This morning I heard the low, calming song of the morning dove when I took the girls out. It brought to mind the long, saturated green of lawns and trimmed fur trees of my childhood, endless peaceful summer evenings.
Blogging about my internal struggles proved to be a huge relief. I finished yesterday's blog and took the girls out. I felt liberated, exhausted, emptied out. Writing privately is cathartic, but public writing is emancipating. What I write in the open becomes public property, is no longer mine and I can view it from a much appreciated distance.
It requires a lot of practise, but the practise is useful, I think. There's a great deal of value to be found in the editing of oneself.
It's hard to transition out of, though. Yesterday's post: how childhood sexual abuse compounds the woes already associated with trouble getting pregnant. Today's post: cooking! But that's life, isn't it? It goes on and it catches us up in it; the grace of ordinary things.
So, along those lines I am trying out a new Sweet and Tangy Loose Beef BBQ recipe and the house is full of the smell of roasting meat (which is driving the dogs crazy). It has yet to fall apart though, and I'm getting a little nervous. It must fall apart soon, because only then is it seasoned, and then cooked for two to four hours more.
I'm also sorting through the paperwork that piles up so. I do have a file box already established, with hanging folders for exciting categories like "car insurance." I just procrastinate on putting them away. But at least I have one! It's a marvelous step up.
And Jenkins! Poor fellow experienced a serious internal condition which caused him to produce long, tangled skeins of thread instead of a nice, neat stitch. I fiddled and fiddled with the adjustments, but to no avail. I called Mom, she of the ancient and reliable Singer, and I fixed him!
Maybe tomorrow I'll go to the local library and get loads and loads of books.
