The Grace of Peace

I marvel at the grace of peace. It comes to me rarely as I'm sure it does for most survivors of child abuse. The darker memories are what usually haunt me late at night/early in the morning. Memories of a drunken parent who'd rather lock me in a crate in the cold cellar than tuck me into bed on a cold winter's night. It's 4:30AM and I'm in my quilt room listening to Enya's music. It is as if the room has become something out of Narnia - a closet to step through into a completely changed room from the dark, depressing prison it was last year. It was a place of sorrow, sadness, pain, hopelessness and believed impeding death. A friend who had visited last yr. when I was so ill stopped by yesterday, sat down, smiled then said the entire vibe of the room had been replaced with joy.  She explained the true concept of feng shui and that everything has energy. Where something sits, from a box to a chair and how its used often dictates how the energy disperses. If ever there was proof of this its my quilting room. Did I mention I just got access to the room across the hall as my own too? Rooms of Ones Own?  I'm sure it's not what Virginia Woolf had in mind but since I don't have the money I'll take the space. 

I finally gave away the treadmill that's been taking up the majority of space in the small bedroom my daughter occupied many childhood years ago.  The treadmill had become an expensive clothes hanger combination resting place for the cats. The room itself had become that place every home has called "throw it in there and we'll sort it out later."  Later never seemed to come and the room just kept filling up.  Well in keeping with my motto "If I haven't used it in a year donate it or throw it away" I've been getting rid of things right and left.  The amount of space that's opening up is positively astonishing.  This tiny home I have hated for so long feels like a haven of peace and calm - no longer home crap home.  Of course, since I swing from one extreme to another I now rarely want to leave my "safe" house.  Its been 3 weeks since I last went out and then it was only for a doctor's appt.  My therapist feels this may not be healthy.  My friend says if I believe this is right for me at this time in my life then go with it. I think I'll go with my friend,s statement despite having to pay the therapist for her advice.  It's 5:30AM now and the snow is coming down harder.  This means I having a true and proper excuse for not leaving the house today.  It's my husband's day off so we can curl up under the blankets and inhale the comfort of each others presence.  Sleeping beside each other calms us and helps us feel safe. It is an abuse survivor thing for both of us, this need to feel safe in bed.  It is a gift we give to each other.

















 
 

The Wonder of Freedom

I live on the corner in a small city. Bus's come and go on my corner and I watch people waiting for the buses, sometimes huddling together during bad weather. Mothers and fathers walk past my house on their way to the large daycare center at the bottom of the hill. The problem is that I don't think of this as a house in the middle of a city. My tiny and I do mean tiny house has one amazing thing about it. The front has a sun room with almost floor to ceiling windows. Not knowing any better about cost and interest rates we had the windows installed almost the second we bought the house over 20 years ago. Now I've filled the windows with plants and anything else that meets my fancy. I pretend the room and my house is in the middle of the country. This can cause some problems when I dress as if I'm completely alone in the country - like staying in my pajamas all day. I'm usually yanked back to reality when someone runs the stop sign almost directly beside my house. The street ends in a T and running the stop sign can mean smashing into whoever is driving down the straight part of the T. It also means having to put up with people spinning their wheels and gunning their engines as they climb the hill. After 20 years I've become pretty tolerant about the cars. I have not, however, given up the feeling of living in the country. I live in one of those city's called "A Tree City." This means that back when America had money there was a grant program that provided seedlings to city's so they could move from asphalt to green. Since there was no money to maintain the trees they periodically have to be cut down due to old age but by and large it makes my little city quite pretty. Its one of the many things I love about it. When my British husband visited for the first time the crab apple trees were blooming. He was quite astonished.

I pretty much stay in pajamas unless all day unless I have to go out. For instance today is one of my favorite days - no doctor appointments, thus no reason to get into real clothes. The problem is I'm beginning to understand how old women become recluses who forget to shower, dress or even leave the house. I call them "Window Widows." We've all seen them. They sit staring out their windows, never moving, leaving us wondering why they don't leave the house. I live in terror of becoming a window widow and force myself every day to do something like work on my quilting, answer my email, something that makes me move. Still I have to admit there are definitely days when, due to the various illnesses, movement goes beyond a challenge to damn near impossible. Getting back to the title of this blog - the Wonder of Freedom - I have suffered for years from what I call the "Hurry Hurry's." I suspect many people suffer from this, particularly women. "Hurry hurry and get dressed. Don't read that newspaper you don't have the time. Why aren't you downstairs working on something substantive? Now you would think that the possibility of dying would make me move faster but In fact its helping me move slower. To do the many things I still want to do I have to slow down so I get them right and in the slowing down I'm finding an amazing peacefulness. Again you'd think someone whose retired has all the time in the world but trust me when I tell you it ain't easy to go from Type A to retired. Before I got seriously ill I thought I should tear down the house and rebuild it. After all I had to time. I'm working on creating daily time things I must do and daily things I want to do. Like at 8am do all my medical stuff (test for blood sugar, test for blood pressure, take insulin, take pills, spend 2 minutes on treadmill (it might not sound like much to you but any day I can move my legs is a very big deal) put in eye drops and on and on. On the one hand all the medical stuff bugs me and on the other hand I think its really important to show the transplant people I can toe the line and do whatever they ask of me. on time. I heard about a man who had to take 60 pills a day after the transplant so his body wouldn't reject the lung. At first it sounded like alot but I took a look at MY pill box and there are already over 20 pills in there. I was amazed. Well my fingers are giving me those signals that mean get off the keyboard stupid. I'll be back later.