is a real pain in the nether regions.
I’ve been going through things in my house today, what to keep, what to trash and I find that there are really very few things I have any use for.
It seems that the most important things to me are my photo albums, laptop, external hard drive, camera, national geographics, 1000 places to see before I die book, coffee grinder, a portrait I drew of my dad as an Airman, the photos my daughter and nieces have drawn through the years, a blown glass wine cork and my lava lamp.
When it comes down to it, that, out of a houseful of useless things, doesn’t amount to much.
I suppose, if I needed to, I could easily put all my “treasures” in a garbage bag and live happily under a bridge.
I like hot showers, though, so that might pose an oppositional equation.
I have friends and family who have things that they treasure. I don’t really treasure anything.
Not anything I can hold in my hand.
They are just things.
The objects I treasure aren’t objects one can take off the shelf and admire … they aren’t really objects at all.
One can’t own this stuff. They can simply be a part of the magnificence as it as unfolds, one day into the next.
I didn’t mean to have an epiphany while cleaning house and doing laundry, but it just happened.
I had the chance to drive across the Hoover Dam back when you could drive across it … and drive through the desert to get there.
I had the chance to stand before the Lincoln Memorial and know that I was living a dream.
I have so many places I want to see, so much of creation that is only a picture in my mind, not one imprinted on my soul for I have not seen it for myself.
I want to.
That is what I want to hold onto.
The dreams of what can be accomplished, what can be sought after, what can be found simply by following the imagination.
I have things that my late husband gave me. They are good for nothing but reminders.
The memories are in my heart and mind and soul.
I’m not really big on memories as it seems the difficult ones, the hard ones … they are the ones that come to mind.
I have to work to bring up the good ones.
So I’m culling more than picking … and I feel good about that.
Someone I admire a great deal …
likely much more than is good for me …
once told me they occasionally live a John Denver kind of life … I’m going to try to be more John Denver-ish myself.
I will have the courage to submit my book, my poems, my photographs.
I will have the courage to feed my wanderlust and see the place I long to see.
I will simply have courage.
I earn a paycheck as a nurse, it is true, but in my heart, I am more and, at the same time less.
I only have so many years to live.
What is that song? 100 years?
There is no point in deluding myself that I will ever make it to a hundred years old.