Sunday September 2, 2108
I am unpacking. There are lots of little things that will make their way into pockets of places as I settle in. The watercolor I bought from the conveniently named artist “Chico” in Sevillle, the oil paintings from the artist in Bali whom I sent into distress when I mentioned that Pollock had in fact died some time go and, there, on my dresser is my grandmother’s politically incorrect, but much loved “golliwog doll” - staring out and smiling. Nana loved what she loved and never apologized for it.
I have leaned in pretty heavily on my friends this week or so. Some weeks are just that way. I think we send out ribbons that unfurl and flutter and catch the eye of our special people. They call or write and check in. Packing and unpacking is like that, it unsettles the dust and brings out all the stuff. It is a time where we have to look closely and decide what to keep and what needs to find a new home and, what has outlived its promise. It is a time to clean up the past and bless it, be thankful for it and, hope for the security deposit back. Then, it is time to create intention for the next step.
I am unpacking and resettling things in a new way. I am being careful to not fall back into old patterns and stay open to a different way of sharing my space with these things and the memories they store. This is a writing house, so words will needs room to gather.
I am unpacking. It is time.