After So Long

Caleb, Robert, Lauren, Charlie. Palm Beach Gardens, FL.  2016.  Caleb is almost 1 and Charlie almost 4.

I have been away from writing for so long that it now feels strange to sit with my laptop and think thoughts that my fingers type out.  I feel as if I have just been reunited with a dear, old friend--but don't quite what to say.

I have been taking photographs--hundreds of them--plants, family, sky, patterns in the fabric that is my life.  Since Lauren, Rob, Caleb and Charlie have moved in with us--I have been obsessed with cleaning--NOT cleaning--purging my house.  Things that have been safely layered in boxes are now being inconsiderately ripped from their dim places and either been repackaged, scanned and abandoned, sent "en mass" to various relatives, or given away.  With two families now using the space that one family occupied for over 10 years--space was needed--stuff had to go.

It is interesting as I sit here now to think of the stuff that I have found and then let set adrift.  I had not thought of myself as a hoarder--but I have display cabinets (3) filled with useless, but very pretty, things.  The majority are Lladro figures.  Much space is occupied by Brent's bottle collection--odd and charming glass shapes--the most precious of which is the first one that he found.  He came across it on a beach years ago.  It's principle virtue is that (besides being old) he found it himself.  I have purchased bottles for him, through the years, as presents for birthdays and Christmases--but he most values the few that he himself came across. He considers them "his" finds.

I guess that is an attitude that I also have regarding the art pieces that decorate our home.  Almost all are done by close family members.  There is one that was done by a cousin of my mother's--a huge green painting of a path through one of her local, forested areas.  I do not know the place, or the artist, but I do feel a fondness for it because it hung in our home for many years.  When mom died 19 years ago, and dad divested himself of all their household belongings, I "got to have" this painting--which, as it turns out, neither mom or dad particularly cared for.  Funny the things that we keep just because we can't bring ourselves to throw them away.  

The wedding dress that mom made for me more than (2016 - 1982 = 34) 34 years ago still hangs at the back of my closet.  It has gone through numerous dry cleanings and survived a flood (that shrank it so that I can no longer wear it).  It is no longer white--but I cannot bring myself to throw it out.  I have vague plans to make a few throw pillows from bits of it, but (since it hangs invisible in my house) plans continue to remain incorporeal.   Someday I will make the pillows and send one to each of my children--along with a photo of me, wearing the dress, and a short story about how she made it for me on my wedding day.

This will be a short essay.  It is Sunday afternoon and Brent is sleeping beside me.  I think I will join him in a nap.

See you soon.