I know.
I’m tinkering again.
I have felt for some time, that here in Las Cruces, in the Chihuahuan Desert, that the feather had finally drifted to the ground.
And so it seems that it or I, am no longer adrift. Perhaps it’s deeper than coming to find a new dwelling place. Perhaps, it’s got to do with comfort in my own skin at last, in my own thinking and conclusions about the world around me.
I strive mightily, at least at times, to search for the truth about things and then to call it as it seems to be to be. I’m not always right of course, because I am that mass of experiences, predilections, and genetics that push me to see the world in my own unique way, and that is not always objective reality–whatever the hell that might be.
I’m quite aware that reality is easier or harder to accept depending how deep in the mud you are with it. It’s far easier to pontificate about things that I’m not directly involved with than it is to grapple with the surging riptides that assault one would appear to be a clear right/wrong opinion.
Whatever, I shall keep carrying on, for I am compelled to state what I think regardless of its actual merits or lack of same, and you are free to comment, call me a fool, a seer, or something in between.
It’s been a long hard slog, this moving business. It’s taken longer than I would have thought, been easier in the doing, and shocking in its breadth in the looking back. I’m at the point of setting up the library now, the thing I left to the last (though we haven’t touched the landscaping yet), and I have finished phase I, which is the cataloging. Four hundred and forty-nine to be exact, but whose counting. Had I not sold off nearly double that some years ago, well you can imagine what I would be going through!
It’s sad in some respects and I feel rather guilty in others that moving here has been like breathing new life into an aging hen. Once fit only for the stew pot, I’m walking with a definite kick to my step as I traverse the foothills each morning. Today, I tried water aerobics at the pool, and fell in love with it. Not exercise to me, it will be a regular feature in my weekly routine.
I feel both sad and guilty at this, because it points out to me, that emotions play a far deeper role in me that I would like. Try as I might, my mind could not overcome my depression that living in the meadow had pushed me to. That is a sobering thought. So is the fact that the love of a good man was also not enough to satisfy me.
Thankfully, he was the bigger “human” and gratefully tells all, “she shared the meadow with me for twelve wonderful years. It’s the least I can do to share her dream now.”
I cannot tell you what it means to have that kind of love holding you up. I can only hope I can return it as fully. He would say that I do, but of course I doubt that.
Sorry to turn so introspective, maudlin, or boring.
I also owe all of you a debt of gratitude for your unwavering support though all this. You have been kind, funny, and supportive. Your blogs, those of you who have them, have lifted me up and sustained me through the past difficult months. You have reminded me of how lucky I am, and you have made me laugh, and amazed me again and again with your intelligence and gifts.
So I have morphed into whatever comes after the feather, perhaps into some inquisitive road runner, or the jack rabbits I see frequently in the mornings. I know we have much to explore, expound upon, and laugh about.
Shall we continue?
By the way, has Michele Bachmann lost the last marble in her squirrely head? LOL. See? Same old me!
Existential Ennui 