Again

The beach house is calming, and I look out to sea water and curious little tug boats hauling around all manners of big ships. I feel blessed. In abundance.

I look around and there is everything that remains to make a home a home. Boxes to sort, items to put away. All manner of things to be cleaned, polished, washed, and deposited in a new home that will function with purpose.

This stage is the awful stage, the stage of dancing around boxes, and looking for five minutes for things that should be at hand. The frustration will subside, and once the utility items are put away, then it is time to frost the house with the beauty. To put up the pictures and the art and the quilts that make a home into something personal. To tell the story of a life, as an exhibition of fine art.

I'm not sure there is anything more eerie than being in an empty home on a nice day scrubbing in silence. Meditation is found in many ways, but manual labor seems the most instant for me now. I'm letting go of this house in the country. The yard has grown up and daisies speckle the field.

It is a morning for water skiing, and following that shiny black lab that wanders about on the beach all by itself, like it were just a step behind a ghost owner, or it had a mind of it's own that it couldn't make up, and it was freed to go about and snoop in seaweed filled corners and claw at the pebbles.

The beach life is much different. To me it truly feels like home. I love the privacy of space and the green of pasture; but my heart stops truly for the sea and shore. The roses were watered and they have bloomed with all this change, and I take that steadily to heart.

I'm still working on closing this chapter before I start another. It has worn me down: the cleaning, the closing up, the thinking about the "lasts". The last meal and the last . . .

I'm thankful for this time. For the sore muscles and the fatigue, and the feeling of satisfaction when a room is done and ready for someone else. I exist day to day now with just the basics, and nothing I really want to find yet packed up in a pyramid in the new place. My mere annoyance that I cannot see the sea from the kitchen because this marvel of boxes blocks the view.

I long for creative time and in the quiet moments I search for the creativity in repetitive tasks. I fear that the only creating is in the new cleanness and not making something from separate pieces. So in the now I will rise and go back to finish out the old life so I can get on with the new, I am just a crab after all leaving the old skin behind and letting my sadness go with it.

Harder Said Than Done

I am going through the withdrawal of not having a studio. It is almost packed and ready for arrival in a heated local, and I'm not sure how long it will wait to see the light of day again. So I am taking comfort in my bravado for now.

I'm not going to stop creating art, so I think for a bit it will just be downsized. Smaller pieces that lend to faster completion. I have paired down my studio to the basics and will use those at the new place, then I can visit storage as needed.

Someone told me that maybe for a while my studio wasn't supposed to be at my home. And I wonder about that comment and so many others that are brought into our lives by people, some close, and some seeming strangers. How does one take these messages and heed them, and yet know what is of importance and what is not?

What I've Been Up To Other Than Packing

This is an earlier shot of a rose planted. It's purple tiger, a long awaited find. I just this past weekend planted two others that sat on the porch for way too long, they are doing well, and one even has color on the bloom.

I find myself in a bread making phase? There is something about kneading. I really don't eat that much bread, although my husband does, but I have been making it, cooling, wrapping, and freezing. It so meditative and it transports me back in time. Plus I can use organic flours.

The packing is continuing, and one knows there are seriously going to move when the cookbooks are packed. I saved one new local one on the Skagit Valley, and I will work my way through the recipes in spare moments when I find my moving sickness approaching. Up until the last moment when it is time to go.

One puts so much care into creating a home. And then it is dismantled and wrapped, and almost like the bread, put into the freezer to open and enjoy some other time.

Ode To The Next Chapter

BLUE

You give your love and friendship unconditionally. You enjoy long, thoughtful conversations rich in philosophy and spirituality. You are very loyal and intuitive.

Find out your color at QuizMeme.com!

It's been a little time since I posted. Life has edged in and I feel that all the changes which surround me are good for the soul, and I breathe. Blue is definitely my favorite color, always has been. I like the colors of the sea's palette: blue, green, and all the soft shades in between that range to violet and grey and white.

Somehow moving brings up ideas of sufficiency, and my husband and I had a conversation about the idea of self-sufficiency and how perhaps it is a misnomer. I agree to an extent, but I am much more an advocate of people creating things with their own hands.

I think about the stuff in our lives, and I want to make sure I pack my boxes with only very important things.
~What are my favorites?
~What are the things I cannot live without?
~What are the things that wear me down and I need to quickly get rid of?
~What are the things that I don't want right now, but are important enough to keep?

These questions are spurred by the moving process yes. I am finding things that do not belong in my life anymore. Things that are space fillers that I do not love, but have acquired through chance and the freedom of passage for which free things boast. But they are not my favorites, and they surely will obscure the windows in the new place that I will live.

I am also finding objects which perhaps have not been given their "due" and I will arrange them in a more prominent place next time. There are things which I know will go to someone else whom will need them more or be able to re-purpose.

I have vision of simplicity, yes. I have visions of that palette of the sea, the type of home where the focus is out towards the horizon, and the objects which compose it aid the mind in reaching out for new things and accomplishments. So they must themselves speak of that.

We will be living by the sea for a year. It will be a change from the country, and the valiant mountain sunrises that I am use to now. I will miss the deer and the lengthy buttercups, and hanging the wash to flap in the hot sun.

The back of my mind had been filled with a picture, a picture which contains sunset and the movement of water. Had I been able to clear away the debris of life, I might have allowed this vision prominence, as it now seems strangely a flash of the future, although I never gave it it's "due" at the time.

So excuse my absence, anyone, if you are out there and you read such blatherings. I am filling the boxes right now, making my decisions, allowing my future in by the things I exclude. I want so much to not to let who I am and the choices I make be defined by my "stuff".

I have decided to pack much away, and spend a year living and writing overlooking the sea.

I am giving up a lot, namely space and my sewing studio, the china of course will go into storage the the collection of crystal will rest somewhere as well. I remain confident of being lead by an invisible hand. And there are places in life which call us forward, challenge us to find ourselves not in the echo, but in the sun as it rises anew.

Please check in, I might need support. The sewing machines will come, but no longer have a room of their own, and my fear is surely that they will come to rest in the corner during the very time which I deemed to create a portfolio. But book #2 needs to be completed also, and these character hang in my mind like a nagging wife raging with a teenager who doesn't want a curfew. And it has been too long since I could indulge them, enter a space, a calm frame, where I can give them life on the page, enter into their time and their space, and forge them onwards to deal with their own changes and passions.

Here I go, where I stop? Moving along is about being open to being moved along. To letting that inner self be a guide, and quieting that nagging devil on the shoulder that says, "You can't do that, but what about.....

Draw a new circle people, do it, or else all you will have is truly an echo.