Emptied stockings on the ottoman next to a book from a Bubba's best friend from High Schools Mom, two animal puppet body bath scrubbers from Oregon Uncle and Aunt, a colorful soft stacker fallen on its side on the floor, Jack Johnson playing through pandora.com, my white Michelin man jacket on the sofa arm next to the door that we try to keep from opening and closing over and over as the girls come in and go out to the new sandbox. Three colorful plastic "sensory" balls with nobbies and bumpies all over them migrate from room to room. It's been this way since yesterday at 9am when all the presents had been opened. We put away the wrapping paper and left the empty boxes up against the wall. We'll clean later which means we'll clean either when someone comes over, or Monday morning shows up and I realize that I'm the clean up crew.
Ninety percent of our Christmas was second hand this year. Second hand clothes, second hand toys and second hand furniture. All of it is gorgeous but cost us about a fourth of the same item new without taxes. And the furniture was even delivered to our house.
We feel blessed this year in so many ways. Mostly, I feel so lucky to have landed next to Bubba and get to ride along with him for the next so many years in life. He's such a good husband, friend and father. There are stretches of time that I can lose my gratitude and take him for granted. And then having him home, I remember how lucky I am that I can call him from work just to talk, that he will always answer and if he can't, he'll call me back as soon as possible. I'm lucky and blessed for the consistency he brings to my life, stability which is foreign and occasionally uncomfortable. Just yesterday as we were riding home on our bikes from the park, I thought of how different that we aren't moving. It's been two years in this house now. We should be moving. Instead, we're finally getting the house fully furnished. No more happenstance occasional tables, our clothes stacking up on the floor or on a closet shelf because there's no furniture. Instead, we have a place to put our things and in our bedroom, it feels like a real home. It makes me happy to stay a little longer and enjoy the ambiance.
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One of my pleasantest discoveries was when I realized that my house is actually "mine", wherever I am. I finally understood that it was unnecessary to decorate my house to please others, be trendy or hip or, for that matter, even competent at design. I can do what I like, as long as I can afford it, or with handy, temporary substitutes when I can't. For me, that means books and art, being near the people I love, all in a generally tidy location. I make sure to include my husband and son's interests so they'll feel "at home" too. Our house is furnished with vintage, antiques, sentimental items from relatives and friends and the occasional new treasure. I like playing with/in my house. I suspect, in another life, I was a cave woman who was always saying things like, "Honey, could you move that rock near the fire? It looks prettier over there!"
ReplyDeleteYour writing is so full of the senses, visual, tactile, even sound. Yummy writing!