Let me start by saying I’m fine. I’ll be fine. :)
Then sometime in my 30’s my biggest fear became ending up a crazy homeless cat lady, in this nightmare I was always sad. I remember talking with my therapist about this fear. I recounted to her that when I was married, and fantasizing about divorce, murder or death, I remember wanting nothing more than a small house and big garden and living alone with my pets, and being happy and at peace, in this scenario it was always sunny.
Two weeks ago I sold that small house with a big garden, in hopes of moving to the country(see previous post). But as I said goodbye to that house my heart broke. Walking out and closing the door, after literally kissing the walls goodbye, was one of the more difficult things I’ve had to do. But with 15 mins before the new owners arrived I had too as I didn’t want them to find me covered with snot in the middle of their new living room. I remembered all the times I felt that I had nothing else and no one to care for me but I had that house to keep me safe and warm. I remember in 2005, the year I moved in, after a break up, graduating college, friends moving away, getting a new job and having my dog of 12 years die, I took comfort there. When I look back on that dark time I see myself laying in the hallway, on my beautiful hardwood floors, bawling my head off, being so sad that I couldn’t get off the floor.
In that house I had first kisses, one night stands, long term relationships, dance parties, sleepovers, breakfast, lunch and dinner guests. I fell in love, out of love, had heartaches, migraines, hangovers, laughter, tears, many many many pots of tea and too many roommates. I napped in the sun that streamed into my bedroom window in the afternoons, I was awoken by the full moon light through that same window. I laid in bed and watched it rain and sometimes snow and the leaves on my maple change, fall, disappear and then bud. I marveled at the shadows that the light through the trees designed and danced on my wall. I daydreamed about travel, I packed and repacked and unpacked so many times I could never begin to count. I thought of all the kitties had kept me company there.
It was the perfect house for me, not too big, not too small. It was the perfect yard, just enough sun and shade for all my gardening needs. I planted a dwarf cherry that grew over 20’ tall, some years the only way to get the crop was to climb up high and cut the limbs. I received starts of raspberries and boysenberries from friends. My fern garden multiplied each year. My yard was 100 percent grass when I moved in but 15 years later, the only blades were ones that the birds had replanted and had slipped by my grass hating eyes. My grandmother literally gave me buckets and buckets of unknown contents, that I planted with mostly no idea what I was getting. It was beautiful. The neighborhood hated me when I was killing the grass with cardboard and shoveling it out bit by bit to fill the slope inside the new retaining wall I had built, but then as the springs passed they told me time after time how beautiful my yard was.
This week was rough, maybe one for the books, and all I wanted was to go home, lay on my bed in the sun and cry. I just wanted to be home.
When I was in high school I was infatuated with bag ladies (I don’t know why we used that term in the 80’s to describe a houseless woman). I imagined what it would be like to be without obligations, complete freedom, no one telling me what to do, to not give a shit what anyone thought and only having enough possessions that would fit in a shopping cart. I was always wearing a flash dance sweatshirt situation in this fantasy.
Then sometime in my 30’s my biggest fear became ending up a crazy homeless cat lady, in this nightmare I was always sad. I remember talking with my therapist about this fear. I recounted to her that when I was married, and fantasizing about divorce, murder or death, I remember wanting nothing more than a small house and big garden and living alone with my pets, and being happy and at peace, in this scenario it was always sunny.
Two weeks ago I sold that small house with a big garden, in hopes of moving to the country(see previous post). But as I said goodbye to that house my heart broke. Walking out and closing the door, after literally kissing the walls goodbye, was one of the more difficult things I’ve had to do. But with 15 mins before the new owners arrived I had too as I didn’t want them to find me covered with snot in the middle of their new living room. I remembered all the times I felt that I had nothing else and no one to care for me but I had that house to keep me safe and warm. I remember in 2005, the year I moved in, after a break up, graduating college, friends moving away, getting a new job and having my dog of 12 years die, I took comfort there. When I look back on that dark time I see myself laying in the hallway, on my beautiful hardwood floors, bawling my head off, being so sad that I couldn’t get off the floor.
In that house I had first kisses, one night stands, long term relationships, dance parties, sleepovers, breakfast, lunch and dinner guests. I fell in love, out of love, had heartaches, migraines, hangovers, laughter, tears, many many many pots of tea and too many roommates. I napped in the sun that streamed into my bedroom window in the afternoons, I was awoken by the full moon light through that same window. I laid in bed and watched it rain and sometimes snow and the leaves on my maple change, fall, disappear and then bud. I marveled at the shadows that the light through the trees designed and danced on my wall. I daydreamed about travel, I packed and repacked and unpacked so many times I could never begin to count. I thought of all the kitties had kept me company there.
It was the perfect house for me, not too big, not too small. It was the perfect yard, just enough sun and shade for all my gardening needs. I planted a dwarf cherry that grew over 20’ tall, some years the only way to get the crop was to climb up high and cut the limbs. I received starts of raspberries and boysenberries from friends. My fern garden multiplied each year. My yard was 100 percent grass when I moved in but 15 years later, the only blades were ones that the birds had replanted and had slipped by my grass hating eyes. My grandmother literally gave me buckets and buckets of unknown contents, that I planted with mostly no idea what I was getting. It was beautiful. The neighborhood hated me when I was killing the grass with cardboard and shoveling it out bit by bit to fill the slope inside the new retaining wall I had built, but then as the springs passed they told me time after time how beautiful my yard was.
This week was rough, maybe one for the books, and all I wanted was to go home, lay on my bed in the sun and cry. I just wanted to be home.
(((((((((((((<3))))))))))))))
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