Monday, March 21, 2011
A trip to the serious side...
Yesterday I was thinking about the tsunami waves washing over all those millions of lives last week. The ocean freaks me out anyway, even on a normal day. Waves make me feel so powerless with water crashing over me then tugging at my ankles as it rolls back out again. I know it probably won’t drag me away but I don’t really know where that power comes from or what keeps it from tugging just a little bit harder. Mostly I think about this when I’m in the ocean with my daughter. I grasp her little hand in mine but still I am aware how easily broken our connection could be. While it would be devastating to see the water sweep your home and possessions away, so many physical objects that seem to connect us to our lives, it is even more horrifying to think about losing a person you love. It is too painful to contemplate all the sadness in Japan. Even more painful is the way their sadness is so familiar, just like what we see all around the world over and over again.
It seemed like a good day to take on the mind-numbing closet-cleaning project. The closet in my daughter’s bedroom is a finished space under the eaves of our 1 ½ story house so it’s spacious but not spacious like the walk-in closets on HGTV shows with room to lay back on your chaise lounge while selecting an outfit. You can “walk in” to our closet, but in two steps your forehead will connect with the slope of the roof. There is, however, plenty of low space to pack away boxes of things that I rarely look at but cannot bear to part with. I am not one who lets go of anything easily. I spent hours going through piles of girls’ clothing, toys, my own clothes and the occasional object that I no longer want but can’t decide on the most responsible way to remove from my home. This is not an uplifting job because it reminds me of so much time passed. I wonder if I spent that time wisely, did I appreciate it. When my daughter fit into this size 6 swimsuit, did I take her swimming often enough? When I look at the toys I can remember purchasing almost every one and I remember how happily I anticipated Martha’s enjoyment and then I remember the reality of how she was actually afraid of the toy and kept hiding it in various spots around the house. So many objects come into my life and then eventually need to go back out again. There seems to be energy and emotion invested into every one and where does that energy go once I let go of the object?