The rainy weather has me wandering through the house, adjusting this cookbook, wiping that counter...the sky isn't really conducive to spring cleaning but the mood sits, tapping its toe with an impatience to have it done, already. And so...
An item, barely worn though, externally, you can't tell. A 7.5 pair of Hi-tec's that were used in a brief camp building project. Thus, hardly used but spattered with paint, red Georgia clay dust and a superficial tear in a toe from a close call with a knife. Still, quite useful and comfy for anyone who needs some knockabout footwear. Let me know if you are interested and I'll send them out.
Trooper asked yesterday about taking the library apart, removing books not needed and taking them to the used book store (where one hardly gets anything for them, frankly). At first the words had the sound of a buzzsaw. Get rid of books? One simply doesn't. But then I figured that the local library might use them and perhaps there are a few I could live without.
But it comes, again, to that halting point - I'd given up so very much when I gave up that marriage...half of those books, returned to him. Half the music, the better furniture...years of my life just...gone. And yet those things were packed carefully, shipped expensively, and without any of the cruel bitterness one sees far too often these days in failed marriages. And now, again, the surrender of my things. At least this request was not bookended, so to speak, with sorrow. More, a request to lighten the load that may have to be carried elsewhere.
How large a cabin might it take to hold all the things I treasure? And what treasure would I be willing to sacrifice if demanded? A second look at the spines and an acceptance that, yes, there are ones I could part with...
And then my hand falls to the leather sheathed journal, the photos inside of that glade wherein I wish the cabin existed now. How quickly could I divest myself of Things if it was existed? Drawings, dreams all contained therein. I walked that glade yesterday, imagining its shape and shawdow. But the dusk was coming, bringing rain, and we had to return to town.
No matter now much I want to return to that grassy haven, there are duties here...a guest room to prepare against visitors next week. Will the old friend stir in him, further, that desire for other pastures? Already he chafes at the work, the people. Not what he thought, not what he wanted...but options exist if he can be patient. Time for him to do his duty and watch for those options to ripen.
A few months...autumn, I think to myself. In the fall, my favorite season, anything might happen.