this house II: 81/365

from my kitchen window

from my kitchen window

It’s difficult for me to give voice to a lot of things but wanting to sell this house is not one of them. Yesterday’s post will not have surprised anyone in our family. Having lived in one place for twenty-five years, there’s always something, and these days, water must be falling from a ceiling to get my attention.

But there was something so sad about writing it down as a truth instead of complaining about it. 

I did used to love this house, but at some point it became ME against IT. If I were wiping off the counters, choosing fabric for new pillows, or putting new photos in old silver frames, I was giving up time I could be reading or writing. After all, there were also children to be tended.

What led me to something I didn’t know by way of a truth I already knew were Katrina’s words about it all being inseparable.

I will never separate my writing from my living or my living from the work of tending whatever is in front of me in the moment—the bread crumbs on the counter, a friend in need, the pink geranium’s falling petals, the words that arrive so slowly on the page. It is all one, as continuous as the dawn sky.

Putting yesterday’s words in front of me instead of just having the feeling inside me enabled me to see this truth in a different light. I can now address it. Writing the words and reading them over has changed the nature of the beast.

By disconnecting from the house, I subtracted instead of added. Today, in the back of my mind, I’ve been wondering if I want to change that.


 365 true things about me
why this daily practice

7 thoughts on “this house II: 81/365

  1. Cynthia… Your words stirred me to the challenge of wanting what I have…
    albiet a dusty world baked by the sun and far far from the green green mosses
    of ‘home’… it is what I have… to call home… at this time. from saudi with love xxx


  2. Cynthia, it’s true…these things that eat up our time when we’d rather be doing something else, whether it be writing, reading or anything other than the things that interfere, become the object of resentment. I know I live every day this way ’cause I never have time to write. We’re older and our priorities shift. The house, along with other things, become burdens and time-sucks and it feels more so with us being older with less time left to accomplish things. That’s how I see it, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy to change such big things as we try to pare down and figure out what it takes to achieve focus on what we want to be priorities.

    And I’ll tell you now that I finally got results—the past 2 1/2 weeks have been spent wondering whether or not I had cancer. About an hour ago I was given the news that the problem (which still exists) is at least benign, so it’s not the Big “C.” It’s still SOMEthing, but not that. What it accomplished in one positive way, is that it served as a catalyst in the way I approach the many “to do” things in my life. I’m hoping to be able to more easily discard those things that get in my way. Granted—a house is a VERY big thing to “discard,” but I do think it fits in that category.


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