Christmas 2021

I gave myself permission to break traditions. I don’t have to do everything. Or anything.

People kind of freak out about that. What? No tree? Am I okay? Is something wrong? Sad face, hugs and care emoticons.  Sheez. Can’t imagine being ME?

Okay, I will admit that slapping a wreath upon the door without decorating the interior of your home is ye equivalent to hiding depression behind a smile, but can we normalize being “alone” on holidays?

I’m tired of pretending life is a Hallmark movie fantasy, of silently letting others assume that I might have plans, that God forbid I wake up “alone” on Christmas morn just the same as I do on the 364 other days of the year.

Side note:  “alone” is in quotation marks because the word is defined differently by those who thrive in solitude than those who find being alone with their own self for any length of time to be unbearable misery.

Permission extends to all aspects of holiday prep. Do I need to bake cookies in all those varieties? No… one batch with grandchildren, sent home with the boys. That’s enough. I made Chex Mix with only my favorite ingredients, heavy on the peanuts.

My sweet treat for company this year will be a special pie baked in a rectangular dish, which I’ve yet to bake as I don’t know when my daughter plans to stop by, might not be until Boxing Day. She’s got her own traditions started… making memories with her children. They snuggle in for a family movie night on Christmas Eve. I suggested getting together on the 26th as their 25th is already a full day, better to enjoy a relaxed visit than a pop in and out, on to the next.

That’s part of it, letting go of old ways to make way for the new, the next generation takes the stage, does things their own way. It is a letting go of preconceived notions, of letting things just be, and being open to my own next. This is the space in-between.

Thanks for reading!

BTW, I decorated in Fishdom. It’s the only game I play, much to my grandson’s amazement. Grandma’s on level… what?

Screenshot of grandma’s game, lol.

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Nooks & Crannies

Mildred Sugar Mills, a.k.a. Sugs

Be sure to leave plenty of nooks and crannies for the studio cats. This is Millie, Maybe Mabel’s sister. The girls are in training, exploring as we go. I’m setting up the horrid room as my studio space after months of decluttering, arranging odd bits of curb finds and old furniture. It all needs cleaned. I see more dust and dirt in photos than with my own eyes.

I regret painting everything shades of blue in 2018. I had to flip rooms, couldn’t sleep in the large bedroom after the Vet moved out. My mind was everywhere but neutral. Then the room slowly became a catch-all, clutter growing like an underbrush overtaking rements of semi-organized storage, making it harder to find things.

Familiar pattern? Yes. The same thing has happened in every place I’ve ever lived with a “spare” room. So much easier to hide a mess, quick clean… just haul or toss it in and shut the door. Occasionally wander into the forrest to gather supplies needed to make art elsewhere, so much time lost searching.

Patterns… if you want things to change, you got to make some changes.

It’s not easy. Joining a decluttering support group on Facebook has proven to be very beneficial. I also put myself back in therapy, set some goals to work on various aspects of my life, as everything is intertwined.

I’m going to come out of this stronger, better, and more sure of myself than ever. That’s a far cry from the “I’m old, I’m ye blind, it is what it is, so be it” mentality that has plaqued me for awhile. It was not really defeated, more of a quiet acceptance of being done, no time left for dreams, out of someday ideas… no desire or ambition. This new thing is like a stir between the two… old enough to be aware of my limitations, setting myself and my space up to enjoy my creativity without unnecessary frustrations.

Thanks for reading!

NOTE: This post launches “Beyond” as all posts before my blogging hiatus were written by me before what feels like a line drawn in the sands of time.

Alas, At Last

I quieted myself. No, I didn’t go underground in isolation. Sometimes, you just need to step back and reevaluate, seek clarity of mind, and step into your own light.

My covid winter was abuzz with activity even though I rarely left the house. Volunteer work for a local community organization was and still is my link to the outside world. I edit their 10 page monthly newsletter. Articles and other content arrive via email so it’s mostly copy, paste, arrange and format. I write the fillers; look for things to fill pages that might be of interest to readers. I also serve on the board and virtually chair a committee.

This old house got my stimulus. I bought lumber, flooring, paint, tools & supplies, some art supplies, a new ceiling fan, chair height toilet, and a frikkin 5 burner stove.

New stove, old floor.

New floor, fake countertop.

Yeah, the counter is fake. It’s temporary, just laminated with contact paper because a sink and new countertops were not in the budget.

It’s a work in progress. What I want to do and can do are not the same. Straight up, disability sucks as it is hard to find people who actually follow through on what I hire them to do.

Everyone thinks their time is worth 40 an hour, too. Now I expect to pay professional rates when hiring licensed skilled professionals or independent contractors with legit businesses and normal overhead, but when I’m hiring someone’s unemployed weedhead brother to do simple things a 12 year old could do, I don’t want to pay more than 15 an hour. Actually, 9 to 12 is fair… that’s what a contractor would pay if they got hired to do the exact same things.

I called a temp agency and asked about hiring part-time day labor. They don’t do that. Maybe I should hire a 12 year old, my granddaughter. I can argue with her when she thinks her time is worth 20.