A Light at the End of the Tunnel?

Well, we're here. I am now officially living in a mobile home park and the world hasn't ended. I am surrounded by mountains of boxes and possessions that need to be put away. This place is shabbier than it looked because of all of the previous owner's belongings. The carpet is not as new as it appeared, the floors in the bathrooms and kitchen will definitely need to be replaced sooner and not later, and the kicker is: no funds to do so.

In spite of my whining about inconsequential things like flooring, I have a home - a place to lay my head at night. I just caught a look at my dog, Katie, who's laying at my feet, sound asleep. She has her head laying on one of her "babies," (stuffed animal toy) using it as a pillow. When I think about it, the two dogs are more fortunate than people living in Darfur and other areas of this world. They have a home, too.

All things in proper perspective and in due time.

Moving Day Approacheth

We're down to the last seven days. Friday and Saturday I cut myself loose from "things" that have been keeping me tied down; things that I thought I had to keep in order to keep my family and relatives presence near; things that have been in the family for decades; things I no longer want.

There is freedom in cutting oneself loose from the burden of being the keeper of "things." I hold in my heart the presence of those who gave me life and those before them. I want to be unencumbered of the things I have brought into my life that create a museum of treasures that were once purchased and handled by my family members. It's time.

I watched people buy my grandmother's and great-grandmother's things for a song. Let someone else enjoy them. I've had so many treasures that a lot have been packed away out of sight, only to be seen when a move occurs. What sort of caretaker have I been? A hoarder, basically. I have kept a few things that will go with me; my children have chosen a few things as well. but the majority of items have gone on to new homes to be viewed, handled and enjoyed.

Our treasures are not of this earth, they are in heaven, lest I forget.

Sabotage

I wonder how old I was when I began to sabotage myself. When did I decide to hide myself behind a nice layer of fat? When did I decide to hide behind a serious exterior? I waited until I was well into my fifties to lose 130 lbs., when the "bloom was off the rose." I never thought of this until now. I had a near-miss once, a near-fling and it scared the devil out of me (or should I say into me!). Was my inability to lose weight and keep it off a way to keep myself out of trouble? Was I that unsure of myself? Am I so shallow that I'd leap at the chance with another man? So I kept the fat around my body as insulation against making my body alluring?
Sabotage.

I became attractive again and the feeling was giddy except the only men looking were as old as dirt. Well, for the most part anyway...I was safe. I'm far from beautiful but I'm not exactly a wildebeest either. I have never learned to be sexy or to flirt. I'm very comfortable with men - in fact, I prefer the company of men to the majority of women. Men usually have more on their minds than their children. I know how that sounds but women are usually not intellectually stimulating. That sounds arrogant, haughty, and misogynistic.

I admit it's true and I learned it from my mother. She didn't have girlfriends. Her only feminine companionship were her employees, some of whom she cared for deeply, but she wasn't into the bonding thing. Life, for her, revolved around my dad and brother. Women bored her. And didn't I know it! I've had to learn to like the company of women. The women I worked with usually were very busy bashing their husbands (I don't play that game) or talking incessantly about their children (once in awhile is okay, but a break, please!) and I'd rather talk about world events and politics. Is it a wonder I don't have many friends??? Sabotage.

I read something today that gave me grief. I realized that I have lost so much of who I used to be. Where did I go and why did I leave? I was never the life of the party but I was always one to have a good time. I used to be daring and feckless, writing letters to friends, addressed to "Lusty Flesh and the Four Skins," a name I made up for the occasion. In high school we used to go to the old Long Beach Pike (where they had the old wooden roller coaster out right by the water), and go to the "freak show" and heckle the barkers. My folks would've freaked themselves had they known! It's also where the sailors hung out. I never went without my male cousins...I used to smoke cigars with them. Their dads were doctors and they were good kids. We never got drunk or smoked pot - just good Cubans.

I was always ready for fun. My girlfriends and I took three years of French and would go around Disneyland "speaking" French as though we were natives and pretended to be tourists. We always went home with our stomachs sore from constant laughing over the silly things we were always doing.

And then life interrupted. I allowed my life and the events therein to "sour me." If I keep it up, I'll be an old lady who frowns at little kids and terrifies puppies! Heaven forbid! I have got to go hunting for the old me, the one who found sick humor in just about everything. I want to be the 100 year old woman who whacks the crap out of the young kid who tries to rip off her purse but smiles at him while he's running away.