to complete this daunting task, and would absolutely need to walk every single morning to get it done.  I know this.  Walking helps me sort out the tiny details as much as it also helps me unravel huge structural knots.

    I could finally upgrade this site to 2.7 because I should have a long time ago.  But where would the spammers get to park their disgusting crap?

    I could flip the switch on my food blog since it’s been ready and waiting for the domain I’m paying for and haven’t used so far, needing a week to work out all the kinks I never quite understand.  Actually, I will be doing that next week.  Yikes!

    I could make a list of resolutions to consider, but I’m never very good at that, so wouldn’t take it very seriously and would struggle not to put something on it like, “I will make sure I change out of my pajamas every day all year before 2PM.” What’s the point of taking off flannel bottoms if all I’m going to put on is yoga pants?

    I could get a job, but then I’d have to have a schedule, right? And clothes, and, and, and…I’m still removing suit coats and trousers I no longer wear.  Why would I want to start that all over again.  God forbid having to worry about whether my sweater is five years old, or my shoes are not quite fashionable.

    I could go on a health-nut get-into-shape change-my-life type permanent binge, but then what would I do with a new body?  Write a new blog so I could tell others how they, too, can have killer abs?  I know mine are under my middle age spread somewhere.

    I’d rather say, “Let’s not and say we did” to it all right now.

    But that walk is sounding kind of nice about now.

  • Dust, Old Things & Memories

    Somehow when we started all of this construction business, I figured it would be fun to post the ups and downs of going through the mess I know is involved.  Best laid plans.  What seemed like forever was really only about six weeks, so I should have been able to write about some of it, but it’s not like we were renovating the Taj Mahal.

    I guess putting up with this most recent mess isn’t such a bad way to live if in the process I can once again discover the joys of good housekeeping.  *insert loud snorting and guffawing here* But I tell you, the old body just isn’t what it used to be.  Hauling furniture up and down the stairs may sound like a great idea for working the glutes, but I pay for whatever gain I may get with excruciating pain in my arms.  Imagine a hot pole being stabbed through your arm every few seconds if you type, or cook, or grip anything.  Lovely.  I am seriously good at sucking it up, however.  I come from a very long line of women who just grin and bear it.  Imagine the badges we’ll get when we reach those pearly gates.

    But I am enjoying putting things back in order.  Having to look at all of it in dusty piles and eliminating a few places I used for storage has forced me to reconsider some of my possessions.  If I actually knew how to use eBay and didn’t mind mailing things, I’d have a roaring business ahead of me, but it’s more challenging than that.

    When I look at many of my things, I can’t say they have any but sentimental value.  For the most part, they remind me of times in my life that were filled with hope and some dreams that never quite came to fruition.  When I look at them, I smile, remember, and know that it’s fine that none of it happened, but stuffing it all in a box to sit in the garage doesn’t seem right.  So I’m sorting through it all and wondering what stays and what goes.  What matters and what doesn’t.

    What matches…

    Because when you get right down to it, if I don’t think it matches, it’s outta here.  Well, maybe not quite that harshly.  There’s more of a routine that goes something like this:

    1)  Move the item to a spot where it’s less noticeable — like the office upstairs.  It’s the “I love it, but there’s no place to put it” graveyard.  Nobody ventures up to the land of the Resident Teen but us, so I can put my items up there to sit for a while.  A long while.

    2)  After I’ve given the item all the love and attention it’s going to get, and the layer of dust on it makes it appear somewhat like a chia pet, it goes in a box that’s headed for the closet. Any closet will do.  It’s still in the house, and maybe comes out at certain times of the year — maybe —  but clearly, things aren’t looking good for it.

    3)  Once the box is full, it’s moved down to the garage to sit along side other similar boxes.  When I walk by the boxes, I’m reminded how much I liked those items, and oh aren’t they cute and I should go through them to decide what will stay and what will go.  Later.  Much later.

    4)  When we get tired of not being able to park both of our cars in the garage and actually clean it, I sort through the items, keep a few for old time’s sake and donate the rest.

    The time is seriously now for one of those donations.  I will wave lovingly from the garage as the truck pulls away with my memories hoping they will find a new home.

    *sigh*