Nesting

It seems lately I have used much of my free time on little decorating projects in my home.  And I have to say that the difference it is making in my day-to-day quality of life is amazing.  I call it ‘accessorizing’ my home.   It all feels more complete and I no longer have the sense that it is not quite finished. 

We had selected everything with such care before moving into this new home and then it was a full stop all last year.  This summer I have been feeling motivated to finish what we started.  Just this week I actually hung a new shower curtain in the guest bathroom.  The new towels have been ordered and should arrive any day.   It really is the little things that can make you happy.  I will no longer be thinking ‘I really should get this room done’ every time I walk into it. 

As I stroll from room to room, I feel content that I have finished these little projects to add my personal touches to my home.   The flameless candle wall scones add a soft, warming glow to the living room each evening when they turn on.   The new-to-me teacup shelf looks amazing with my teacup collection on display.  And I decided to go ahead with a craft desk in a corner of the guest bedroom--  I can see myself working on projects there.  And that is a sign of my entering a new phase of transition.   I actually want to work on projects again.   I am enjoying the creative process again.   I think Robert would be pleased.  He always encouraged me to work on my scrap booking and decorating projects. 

Eggsa Tradition

Easter is such a glorious time of the year, isn’t it?  And the liturgical weeks following the big day allow us to continue the celebration albeit with a continued focus on the cross and what it ultimately means for Christians.

So I was excited to spend the holiday weekend with my family ‘up Maine.’   On Easter morning, after church, my mom and I made a batch of deviled eggs.  It’s the tradition every year to have them.  Many Easters I made them for myself when celebrating with my husband.   So we make a batch and start looking for THE egg plate.  The one that my mom remembers her mama using when she was a little girl.   We search everywhere. When it becomes apparent that this plate is truly missing, both of us search harder.  With increasing anxiety.  I run to my sister’s home next door to see if it was left there from last year.  But no.   We question each other as to where it could have been.  Was it given to another family member? No she insists.    Definitely not at my house I tell her.  The only conclusion reached is that when my mother was jettisoning some excess clutter a few years ago it must have accidentally been set atop a giveaway box when she cleaned off a shelf.  Noooooo!

And slowly we begin to mourn its loss.  I had never bought an egg plate for myself all these years.  I just assumed one day my mom would tire of hers and pass it onto me.  She never did.  She loved that plate and the memories of all those Easters.  It was unique because it was the size of a dinner plate but had spaces for a full dozen eggs or 24 deviled eggs.  In the center was a delicate painted arrangement of small pink roses.  So me.  So her.  So my grandmother.    And so unique I never saw another that tempted me its acquisition. 

Far be it from us to spoil Easter dinner with the family over a lost plate.  We muster our spirits of gratitude and head next door to my sister’s.  She has an old egg coloring plate that we use.   Mom and I share a look as we reach for a deviled egg each.  So not the same and we sigh.   We two may actually be the only ones in the family who love deviled eggs.  The only ones to mourn this latest loss.   Nothing unites two souls like shared grief.   As we know all too well.  By the end of the meal we are feeling better about it.  After all- what can be done now?

A week or two later I decide to do a search on eBay.  And, yes, indeed there are a couple of egg plates.  They only have the standard 12 slots for 6 eggs and the flowers in the center are mixed colors but each one does have a pink flower.  So both are ordered.  One for me and one for my mum.   

It may never be the same as my grandmother’s plate, but we can move forward and enjoy our deviled eggs again.   And these new plates will have a story to tell as well.  A story of mother and daughter united in a traditional plate of memory keeping.   A mother and daughter who have shared grief and then understood each other better for it. 

To Uke or Not to Uke

I’ve been trying new things lately.  I signed up for a water walking class but learned that rushing to a pool based class in the middle of a workday is not my favorite thing.  Schlepping all the wet gear out into the cold while rushing back to work is not relaxing.  Neither was being the only woman younger than 70.  I don’t need to hear how much joint pain I’ll endure about twenty years from now.  Shudder. 

Then I heard about ukulele lessons.  My neighbor started a group in my condo building.  It sounded like fun and I signed up.  Then I had second thoughts.  Was I ready to try something so outside my comfort zone?  I decided it couldn’t hurt to give it a go. 

I had a couple lessons and then joined in on the ‘jam sessions.’  I learned about frets and chords and strumming.  I progressed from Three Blind Mice and Row, Row Your Boat to new songs such as My Darling Clementine.  I faithfully practiced everyday.   I was starting to feel very musical.  Although if you’ve ever heard me sing you would know that I can’t carry a tune.  In fact that could be problematic for a uke player.  It’s not like when I took piano lessons in high school.  On a piano you are playing the whole song.  On a uke it’s just the chords and you’re suppose to sing along.  But I was excited to try this new venture. 

As the days of practice went on I realized it was aggravating an old hand injury.  I rested it and tried again on another day.  Same thing.  Sigh.  Since I need to be able to use a laptop for my day job I had to admit defeat.    It seems I am not meant to uke after all.   At least I have the memories of trying something new and getting to know a few of my neighbors.