My safe place, at last...

I just figured out why I find it so hard to leave home. I'll find any excuse not to actually head down the road. It's not that I don't want to travel around a bit more than I do. It's simply a matter of finally, finally, feeling fairly safe and unpressed right where I am.
     When I was a kid home was a scarey, unsafe place. I married people who were scarey, unsupportive and demanding as hell. (my choices, granted) and right now, aside from the fact that the area is rampant with thieves and vandals, I feel safer here in this little house than I ever have anywhere else.
     So, when a friend suggests a visit, as much as I'd love to go, I tend to find many things that suddenly need to be done around here. There's always many things to be done around here. Good grief. What's my problem.
     Maybe it won't be a problem now that I've figured out the big, fat why. I LOVE those big, fat whys.

A woman now, but not so long ago....

A friend came to visit yesterday. She was about 15 when I first met her. A cute and curious teen drawn into my shop to view the shiny things. She was, as my mother would have said, 'as bright as a button.' And yesterday she sat in my living room with her husband and their beautiful baby girl.

I'm more conscious now of the distinction between having and being a friend. I started this with the words, 'a friend came to visit'. I don't know if that is true. A young woman came to visit an old woman who is her friend. I suspect that I am, to her, more of a project. Someone you feel you must drop in on while you are home for a visit in summer.

As I made tea and chatted I made several statements that, while I can't recall what they were at present, were obviously unacceptable. The first two or three times I saw the look pass between this smart young couple and received a gentle nudge to a more modern way of thinking, to the right way of thinking, about matters quite inconsequential, I blundered on. That's what I do. Eventually, a wave of profound sadness mercifully shut me up.

The sadness I felt: it was the realization that I had been that young woman. Maybe not to that extent, I don't know. How would I know really. But the experience, I think, I hope, has softened me and ground down my opinionated edges. And while I'm grateful for the lessons, I'm resolved to be less accessible to some of my teachers.

She stopped by again today. She left a note. I wasn't home.

I didn't know that about me

Sitting at my desk this morning and saw a post van pull up out front. The mailman (yeah, I know, postal worker) was heading up my walk with a parcel. I went to the door, got the parcel and exchanged comments on the weather. 

Now, here's the thing...

My thoughts from the moment he put his first step on my walk were:

What the hell is this.

I didn't order anything.

Oh, great, did I click some link I shouldn't have.

It's probably the cell phone I ordered online, gave up on after a week and got at the store instead.

Now I'll have the hassel of sending whatever this is back.

yaddah yaddah yaddah

Actually it looks like it's something, perfectly legit, connected to the new TV/internet provider I signed up with a couple of days ago.

So today I'm pondering the flood of negative shit that streamed through my pea brain. Why didn't I assume something like, 'oh, who is sending me chocolates,' or at least 'what a mystery. I can hardly wait to see what this is.'

Hmmm.....

Wait til James sees this!

I've got this lovely neighbour who drops by and has a cup of tea now and then. You have to appreciate what the people in your life bring to the table, so to speak. James has taught me not to take criticism so seriously. Seriously. That's invaluable. I grew up in a family of eye rollers and I was the rollee, that being the person who was designated as the family screw-up. Eventually I found something to do with myself that folks outside the circle appreciated, my family rolled their eyes and sighed, and I carried on. 

Anyway, back to my neighbour. He could be family. I'm always doing something and he takes it upon himself to point out what's wrong with whatever I'm doing. But he isn't family and I, for a lot of reasons, think it's hilarious. The reasons are obvious I guess. He isn't family. I'm older than I was when I had contact with my family, and so on ad infinitum. Oh, yes. AND I call him out on his shit. 

James, to his credit, is not the least bit phased. He is, if anything, rather incredulous. When I was building the enclosure on the back door he stopped by on the afternoon I had put the trusses up. He was doing his expected inspection, found a shim in one corner and said, 'Ah ha, there it is.'  I kid you not.

It was so blatant that I had to say something. I was not feeling any old feelings, just fascinated really. I asked if he knew where the need came from to find something to criticize. He didn't know what I was talking about. I pointed out that he seemed to have been looking for a flaw to point out. Why else would he suddenly have gleefully exclaimed, 'Ah ha, there it is.' Bless his heart, he saw my point. I assured him I didn't mind, on the contrary, I'd found it helpful over the couple of years we'd been friends, in overcoming my old reactions to hypercriticism. We had a cup of tea. We talked. I value James.

Now, when I really screw something up I can hardly wait to share it with James. I've just made a complete hash of refinishing my bathtub. James is going to love that. I saw his car was in his driveway when I came by a while ago. Maybe I'll see if he wants to come over for dinner.