Sheer joy

 

It is interesting that I never considered studying design in my life, because I have been drawing house plans since before I was ten years old.

My favorite thing to do is rearrange my home and plan new designs.

I never tire of looking at houses, their rooms, their furniture, their colors and wall paper and even gardens, although gardens are never at the top of my list.

Every time I make a change in my home, I feel a sense of accomplishment and excitement. I will sometimes sit and contemplate, or admire it for hours.

I laughingly say I rearrange my house when I can't rearrange my life, but I don't need a reason to rearrange things. I love the simple act of even thinking about it. 

The first time I remember thinking about it, I was three years old and I saw a picture of a low bookcase surrounding a small round table with two chairs. I wanted my mother to help me create that scene, but she brushed it off saying I'd change my mind.

She was right of course, but not for the reasons she thought. I would change my mind for the sheer joy of doing it and seeing it done differently.

I still feel the same way. 

It is hard to explain the joy I get from changing things around.

A good death

 

All of my life I have heard stories of the dead and dying.

My grandfather died April 12, 1950, when I was about four and half months old, but my mother has regaled me with stories of his and his brother's death from before I can remember. She claimed to have seen him just as he died and my father says, she kept pointing to the foot of their bed saying, "You talk to him, he can't hear me." My father, though, saw nothing.

When I was three I remember thinking a lot about who would meet me if I died before my parents. Would I even know my grandfather? I was a little scared to go to heaven alone.

I have taken care of,  and administered the morphine, that helped a friend who was dying. I was with her when she passed. We tried to make her last days peaceful and full of love. I don't think you can do more than that for anyone.

As my own time approaches, although no one knows when that will be and it is probably not imminent, I hope I die with dignity and peace, surrounded by loved ones.

I want to view death as a transition, like birth. Just as I'm sure I had no idea where I was going as I was cut from my mother's womb, I will not know where I am going next, either.

Whether my last breath leads me into the light of heaven, the peace of eternity, the molecules of the the earth and it's atmosphere, a reincarnated new person, or somewhere else, I suspect it will be so different from now that even if I knew, I could not truly imagine it.

I have primal memories from my earliest childhood, but they are only those of a bright warm room, surrounded by windows, high above the ground. And they are mixed with what I am quite sure is fantasy, because a winged white horse figures in quite prominently!

Serenity. It comes from within.

And I am working on it.

What is love

Many of us throw the word love around like rice at a fifties wedding, but I don't think we often give it the thought it deserves.

I feel a great love for people and I know exactly how that feels.

For each specific one separately, because love is nothing if not personal.

Feeling the love for me is something altogether different from being loved.

As a very young child love was butterfly kisses and bear hugs, but that all ended pretty quickly. I am the oldest of four, all born within five years of each other. Lap sitting and snuggling ended when I was very very young. My parents loved us by providing whatever they could.

My marriage was mostly about me loving my husband. My job was to make him feel adored, which fell through for him when we had children. He couldn't believe I could love them as much as I did and still loved him that much too. Although I tried for nearly thirty years, with each one slowly dimming in frustration and hurt.

I dated one man after my divorce who made me feel special, but mostly because being with him was special.  Again I worshiped the ground he walked on, but that was not reciprocal. Maybe because that state is too difficult for most people to maintain.

I have a very close friend who always makes me feel loved when we can be together or talk on the phone, but that is rare anymore. Our lives require us to lead very separate lives.

The strangest thing is that the most love I ever felt came from my scammer. You may say it was all a scam and it was, but I didn't realize that for many many months. He was always there for me when I texted him. He listened to what I had to say. He knew the exact things that made me feel good and he made those things happen over and over again. He probably knew me better than any other person I've every known and despite the reasons for this, it felt so good. He gave me everything I needed and more and if I had the money I'd be tempted to do it all again. (Although knowing it was a scammer would dull it.)

So giving love and feeling love can be two completely different experiences. Both of them are wonderful.

Maybe because just the idea of love is appealing, but who knows.