Loose Leaf Notes

In order to come fully to the encounter with whatever gives ultimate meaning, in order to wrestle with the angel, one must be a free agent, not defined by another, or by cultural imperatives. – Marilyn Sewell, Cries of the Spirit   

These days, I’ve really been living in my home. Day after day, I experience all the comforts of home, and more and more, I feel the need to go out less and less.  Sometimes even a walk down our long driveway to get the mail can be put off for another day.

Recognizing the difference between solitude and isolation, I mark my calendar with things to do, but the markings spread out over each month and are mostly dates to play Scrabble, dates to hear and dance to bands I like, lunch or walks with a friend, health care appointments, and maybe a poetry reading I’ve been scheduled to do. Impromptu activities happen but don’t get written down, time with my grandsons, a conversation or memorable phone call, a bike ride or beach trip with my husband Joe.

Now that the pool swimming, gardening and mowing season has wound down, I find myself cleaning, sewing, reading and writing more. I continue to spend time cooking and eating luscious meals every day, blogging online, following the news, writing poems, watching movies or TV shows I like and soaking up the last of the sunlight on the porch with cup of tea in hand. I do more crossword puzzles, study quantum physics and listen to whole catalogues of music by my favorite songwriters (old or new).

This is so different. After raising two sons, helping to raise two grandsons and providing in-home foster care for a developmentally disabled individual for nine years, I’ve never had so much freedom. It’s a freedom to go from interest to interest and to embody where I live. But for me, this freedom comes with a lessening of interest in some social activities and a lessening of the stamina to attend them.

I miss the part time job I had for 15 years covering local events and writing features for our local paper. I was well suited to it, and it got me out-and-about and meeting people for interviews that I wouldn’t normally meet. I didn’t retire as much as I got “let go” when the paper changed hands, and then the budget was cut in the summer 2021. And now I have time on my  hands.

I remember asking my parents as they were aging, ‘what do you do all day?’ Now I ask myself. I don’t buy into the elder years being the best time of life. It has its pluses but also has loss. Instead of crossing things I want to do off my bucket list, I’m also crossing off things I don’t have to do.  For me, it’s not about living life to its fullest, it’s about living, and that means lots of maintenance, keeping things simple and being present for the small beauties and joys of life.

In a world that tends to define identity by what we do, I’m paring down to my essence. There’s nothing to distract me from the work of being me, allowing the changes, reviewing the sweet nostalgias and exploring the impact of how past traumas have shaped me. It’s time that feels like a luxury.

These past couple of years have been an adjustment, one that hasn’t always been comfortable. But yesterday, I heard myself say, ‘I’m starting to like this.” I have been marveling at my ability to adapt, to slow down, or to stay busy with what I choose to do.

I’ve been hearing my dad’s voice in my head. He was a homebody too, one who liked to say ‘my home is my castle.’  Mine is a cabin on three acres surrounded by woods. We have a pump for well water, a shed full of firewood, a freezer full of venison (thanks to Joe), a large garden and a few chickens.

I used to refer to my home as a humble country abode, but now I’m starting to see it as my castle. I’m rich in privacy. I’m rich in the natural world. I’m rich in all the things that money can’t buy. I’m home, and after living here for 30 years, twice as long as I lived in the house I grew up in, I’m happy to say it’s my favorite place to be.