I feel a change coming on

winds of change

I’ve been feeling restless lately, like  things are changing in my world and I’m not keeping pace.  My new best friend and beautiful boss is leaving the magazine she began a year ago and hired me to come along. It was a delightful ride most of the time.

I’m pretty distraught about that and in need of a diversion. Maybe I should rethink my goals.

My main one – other than cutting that damn walnut tree which keeps coming back from the roots and poisoning my phlox,  is to update my small 135 year old cottage.  I looked around the other day through the eye’s of my five year old grandchild (who hasn’t been born and probably never will be).


All I saw was a musty ole “little ole lady house” with too much stuff showing.  (The quickest way to date yourself is to have a box of Kleenex beside your easy chair  and prescription bottles on the counter. ) I can see myself sipping tea out of my best china and talking to my stuffed animals in my near future.

Looking around my house I feel like I need to go out and buy a box of Depends.  I need a big change to get me out of this funk – major change like moving to New Orleans – no wait much too hot.  Maybe I’ll move to Montreal and watch the BBC on television.

On second thought,  I do love my community and my friends, if not my house.  Reminds me of a marriage.  I was so in love with it when I first moved back to Mississippi and renovated it down to the hardwood floors.  But over the years, the cozy familiarity has turned into indifference.  So rather than divorcing it, I’m going to change it.  (Please note that didn’t work with my husband either but hope floats.)

I think I’ll sell everything in my house and start over.  I’ll chuck it all……Here I go…chuck, chuck, chuck.  But wait, already I can see there must be several exceptions.

my bedroom 018

Can I toss my antique bed which was covered in dirt dauber nests when I picked it up behind a warehouse in Macon more than 40 years ago. I had it refinished and I’ve read lots of great murder mysteries in that bed. I’ve sat in it with my journal and dreamed away the early morning hours.

And what about Mama Lee’s settee which sat by her fireplace for a century before I inherited it.  It’s been recovered a million times.

mam Lee's settee 024my bedroom 022

Ditto for the old oak armoire which was in the house when I bought it.  The seller was loading up all this Danish modern furniture like it was the most valuable stuff in the world.

I asked about the armoire.  He said “That ole thing? Just throw it out.”  Indeed.  It now holds my jeans and t-shirts – in other words, my entire wardrobe.

I pity the fool that separates me from these old friends.

Reminds me of a poem by Ink Angel which in part reads:

The Wind of change

“She crept in as quiet as a whisper, rising up with the dawn, about to change the picture. She rattles around in the old empty barn; gathering a ball of hay as she goes on her way. Rising up to the rafters with all her force, the barns shakes down to its very core. She’s calm now, she slowly takes a sigh. Down she falls, hoisting up a small piece of yesterday’s newspaper, old news, spinning it, turning it upside down; it flaps against the wooden door and escapes out.

She whispers, my aim is to cleanse the earth; it’s been that way since my birth. Now gently blowing on her way she lives on to reign another day.”

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