Reawakening

Over two years since my last post. How shameful.  And yet....what has transpired in those two years?

The job stress maxed out and morphed and now it's a job I really like, doing something more in my wheelhouse, and doing it from home.  House projects were completed, new ones contemplated, started, completed. The Master bath finished, the hall bath done, and so too the laundry room and the lawn scraped and leveled and reseeded.  The Boy grew up and went off to college, in the midst of a pandemic.  ...and Dad carries on, much the same but older.

Our country, our society, is in a much worse spot than it was two years ago, and certainly four years ago. The thin veneer of civility has not so much been peeled away as it has been shredded and torn and burned. We are a nation on the cusp of fascism, authoritarianism, dictatorship....call it what you will, by any name it is Not Good.

The emotional toll that the pandemic has taken on all of us would be sufficient to excuse our exhaustion, and our grief. But it is magnified by the constant barrage of outrages, the next worse than the last, inundating us from the halls of our Government. We are a people battered by disbelief, and dismayed to discover that some we held dear have shown themselves to be racists, bigots, and hate-filled. The current president has given permission to reveal, and revel in, the worst of their natures.  They defy social mores, they shout about their rights while disrespecting the rights of others, and they unabashedly encourage the worst of human nature in their peers.  

Our friends of color are killed in their homes by those who have qualified immunity. The western states are aflame, hurricanes and tropical storms spawn at a chain-smoker's rate in the Atlantic. Our Mother is ill, our society is ill, and as Stephen King's John Coffey said, "I'm tired, boss."

And it's okay to be tired. But it's not okay to give up. We are our only hope. We have no Obi-Wan to call on, we only have each other, those of us who still believe that all people are equal, that civility must return to government, that no one is or should be above the law. Those of us who think there still might be time to address the climate crisis but only if we put adults back in charge.

We are facing our most difficult challenges and we are worn out, worn down and beaten up. But we must prevail.

Day

I've been feeling a little.....off.  Hush, now, I hear you giggling. Yes, I've always been a little "off" but this is different. This is more of an off-center, a lack of groundedness, a stress in my shoulders and a feeling that I need to stop, to breathe, to close my eyes and listen in some quiet place.

I'm not sure if it's the job change, the uneasiness of learning my place in this new world, the unfamiliarity of not just knowing what to do or who to engage, the loss of confidence that brings.  And it's winter, so there's that, and while it's been fairly mild, it certainly hasn't been mild enough for extended periods on the porch stalking birds at feeders with the camera. Not that there was none of that, just not very much.

The recent work travel contributed, I'm sure of it - the frenetic pace of on the road for 6 days, 1200 miles by car with people I know, but not well, then home, then off again for another 700 miles.

There's also the chaos of a renovation project going on around me - this time, the master bath, which means there is no serenity in my bedroom as the construction (more "destruction" at this point, if I'm honest) overflows into that quiet space. The renovation also overflows into the kitchen, where the ceiling is removed to get at the plumbing between the first and second floors. Counters are cleared each weekend before work starts, ABS pipe crumbs litter the floor as pieces are cut and fit, and there is nothing quite so nerve-scraping as the sound of a reciprocating saw cutting copper pipe. I remind myself daily that the finished product will be well worth it, then I take a deep breath.

My office offers little respite - there is a box of photos rescued from Dad's basement that needs dealing with, and it lurks behind me silently reminding me that this too, needs doing.  The shelves are cluttered and the desk is messy and I'm terribly far behind on filing for both my family and my father. Oh! And there are tax documents to gather, to scan, to get to the accountant. 

I need a day to walk in nature, camera in hand, no humans around.

I need a day alone in the house to get my office organized, because that level of organization is going to make a hell of a mess before it's better.

I need a day to sit on the deck, throwing apples to the deer or watching the red fox come in for eggs.

I need a day to breath, and to release.

I just need a day.

Spring

I should be working, where "working" could be any one of paying bills, doing laundry, doing more reunion planning or actually, literally doing work for my job.  Instead, I'm here in front of the keyboard reflecting on this morning's visit to Dad's.

I took Rhea - I think Beverley and Dad both like to see her, and she likes to see them - after all, they are both easy marks for treats.  Upon arrival, I took her for a little stroll to see the growing patches of snowdrops in blossom, and a completely unexpected patch of tiny purple crocuses.  I don't recall them being here before, in the middle of what was the side yard, but here they are. Delicate, tiny little things pushing through the overgrown thatch of grass and leaves that weren't blown away before snow trapped them in place. 

  
We pass the overgrown lilac bushes along the driveway - need to remember to trim them back soon - and walk down the pseudo-steps to get to the side yard.  Turning back, I see swaths of daffodils and narcissus plants also struggling against the leaves piled next to the garage, pushing upward, ever upward, waiting for just enough days that are just warm enough to blossom themselves.

I can't decide if I took for granted Mom's love of flowers or if it was just so much a part of who she was that it just seemed natural. But I look at the snowdrops, the crocus, the daffodils and the narcissus and I think to myself, "One of these days, I need to come transplant some of these to my house."

I guess that would be like having a little bit of Mom at home with me.

Progress

Dad's birthday is this week, he turns 84. As is our family tradition, that means a dinner all together, this time at my house. This has been both useful and stressful to me, but I knew it would be when I made the offer.

This event has forced me to deal with the drying flowers strewn across the dining room table. Much like the family documents, they are moved and sorted but not in a final spot. "Progress, not perfection," a wise man once advised me. Some days, progress is enough.

Meanwhile, in the midst of dealing with the dining room, Yule decorations are going up. The tree is in and dressed; the mantle likewise. The sideboard in the dining room has been gussied up and the table draped in the sparkly red, gold and green plaid cloth. The table has even been set for dinner. Once the cloth for the bar is out of the dryer, it will be replaced and the vignette that goes there will be set in place.

Dinner preparations began yesterday with shopping and pre-cooking some ingredients. Now that I've finished my coffee, it's time to chop herbs and gather ingredients - I'm a big fan of mise en place, probably a reflection of my tendency toward order and a touch of OCD.

As I wandered the grocery store yesterday, encountering the same folks aisle after aisle and sharing a chuckle and an "I know I've forgotten something" I came home to realize that of course I did. So at some point I'll run out to get the half & half for coffee and a fresh bottle of milk.  I will try hard to let go of the idea that I might possibly have time to put up the porch garlands and lights, or refill the bird feeders before guests arrive.  I will accept what I can get done, and I will remind myself that it is enough.

It is progress. It doesn't need to be perfect.

Reset

Working in a field like tech support, where you never know what's going to come at you on any given day, I've found I need to balance the chaos of work with order at home, particularly in my home office and bedroom. Understanding what drives my need for order was, in a sense the First Step for me.

Since Mom died, there hasn't been a lot of order at home. Running in the house after a day at the hospital, eating anything, dropping into bed, clothes left where they fell, repeat. Then the distraction of arrangements, things needing to be done, the house the last thing there was any energy left for.  I tried not to look too hard at what was going on around me. 

The dining room was first given over to creating photo memory boards, my desk to any number of piles of folders and envelopes with wills, cemetery deeds, birth and marriage certificates. Then the condolence cards started to come, and I found spots for them on top of and along the bookshelves. Floral arrangements after the services needed space, dish gardens and plants also.  As my brother and I moved through the process, added to the chaos were a large shopping bag of statements to shred that came from her file cabinet, and photo calendars of the Boy she had kept; family documents, fragile and precious. Add to that the normal day-to-day desk debris from paying bills, post-it reminders and my office has not been a sanctuary for some time.

It's been a little more than a month, and I have been making gradual progress in restoring the order I need. I've ordered clear archival sleeves for the letters and documents that should be preserved but viewable; an archival quality box for the wedding booklet and diary and miscellany.  While I need to put documents in sleeves and complete that project, for now it is all together and on a shelf (and off my desk).  Condolence cards, the guest book, extra prayer cards...all have a home, even if temporary.

The dining room has morphed from craft center to floral center, with trays of blooms taken from funeral arrangements drying in there. I've yet to think hard on what I will do with them, but I felt compelled  to preserve them, and I've learned to follow my heart in those moments and re-evaluate later. 

I still have tons of shredding and filing to do. For now, I've put the shredding bag around the side of the desk where it's out of sight, if not out of mind.  I've cleaned out little areas of the desk that accumulate junk, and the pile of "things to deal with" is smaller and less impactful to my sense of peace in the office.  Someday, it will all be taken care of, but in the meantime my goal is progress while being kind to myself.