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Archive for the ‘letting go NOT’ Category

CLEANING OUT A CLOSET
I come upon
a stack of old journals,
forgotten.

And suddenly
my cleaning-out decisions
carry more weight.

Easy
were the choices
involving
card stock,
photo paper,
the odd envelopes.

But this is something different.
Buried treasure.

Too long I’ve said
“Someday I’ll go back through…”
and am more into honesty now
regarding ‘someday,’
how it never comes.

I consider my options. Keep or part with.

STANDING ARM’S LENGTH AWAY
I flip a few pages,
stop randomly mid-journal,
run hand over page -

not leaning in,
but keeping  my distance,
as if expecting
something to jump out and hurt me
.

Is that written there anywhere,
that I have this expectation
a great deal of the time?

* * *

I THINK of THE PROMISE I elicited from him
years ago
“If something happens to me,
burn my journals.”

and how
it seems to me now unlikely
to happen by his hand.
It’ll have to be by my own.

And then this morning
a New York Times story
about a woman burning her diaries,
a whole 40 years’ worth!

But it’ll have to be an outdoor fire,
I calculate,
because last time I burned something in the fireplace
the smoke drifted back into the house.

I didn’t know
the chimney had been long-ago capped.

I cannot
for the life of me
recall what it was
I burned that day,

but the smoke
wafted through everything.

All that is true about us
does.

The minute hand says
I must go start dinner
and the decision is left hanging another day.

* * *

You may also like:

Writing Lessons: Journals

NYTimes article: "Burn the Journals" by Dominique Browning

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:-) :-) :-)
TODAY I WORE
while riding my bike
the shirt I do not like.

I do not like the fabric.
Also the neck,
the sleeves,
the hem
and the length.

Plus it doesn’t go at all
with my hair
and
when I wear it
I feel bad about myself

BUT
I can’t part with it
because it has sentimental value

so
when none of my other bike-riding shirt choices
are available

I pull out this one
and hope
everyone in the neighborhood
is simultaneously not at home
to see me wheeling by

OR

that I’m cycling so fast
I’m a mere flash
and nobody has a chance to notice
it doesn’t go with my hair
which -
just to note -
is covered by a red helmet
(and here I’m worried about the shirt)

I can’t even bring myself to take a picture of it.

Q: What garment is it that YOU can’t part with?

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WHEN the FIRST TWO CARPENTERS
turned me down

“Wouldn’t bother doing that.
I’d just rip it all out and put in new.”

my heart fell
but not all the way.

I rethought my vision
YET AGAIN -
only six years in the thinking already -

but when an idea
is shared and shot down,
a lot depends
on how much confidence you have in its merits.
Sometimes you have to go back
and remember
why it was important in the first place.
Hold tight.

* * *

WHEN the THIRD CARPENTER said yes
I wondered why
I’d waited to last
to ask him

since
fourteen years earlier
he’d gone along with another wild idea of mine -
never blinked,
just heard me out,
took my sketch,
came back
six weeks later
with the very thing,
finished,
looking better than I imagined
and for less than I thought.
He took my idea and made it shine.

Sometimes
you have to hand your idea off
to people who know what they are doing
and can do it better.
Loosen grip.

* * *

DETAILS HASHED OUT,
estimate received,
I went into the shop -
November sun shining
and all’s right with the world -
to sign.

“One slight change,”
I said to the man behind the counter.
“For the countertop,
I prefer Blackstar Granite.”
I passed him the sample chip.

I’d fallen prey to second-guessing.
and right on schedule for me.

Several days earlier
I’d gone to the showroom
ARMED not only
with the swatch-and-paint-chip folder
from recent household makeovers,
but also
wearing those very colors
as a safeguard.

(I am overwhelmed
in the face
of hundreds of color possibilities
and quickly lose my bearings)

I made a choice
that worked well with all,
one I liked
and best of all,
one I had imagined in my head
a year earlier,
Deepstar Mineral.*

BUT
almost immediately upon leaving the showroom
doubts rose.
I was sure my choice was wrong,

so I was back at the showroom,
settling on second choice,
not because first choice wasn’t available, mind you.

I WATCHED THE MAN behind the counter write down
both name and number
of my second choice
and when he turned away briefly
I leaned way over the counter
and looked again
to be sure he had it right.
For mental health purposes, that.

I slept like a baby
from that day
until
late last week
after the carpenter stopped by
to double-check some measurements
and verify which cabinet door
was getting a piece of glass.

Continued at “Sleepless in Ohio

* my initial posting said it was Mesa Sunrise.

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GOODWILL has become a regular stop on our Saturday morning errand-running route!

We are OFFloading.
Others are acquiring.
It’s a beautiful balance.

Every time we make a dropoff, we feel great about actually making the choice to part with things we don’t need but others might find useful.

I know the thrill of stumbling upon a great thrift-store discovery and imagining people feeling that way towards my stuff makes it makes it easier to part with things I’ve been keeping for no good reason.

Goodwill popped up on the inCourage blog today with “Finding Thankfulness through a Thrift Store?.” The writer includes some excellent photos on how she transformed someone else’s junk into a treasure. Read it and be inspired!

* * *

A small representation of my needle stash. Out of range of the camera are many, many more!

In other news, I discovered yesterday I have enough knitting needles to have 3 or 4 DOZEN knitters going here at one time. No joke. I am not taking these to Goodwill, though. I suspect there are little girls in my future who, like I did, will want to explore the mysteries of ‘knit 1, purl 2.’ (Perhaps several scout troops!) Okay, okay, this might be like hoarding the pressed pansies. Time will tell. Anyway, my needles and yarn are now straightened out, containerized and labeled….all the while I am pondering my next blog post, which I have been formulating in my head for quite some time and am still not sure how to word. It’ll come to me, in due time.

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