I Want A Place
I get a newsletter from the Abbey of the Arts. This week's edition has rekindled thoughts of crossing new thresholds. I got off track in my writing about thresholds. I failed to see anything, anyone or anywhere new on the horizon. Could it be that even though I fail to see it, there is still change afoot?
Sweetie and I are coming closer and closer to saying "yes" to the task of selling this house and moving.
Talk about new thresholds. Do you remember playing Mother May I when you were a kid? To sell the house I grew up in and came back to is like asking, "Mother May I take a giant step into the big unknown." Only I'm not asking anyone for permission and no one is giving me a new set of "orders" like the Navy did for 20 years. This timeIf when I move, it will be because the time has come to let go
of the hold the past has on me.
Decision making does not come easy for me. Even as I cried and fought most every move I ever made, I knew deep down inside that it was easier to let someone else make the decision. I guess it's easier to complain about something if I'm the follower, not the leader.
I may still change my mind a kazillion times before any definitive step is taken. But each time I get closer to where I want to be - in a place I can call home. A cabin in the woods? A motorhome traveling down Rt. 66? A retirement community? Washington? Tennessee? Georgia? Jacksonville? Or someplace I've never even dreamed of?
I want a place with less stuff and more joy.
I want a place that holds memories and no ghosts roam.
I want a place where the door is always open to new friends and old.
I want a place where my family gathers and love is all that's spoken.
I want a place where "the implements of the kitchen and barn are every bit as holy as the plate and chalice on the altar."*
I want to hear birds sing outside my window.
I want to a place to grow old without fear.
I want a room with a view where I can write letters and make bears.
I want a porch with a rocking chair.
I want a place where laughter abides.
I want to go to bed at night and lie next to my Sweetie and look forward to tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
Am I asking for too much?
Does such a place exist?
Do I have to move to find these things?
Time will tell.
Merry ME
*Hilary Lohrman
{Abbey of the Arts} Love as a Holy Direction: Love - Pilgrimage of Resurrection through Creative Practice.
Sweetie and I are coming closer and closer to saying "yes" to the task of selling this house and moving.
Talk about new thresholds. Do you remember playing Mother May I when you were a kid? To sell the house I grew up in and came back to is like asking, "Mother May I take a giant step into the big unknown." Only I'm not asking anyone for permission and no one is giving me a new set of "orders" like the Navy did for 20 years. This time
of the hold the past has on me.
Decision making does not come easy for me. Even as I cried and fought most every move I ever made, I knew deep down inside that it was easier to let someone else make the decision. I guess it's easier to complain about something if I'm the follower, not the leader.
I may still change my mind a kazillion times before any definitive step is taken. But each time I get closer to where I want to be - in a place I can call home. A cabin in the woods? A motorhome traveling down Rt. 66? A retirement community? Washington? Tennessee? Georgia? Jacksonville? Or someplace I've never even dreamed of?
I want a place with less stuff and more joy.
I want a place that holds memories and no ghosts roam.
I want a place where the door is always open to new friends and old.
I want a place where my family gathers and love is all that's spoken.
I want a place where "the implements of the kitchen and barn are every bit as holy as the plate and chalice on the altar."*
I want to hear birds sing outside my window.
I want to a place to grow old without fear.
I want a room with a view where I can write letters and make bears.
I want a porch with a rocking chair.
I want a place where laughter abides.
I want to go to bed at night and lie next to my Sweetie and look forward to tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
Am I asking for too much?
Does such a place exist?
Do I have to move to find these things?
Time will tell.
Merry ME
*Hilary Lohrman
{Abbey of the Arts} Love as a Holy Direction: Love - Pilgrimage of Resurrection through Creative Practice.
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