I nest. Frankly. This morning I was reading The Old Grey Poet and marveling at the fact they are moving again. For some reason I’m not resigned to their frequent moves, and though I know they buy and sell houses to make money, these moves bother me. They don’t just move in to a house and paint, you see, they create beautiful nests then abandon them for new ones.
I’m such a stick in the mud. I was lucky to grow up in one house, number 20, but during the years with Pablo, we lived in nine different homes or apartments. Perhaps it bothered me to create one new nest almost every year. Even at the worst of my alcoholism, I went out of my way to keep one house or apartment when everything else in my life was chaos. I lived in the little cottage for twelve years. Same thing for the big house. Between that place and this one, we camped out in a tiny two bedroom apartment for nine months of compression that we cheerily abandoned to move in to this condominium.
Living with G has been different. G and his brother grew up all over the world. This peripatetic existence led G’s brother into a very settled life. He and his wife don’t travel a lot. G doesn’t mind travel, but he likes his home too. Both brothers would rather be home than anywhere else. G’s homing instincts fit very well into my own nesting tendencies. Sometimes I just sit in a room to enjoy the colors or the light coming through the windows. I straighten a room then perch on a footstool just to enjoy the room itself. I find G plumping pillows just so the room will look “artistic,” to use his words.
The only side effect of both our nesting tendencies is that we collect stuff. There’s way too much stuff everywhere here. There was so much stuff, much from out antique and collectable business, that a three car garage plus 2000 square foot house was filled with it. We made a lot of money when we had our moving garage sale. Today we have family heirlooms in every room, books in every corner, more family stuff or friend stuff scattered everywhere, and all of it grows despite our best efforts.
Security issues….they are at the heart of my too much stuff and my thinking that Graham and John’s moves are too many too often. I’m sure security issues kept me tied to the big house for far too long. Forty years of insecurity issues haven’t quite been balanced by twenty years of security. But I need to poke my thinking a bit here. Being a stick-in-the-mud isn’t any fun. My imagination needs stirring. My fears need quashing.
Perhaps it’s time I welcome adventure in again and stir up the dust a bit around here. When I’m done sneezing, I’ll let you know what I find.
Me: Yesterday morning, did something to my good knee when I was sitting cross legged over my morning paper. Quite painful. It felt as if it were going to give out one way or the other all day. I nursed it carefully, and it is vastly better this morning. No more cross legged sitting for a while. I confess that I’m uncomfortable without it. Worked at library till three, met G at Ducks. Dinner was adaptive leftovers.
I was just thinking that I bet I write an entry on nesting every time The Old Grey Poet moves. Sometimes it’s good to laugh at oneself.
Grandson Aaron is being transferred to the Balboa Naval Hospital when he graduates from school on Friday. Another grandson moved to San Francisco. We are excited about Aaron moving back.
G: Planning a vacation. I’m being silly and worrying that he will lose his job when we get back…all the other guys from his old company are now unemployed. I need to let go my dusty old thinking and get ready to have some fun. Trip: Train to Seattle and back with a two day stop in Portland. Everything subject to change.
Duck: Doing pretty good yesterday.
Lists: Today’s is longer than usual: Print a dozen of two pages of “Shoes” to take to class tomorrow. Equalmente color copied front pages at Kinkos. Get: dinner, stamps. Post ATM use. Call on flu shots. Find all those scanned journal pages on “my” journal. I cannot find them anywhere.
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