The journey

Moving to a new home requires a lot of planning and organization, like turning off all of your utility services and such.  And thus, Tuesday was the day for that, and I have also forwarded our mail to our new address, and stopped our home security system.  For the last two weeks, I’ve been busy packing up, making more boxes, running back and forth from Home Depot, to the Goodwill donation center, and from the Goodwill back home… and on and on and on… Life is a circle.  It is a merry-go-round kind of a thing, and these days my soul has grown round too. Full with expectancy about the future, and of new promises and hopes.   I work, and as I work I think of my mother.  I think of her often throughout my day, and my heart cries in quieted waves.  I hear my father explaining how he finally was able to gathered strength to give away all of mom’s shoes; those that only a few months ago she was still wearing and walking in them, and my heart can only weep. She will not need them anymore.  And it is almost as if the tired eyes of the world were gently closing down; her head resting upon a pillow, ready to go to sleep…. 

 

Sometimes I have this deep urge to call her.  I want to just say hello, tell her something new, something old; share a new occurrence about my day, and my life... tell her I love her, what I've done and how it made me feel, but then I realize that she is not present anymore.  Although she is. And my little heart miss her terribly.  As my father takes her place in that aspect in my life now, I am learning to treasure him in a deeper, more meaningful way than ever.  My connection had always been with my mother, but throughout all these last years of her illness, my relationship with my father has matured in deeper ways; love have expanded, and tides strengthened.  He is essential in my life.  A rock.  An everlasting tree.   I have always thought of my father sort of ‘eternal’.  Unfailing.  Always there.   My little heart won’t dare think of him in any other way, other than forever by my side.  Why do we have to love so hard, and with such deep, strong love?  Love hurts.

The other day I read somewhere that energy cannot be created or destroyed, it merely changes form.  I believe that energy goes back to the Creator who gave it, and in Him is where I chose to keep my hopes... 

The other day, upon coming back home from Home Depot, my car wouldn’t start.  I noticed that the man parked beside me was ready to come ask if I needed help, but very politely he waited a little bit, until it was finally evident I was having car trouble.  He tried to help me as best as he could, then came another man, and yet another.  Three men stood by my car at one point trying to help me get my car started… until it finally did. I find this courteousness and gallantry of the southern men, amazing.  It is true that I had have a few unpleasant experiences in the past in the years we lived here in the south, but it is also true that for the most part, southerners are very courteous and friendly people.  The friendliest I’ve ever known, and that pleases my personality very much.  So, I felt compel to put a good word out there on their behalf.  If I’m ready to talk about the bad people, and their deeds, I will also praise the good ones too.  Plus, I count this incident as part of the occurrences transpired while living life here.  So here they'll stay.  I am leaving them here as a record, for whenever I want to turn the pages of my life back to those forgotten days of yesterday, and read again.

The Fisherman came home to our little white cottage on Wednesday.  And today, the packing crew came by… Ruben, and Eric did such a great job packing up all of my mirrors, art, lamps and delicate things.  They also took care of all of my plants and garden statuary.  All nicely packed up now.  After they left, we continued packing some more, and started patching up holes and retouching the paint on walls.       

Days around here have taken on the hues of pumpkins, and the air smells sweet and cottony fresh.  Around the edge of the woods the big leaves of the maple trees are piling up; toasted and desiccated and deep brown in color, and up the hills those sentinel of trees, protectors of our little white cottage, have changed their summers costumes into autumnal glories.  How did this happen? So fast trees change colors, it almost is like magic.  And I like to see them as some actors and actresses on a play, exiting through the main doors of Summer in the middle of that stage called “seasons”, ready to change costumes in a blink of an eye, just to amuse me…

So many things happening, such stressful days… behind and ahead.  My heart cannot find its rest.  I have so much I want to say and meditate upon… about people, about the way they process what they see, or read or think about... and, why would anyone take what I write so personally as to feel offended, when I don’t even know them, it scapes my imagination... really, it was never my intention to be judgmental or critical towards anyone who comes here.  I only come here to tell the story of my heart, the only way I know how… by feeling life.  And that’s it.

And thus, I’ve found myself in conflict, caught between the need to continue documenting my little life, or making my blog private to evade trouble. I guess I’ll make a “bargain with the devil” and continue writing and documenting our move and how I feel about things, and life… making my blog private will only mean giving a lot of myself away in order to placate a significant reader, and keep the peace.  But I owe it to my dear, long time readers to keep it public.  So, I will keep it public.

A huge thank you to all of you who inquired, and were concerned about my blog being switched to private. Maybe one day, I'll tell you the whole story behind it, and then again I will only talk about meeting my roses again and what I am doing to keep the memory of my dear little white cottage alive.

Please follow me as we say goodbye to our dear little white cottage and cross the country, back to that old house in the roses…

Love you all