141: Cobwebs and mudpies

The last two months have been full. Full of many things that seem so inappropriate for this journal. I have struggled with writing. Un-writing much of what I have put into type. Then leaving my written words for weeks on end. I wondered if perhaps I have truly hit the brick wall of writters block. Perhaps I just do not have any thing worth sharing.

How can I share without revealing the turmoil that exists in my mind and in my heart? How can I tell the goings on without hurting people’s feelings? There is so much of the family happenings in the last two months that would be something like an “enquirer’s” edition that I simply have not written anything.

We gathered to celebrate milestones in the last two months several times. They were both happy celebrations and treading in deep waters for me. So much of the experiences were good, I did not want to cast any shadows upon the joy. But beneath ever bright light lies some dark shadows that are cast by those standing within the light.

While on earth, we cannot avoid the shadows. But hiding in the shadows is not good either. So I am trying to get out of the dark corners and observe the light.

(The yarn in this study was self spun. Not very well, I might add. The pattern is the crochet spider stitch. It seemed appropriate for the day.)

Cobwebs lurk in the corners and in the places untraveled. Crossing the yard in the early fall, the webs would grasp me frequently. But when in real life, the little strings don’t have much pull on our largess. It is the cobwebs in the mind that tend to weigh us down and drag us back to be snared in the trap.

Fighting those traps is a big job. And it has kept me busy.

One day just as the clouds rolled in the rain began to spatter the window, once again, the tears just began to roll down my face. This year has had way too many rainy and cloudly days for my liking. Being allergic to the rainy, wet, mildewey environment has made me keep my inhalers far too handy. This alone makes me want to sling mud pies and the clouds and tell the darkness to flee.

But alas! I am not Jesus. My words do not have power over the storm that rages in the clouds or in the sky. But I can use the words of Jesus to cast our the sticky matter that wants to muddle up my thoughts. Only His words of promise and love can sweep the corners clean and give me a new focus for the day.

Meanwhile, the leaves have fallen and there are fall kittens to watch out for. Three of them are the summer ones from a neighbor. The other four or five belong to Autumn, the calico cat that came last fall to our place in the vehicle’s “magic car-pet!” Of course, she would have fall kittens. Her name is Autumn. Their eyes opened last week and now they are cute. Until then, I think they look like mice or something worse.

The horse is our of grass in his yard and keeps escaping to help himself to the yard’s greenery. But no worries, he knows how and when to go back home. He puts himself away behind the electric wire just before Gavin gets home from work. And so far he has not come too close to the house.

Honey has more days at doggie camp that are on one hand to count. She gets so happy when we turn into the camp’s facility and we have not told her that she gets to go play. Perhaps this socialization will make her a better doggie. Perhaps.

My granddaughter is exerting “will” these days. The challenge is for the adults to have more will and the power of persuasion over her. Ahh, but the rest of the times are such fun as she learns new words, new ideas, new challenges.

(The above picture is the new blanket poncho displayed on the mirror in the freshly repainted and redecorated.)

Crochet kept me busy listening to books. I can’t even remember how many the Talking Book Library has read to me this last month or so. Every once and a while I insert a movie. I have some reviews to do but quite a few of them I already trashed in my draft-logue. So much for the un-writing.

The spare bedroom got a new coat of paint two weeks ago. We used the whole One Coat Covers gallon the walls. It took us four times to get the mint green covered with the vanilla scone. These color names today are way to vast. And I found out that just because they say no scent, does not mean that I can’t smell it. I wore a mask through much of the job as if just seemed the argon in the room depleated each time I opened the jug. I am just fine with the other smell.

Empty vessels

Before part II

Getting ready to get ready is not my forte. Cleaning out a work space to make it my own sometimes requires help. Or maybe, when it comes to cleaning anything that might break, I need lots of help. So we emptied the room and then it has been my Monday morning chore to put back only those things which are necessary.

While cleaning out the library of it’s stores of stuff, we found a whole stash of vases. Each one of these vessels actually held some treasure. Some were candles, some little what-nots, some flower petals, some dried rose buds, and ribbons. What treasures! Except for the inconvenience of actually remembering where all of those things came from. After time goes by, we amazed ourselves at the lack of actual treasure the items had become.

Empty vessels are meant to be filled, right?

Empty. That’s how my days have felt for so long now, that having a purpose of sorts makes me wonder many things. For instance, why do we keep these things past their time of remembrance? Why do we keep flowers past life? The empty pursuit of holding on to the things of the memory appals me when I have to throw away the dusty sneezy dead stuff inside. I have decided not to keep dead flowers around anymore. Or even plastic ones that collect dust. Too much to clean.

Vessels and books filled the shelves. It was amazing how many boxes, containers, plastic totes, and jars that I found. Most of them we threw away. I even found some small jars. My mother-in-me told me not to throw them away. Myself-in-me finally won. Keeping things “just because” had overwhelmed the library shelves. I could not even clean the room because of them. Let alone find the book that I had been looking for these last few months. (Found it.)

Imagining that book covers were once empty vessels until someone organized all those words was fun. I tried to imagine which vessel in the room would best exemplify the book “Little Women.” There was a little music box filled with hair clips, favorite rocks, and other goodies. All the years my children were home seemed summed up in that little box and the book. Though we are in a different era, my girls are so much of who I am. The book titles all tell a story of who we are and who we have become.

There is a saying that comes to mind frequently: Who we are depends partly on the people we spend time with, the books we read, and the beliefs that we hold. I am who I am because of my children and all these books in this library.

I do not know what the book After will look like. I do not know if it will one day be on someone’s bookshelf, telling the story of who they are. It is yet an empty vessel waiting for the words to be organized.