Fall has arrived, and with
it the Bazaar Season.
This year, there is only 1 Bazaar
happening.
I’m normally a very artistic
designer and crafter, but I did get the invite late (like maybe 2 weeks ago)
so, I didn’t have a lot of time to prepare.
Even if I did,
my enthusiasm level is at a very low spike.
Forcing enthusiasm doesn’t work
for me: I either {feel} it, or I don’t.
Feeling of any nature is
pretty “ify” at this point in my life.
I am trying.
I have a small cache of leftover
items in bins I can use this year, but I am adding a few new things; not
much, but some.
I am adding a couple plants,
so I thought I’d crochet a few pot holders for them:
I used to spend a lot of
time designing and crafting.
But everything, anymore,
happens in spurts.
And I have no idea
where my life is headed – what I want to do, continue to do, or if I just
want to say “bag it!” to everything, and start fresh with a whole new thing
completely.
I kinda-sorta hoped I’d find
out by joining clubs and groups things this year … but the demonrats went crazy
with covid-rouse-house detentions, and everything has been locked tight since
March.
That route has
been scrambled.
Indefinitely.
I don’t like to be told what
I can and cannot do by strangers, so I bucked the rules and jumped the line in
the sand. I got out pretty frequently all Spring and Summer – and I am invited
to Supper every other week by friends who are kind and generous to include me
in their family time.
They don’t like me to be
left alone – I appreciate that. They are good people. They are good friends.
But there has been no real
purpose in my life for 22 months.
No sense of direction in
spur-of-the-moment flights of fancy; my life is stuck on a hamster wheel I can’t
seem to escape.
No direction = no
enthusiasm.
I’m just going “with the
flow”, hoping something {catches} and gets my motor moving a little
quicker than the turtle pace I’ve been stuck in for 22 months.
Yes … I know a turtle’s pace
is better than no pace … but I miss the umph my life had before.
My wounded heart has been sorely
mistreated.
The slate has been wiped
clean as if 44 years of my life never mattered.
Only I notice
the fading smudges of the past.
Each loss carries its own
brand of grief with it.
I am battle fatigued.
The shorter days and the
early dusking of the season leaves me with too much time on my hands … and too
many competing thoughts that send my brain into overdrive.
There are no in-house distractions
to keep impish Grief from hurling my scattered thoughts into overthinking.
I’m trying to stay on top of
chores.
I have to rely on hired help
now for much of the ‘handy-man’ tasks.
Hired help can be tricky: it’s
not always cast in stone.
Replacing hired help can be
frustrating, overwhelming, and angering when you feel taken advantage of.
I am not a rich widow.
I am living on a very limited
budget.
Thankfully, I have good
friends: have I mentioned how thankful I am for my friends?
I AM – they are
the best!
A friend put me in contact
with a fella that does her windows for a reasonable fee … and he has agreed to
do my gutters also for a minimal tack-on price: I am scheduled for the end
of November, which is workable here in the PNW here I live.
I am thankful.
Bob’s spirit must have
thought I needed a good laugh, because I got one the other day.
I am still chuckling 😉
While I was laughing, my
thoughts were triggered to the outcomes of the concept behind the laughter
…
Though none of these people
are in my life, or in my home, anymore (for various reasons – those who have
been following my posts know the reasons): I am glad they were part of it
for the span of time, they were.
Knowing and loving Bob enriched
my life in ways I will never be able to articulate.
The staggering heartache
cannot alter that.
I regret nothing.
I would do it all again.
Exactly the same
way.
I was happy with the way my
life was.
Bob was happy with our life.
I am sorry the kids were
not.
I am sorry they always chose
alienation – the most recent, being their fascination and involvement with gender-bender
and socialism agendas.
As a mother and grandmother,
I love them.
Nothing can change that.
Ever.
As a Christian, I can’t
support their {ideals} because they are destructive concepts – not only to
themselves; but to humanity, in general.
Only they can change that.
And they are unwilling to do
so.
I can only respect their decision
to cut me out of their lives – which they finalized July 1st,
2020.
And so, this year, I am
throwing myself headlong into Autumn’s caress.
Hoping with everything in me
that I will be rewarded with a new life vibrant with color and filled with
mutual love and contentment.
I am trusting Elohim to know
where these loving hearts are in a world that has been turned on it’s ear with
the unleashed hate of Hell.
I am trusting Elohim to drop
at least 1 of those loving people in my life.
I am trusting myself to
recognize that happening.
I am trusting myself to
allow that happening to happen.
I am trusting the boundaries
I have set.
I am trusting 2021 will be a
very prosperous year in regards to the new life I am embarking on as a wayfaring
Solo Lobo, in the autumn of my life.
As 2020 begins to wind down,
to make room for the dawning of a new year, I am trusting I will learn to love
my new life with all the life I have left in me.
Winter is coming.
And with it, the promise of
rebirth.
