Category Archives: Personal Life

The Big Clear

There has been a flurry of activity around our home lately. My E decided she was ready to shed some of the different lives she has led thus far, like Potterhead, Whovian, Runner (that’s Mazerunner for those without intimate knowledge on super fandoms,) and other kingdoms. In true Marie Kondo style, she parted with those things that did not spark joy and thanked them for their service. I have been waiting for this day for years and jumped in with gusto. Attempts to sell collectibles online were frustrating – a flashback to bags of beanie babies comes to mind. So the Vietnam Veterans of America were the recipients of our largesse. And what a mound it was.

This is not just fan stuff like little Flash figurines and spell books. Pounds of clothing, including shirts that say things like Expelliarmus, Geronimo, Girl Power, along with perfectly good pieces, outgrown in both body and spirit, were washed and bagged. Some plush, some pillows, that wavy mirror from IKEA, and lots of other fad and fashions that have outlived their usefulness here wound up on the pile. Whoever buys these will want them, and it will benefit a good cause at the same time.

While she was building her mountain, I rooted around in my garage for stuff to add. I did a lot of recycling, boxed books, adding camp and beach chairs not opened in years. The lot took up about a quarter of our generous driveway when pickup day arrived.

I was feeling refreshed until I opened the garage that night. I realized we had barely made a dent. Boxes still lined the walls, many of my drawers are still full, and a lot of books remained in E’s childhood bookcase that I passed down to her. And she had hit her limit on her clear-out state of mind. The window was closed until the next go-round which won’t be for a while. So I realized if we wanted to keep the momentum, it was my turn.

While E figured it was her past fandoms weighing down her future, my focus was first on paper. I have always been one to obsessively separate shred from recycle, removing addresses or names from each bit of junk mail to ensure nothing personal lands in the green bin. Unfortunately, this habit forces me to throw junk mail in a box until later or pile old files in my closet to wait for a rainy day – and those are pretty sparse in Southern California. Since I couldn’t walk into my closet to get to my filing drawer, this is what I did all weekend. Flash forward two days – the recycling bin is full, my shred bin runneth over, and my heart is full.

The next battle on the horizon is the kitchen. Too many of everything, fulfilling nothing except to take up cabinet space. Two sizes of water glasses fill a shelf where only the few in the front are used. The lower shelves bulge with pots, pans, and I don’t even remember what’s in the back. A tall pantry with deep shelves is both a blessing and a curse. Viewed now with clearer eyes, it all brings my past post about Living Life in Layers into real time and smacks me in the face.

I think a stay-cation is in order.

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Filed under Memoir, Personal Life

Momalotlife Part Deux

Change. It happens to everyone.
When I started this blog, I had a little girl who carried a pony purse and had a penchant for Geckos. Young E – no longer Little except to me – is moving slowly forward and I am left with cute stories of my pets. Don’t get me wrong, my cat womping on my head while I sleep just because he didn’t like the gel my hairdresser used…hysterical. But I have evolved from a harried mom to a middle aged boomer preparing to retire, who’s hobby is researching the best path to longevity. Hint: eat your veggies and move.

I think my focus has changed here.

It is still a momalotlife as my daughter and I do the dance that changes how we see each other. I am not the child to her caretaker yet and she still has bumpy daughter days. Hopefully and with blessings from the universe, the transition will continue to gift me with sweet notable moments. But the inevitable dance has begun.

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Filed under Memoir, Personal Life

In Search of my Well Lived life

Chick Corea. An off-handed song intro from the band’s drummer flipped a switch. Like a car that can do zero to sixty in remarkable time, a hollow memory became crowded with snapshots: an album cover, a turntable sitting on a makeshift entertainment center of milk cartons and shelving, and books, so many books.
I turned to my friend and said in disbelief “I’ve had a previous life!” We all have, she answered. She misread my meaning. We have all had different incarnations, styles, and even names such as daughter, student, performer, mom. But to be frank, my memory of times past is terrible. Joan Didion spoke of me when she said “I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be.” This torrent bubbled up from somewhere hidden away. While I was warmed by the fact it was still somewhere within me, I wasn’t prepared for the quake of its arrival.

She went back to the jazz performance and I went back to the show in my head. The music was soundtrack to the flood of memories of my years away at college that I had shed like snakeskin. The thoughts, ideas, the sheer joy of college life came along on the backs of scenes I hadn’t thought of in a very long time. Mornings of black coffee without the luxury of milk, nights of pub pool, and how egg drop soup can make a meal – all returning to me. And books by the likes of Hermann Hesse and Aldous Huxley alongside James Herriot and Douglas Adams, making just enough of a mix to ward off youthful pretense. The more serious mile markers of my reading life remain with me today and sit on my shelves offering warmth and comfort. But the actual memories of what surrounded me when they were shiny and fresh were dormant, and apparently waiting to startle me with a singular keyword.
Afterward, my friend asked if I enjoyed the show. I felt that was an understatement. Something had shifted in me. I had retrieved a part of my being, one that wasn’t just forgotten but indefinitely buried.

I felt like kissing the drummer.

Am I living the literal definition of losing one’s mind? No, I think it’s less nefarious than that and, like many baby boomers, I am unsettled by the fact that I am getting old. Somewhere along the line, we thought we were promised eternal youth and felt, no, we feel that continued good health, long lifespan, and access to every last memory is our real entitlement, all those fundamental rights to be pried from our grasp. By you and what army.

If all of my experiences total up to one true being, maybe like simple math, I need to find X to solve the narrative of what, and why, I am now before it permanently fades away. I can’t think of a better way of completing my own circle than by mining my past.
Oh, but fellow boomers, it’s time to face the music.

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Filed under Baby Boomer, Personal Life