Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Down the Road a Piece
The other day I took the first two volumes of my blog book off the shelf and leafed through them. Around this time last year, and for the whole rest of the winter, I was really in the shit, and I wanted to check the dates.
Browsing the entries, I imagine that I got through it just because there was no other alternative. It was keep on pushing, one foot in front of the other, or give up, and drop off the face of the earth. I've never been the driven type, but I did a pretty good imitation of it all last winter. For one thing, I was heating two houses and needed that to stop.
The good thing about it (or perhaps the worst thing about it) was that there was no time to reflect on what had happened, what was happening, and little time to grieve. I had my moments, usually while I was at the old house, taking my mother's life apart; but at the end of the day I was too tired for tears.
Throughout the spring, there were always things to keep me busy and my mind occupied. Unpacking to do, things to plant. I was in such a moving-forward state that it took a while to settle down, both in the house and in my head.
By now, life has calmed down to such an extent that some thoughts and feelings I probably should have had sooner are bubbling to the surface. I rarely get through an evening without tears. Although I'm flush with ideas, I seem to have lost my ambition. And another thing: I've been spending too much money on books and DVDs and gadgets. I understand now why, after her divorce from my father, my mother stopped painting and creating and instead started filling up the house with antiques and folk art and Disneyana and toys and dolls and literally anything cute that struck her fancy, until it was so full that there was just one path through what was no longer a home, but a museum.
She was doing it to fill up the empty spaces in her heart.