Monday Mimisms ~ Getting Back To Me

         The housing market exploded into doom-for-buyers about the time they settled in. No reasonable rent to be found. No affordable housing on the horizon. 
          They were stuck here with me, Homer, Snickers, squirrels and trees. For the past eighteen months I've had guests in my house; changing jobs, seeking housing, and going with the flow of economic turmoil. The bonus? A delightful 3-year-old who calls me Mimi liberally planted kisses on the mirrors....and on me...every single day.  It's been challenging and wonderful all at once. At times the experience forged our relationships with in-your-face fire, followed by loving transitions of the heart, only to be followed by more fire. All necessary. Part and parcel for three generations under one roof. And probably long overdue.  I'm happy and proud to report they've moved on to a home of their own ... new commitments, new adventures. I still haven't washed the lipstick marks from the mirrors.

Now there are only the ghosts of Bloggingham... and me.

While I love them and will miss them, I'm rediscovering what it means to be truly finally retired and free.My life has been on pause for a few years. Lately I've been to a couple of lunch meets with old friends and colleagues, bought a new dress for Friday night tip-toeing into a nightclub (if I remember how to walk in heels), found a new Farmer's Market and stocked the freezer with healthy foods. 
And the music? UP. LOUD.
Sleeping?IN
Clothes and shoes?FLUNG OFF(did I say that??)
Mostly, I appreciate and value my independence. I don't think I'll take for granted, again, any little thing in my home.  Did I fully appreciate my space before? NO. Did I remember to stop and be grateful for pine cabinets, wood floors, porches and tire swings? Not always. 
I'd almost forgotten what it meant to hear silence.
 I have learned to be thankful for the smallest of things: the forks and spoons I now wash in the quiet of morning, the sound of a perking coffee pot, the sight of birds making new nests under inconvenient eaves and dust...even dust...because I get to do a big spring clean and spruce my home new into what I want it to be just for me again. I feel like I walked into a brand new house.
I need rugs. And lamps. And art on the walls.I'm throwing out carloads of accumulated junk from attic to basement.VERY liberating.
 I've lived alone for the past twenty-one years! Having others here for so long was an intense experience for me. I like my own company. I like my own space. I like my own routines. And let's face it, I drive people crazy!!!(Just ask them!) Hush Homer..
Someone said to me the other day during one of our post-pandemic marathon phone calls, "You never apologize.""Excuse me?" popped right out of the snarly mouth of mine. "I don't apologize??""You're the most unapologetic person I've ever known," he said. "You don't explain yourself. You're just who you are all the time. I admire that about you.You don't care what anybody thinks....I pay attention."
I appreciated the insight but me thinks I need to do some serious tweaking on this codependent thing and learn what boundaries I'm sabotaging for mySELF that causes me pain and stunts my personal growth. Inner Truth time. 
So this time in Act 3 of my lifeit feels like starting overfrom scratchlike flour and dough-making scratch  mixing mud in a wild strawberry mud-pie scratchmaking love in a cold backseat scratchmoving off to college starting overscratchlyrics and crazy chordsout of thin air scratch
staying home BEING
88 keys of blank pagesjust waiting for meand my time

That's what musicians do. That's what writers do.That's what I do.No apologies.


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