My best time for writing is late at night when there are no other pressing concerns, especially if I have the day off in the morning so that I can sleep in.
My mind was turning around while I was laying in bed tonight thinking of the times when I've been truly happy. There are a lot of senses involved with happiness for me, textures, scents, and things that are hot or cold.
In the winter it's nice to lay alone in bed, curled up in my fluffy comforter with the window open. The air streaming in is crisp, there's a certain fresh scent, and I really love to have a mug of hot cocoa nearby and a good book.
In the morning I love it when it's a little chilly but the heater is on so it warms your toes as you walk past. It's so satisfying to fill up the water in the electric kettle and let it heat up boiling hot. Then sitting in the quietude with a mug of tea and a piece of gluten free toast watching the cars pass along State Street is calming somehow.
I like steamy hot water in the tub, natural scented soaps (not overpowering artificial crap). The feel of a washcloth scrubbing things clean and a fluffy towel when I get out.
I was thinking about how interesting it is to discover things. I loved to go through my parents/grandparents cupboards when I was younger shifting things around setting things straight, exploring, I never knew what I'd find hiding in the back of the cupboard. I loved old things and small things, curiosities.
The neighbor girls and I devised a basket on some rope that we would wheel back and forth between our windows. They would put little nick knacks in it for me and I would fill it up for them. That's how I got to know them better it was a fun game!
Then there is the scent of the earth, my father has always been a gardener. Each spring he would get out and turn up the earth with his shovel and I would go out to help him. It was satisfying and tiring work! I loved to run my fingers in the dirt sifting it and loosening it. Every once in a while a worm would wriggle through my fingers but I didn't pay them much attention. I would pick out the rocks and look for interesting ones, throwing the bigger ones over the fence to the "snake pit."
I was very fortunate to grow up in a place that had a back yard, especially since it bordered a small copse of trees, a little wilderness that my brother and I made our own.
There is even pleasure to be found in being sick sometimes. When my head is muzzy and my body aches I tend to slow down and enjoy hot soup and tea.
Just took out the doggy and felt the cold cement on my feet and got to feel the winter breeze and smell the fresh outdoors.
It would be nice to spend life discovering things. Not striving to fill up a home full of fashionable stuff but to fill it with interesting, comfortable things that mean something. I try to go through and clear out my home of meaningless things when I can, that's a satisfying chore for me. I think people feel like there homes need to be really clean and they probably do a better job than I do cleaning things up but I feel a little bit stressed out when I focus too much on having things spic and span. Better to have a semi tidy house and feel more relaxed than an overly tidy house that you've had to spend all your free time to clean.
I think that it would be fun to have a little company that made a box of interesting stuff for people to order. I know there's "Woot" or whatever it is but a lot of that stuff is just crap. We went wandering around in Midvale and Heber on Friday looking through consignment stores, thrift shops and antique stores. This was really the best therapy for me, I needed a break from the mundane work week.
Is there something else that I can do with my time that will be satisfying and fulfilling and still earn me enough money to pay the bills and put away for retirement?
It's ironic that we are urged to find that kind of work in this day and age when we theoretically have less of a burden of work as our ancestors (we don't have to wash our clothes by hand etc.) I feel that we are so lonely and out of touch. My grandmother lived with her parents with her husband when they first got married and she would spend her day working side by side with her mother. They would sit at night and talk, her Dad would play the banjo and everyone would sing. We've lost so much of that, it's so sad to me but I'm not sure how to fix it.
I discovered (again) a truth about my inner psyche, a little secret. This is something I know about myself but don't know how to mend.
I remember walking through the mall with my father when I was around 10 or 11 around Christmas time. The mall was a popular venue for performers to come out and show off their talents. We encountered a group of talented violinists and there was one near my age. My Dad pointed out how talented she was and made it a point to wait around to talk to her and her father after the performance (he likes to point out other people's talents). Somehow I got the impression that I was lacking, that I needed to be talented at something in order to be worthy of attention. That's stuck with me and I think that I've been picking at myself for a long time. I don't allow myself to feel good enough, and diminish my contributions to things because of that. I also drop things sometimes because I don't think I can be good enough at them.
Anyway those are my rambling thoughts tonight, I couldn't sleep until I jotted them down.
SG
For more memories visit this blog post "Wishes and Memories"
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