Returning Home

The first thing I did when I arrived home was take down the picture of Mrs. Winchester in my kitchen. Odd, I had not even brought all my bags in from the car yet and I felt the need to do that. I considered hanging my new $2.00 thrift shop find painting there, and tried it for a time, but I missed my clock too much and there wasn’t room for both. Perhaps I was feeling the need for some change. I’ve become a different person yet again…different from that person a year ago who hung that painting. I have yet to figure out who I am, though. I am going through an enormous transformation in my life, one where inner retrospection sounds hollowly within my soul.

This morning when I walked around the house, I felt a disconnect, as if some magical period of time had passed since I had been home and I could see things from a different perspective. There were rotten oranges in my bowl in the dining room, not even sure how long they have been there. Sewing projects strewn about, I can’t even remember what I was working on. Two unfinished drapes lay on the table, reminding me that we haven’t even had the opportunity to hang the finished ones yet. Where did the time go?

I walked outside, hoping to feel a bit of spring, but the wind howled discouragingly, keeping my motivation at bay. I took my chair cushions out of the plastic bags to let them air out in the breeze. I assessed the garden situation, and saw some crocuses and blue-eyed grass. I cared but I did not. Another season, another renewal, another spring. A chance for things to come alive again, I had been here before. The feeling of newness, a time to regroup, restart, look forward to a new year. But a shadow hangs over me now that I can’t quite shake off.

Daffodil

"I picked some daffodils for you," I said aloud, as I looked into the woods to gaze at the single bloom that unfurled among the winter leaves.

"Thank you, baby," I heard the words whisper by in the breeze.

The Absent BF

I think I will have to get used to the fact that having a BF is pretty much like having no BF, and is akin to having a dead husband.

So, I will sew a slipcover to pass the time!

Wine

Life would be so much easier right now if I could only have a glass of wine.

Expressions

I cannot speak
You cannot hear
My words are stifled
From your inability to listen

My expressions are confined
to within my own mind
All I can eke out is
We..will...never...make...it.

THE Words

I called Harbaughs about the radiators. He answered. Ray Harbaugh, the handsome looking guy who came to our house when we first moved here to service our radiators. He was recently widowed. His wife was a graphic designer, too, and she died of cancer.

I thought about him after Barrett died. I think I even looked for his wife's grave at the cemetery. I knew now how it was for him.

"Oh, I remember you guys." he said on the phone. "You're husband's name is Barrett, right?" Oh boy. I froze for a nanosecond. Here comes the words out loud. When I have to say it out loud it gives me a jolt, like I'm shocked all over again that it's really true.

"Well, he passed away." I replied. "It's been a year and a half already. I've been going crazy in this house all by myself."

"I'm sorry to hear that, " Ray said, and I knew he really meant it. He'll be coming up this afternoon to look at the radiators again. I'll be looking at him with a new perspective this time.

Now and Then

I was a cherished, loved wife to somebody. I have been demoted to a service slut.