You mean personal growth? In a drawer? Yes. Here’s how.
In the far back of this drawer were several bundles of tableware that I had not so much as looked at in all the years I’ve lived here. Service for eight, plus an odd assortment of spoons and serving pieces. I decided to see if they were worth anything.
After appraisal, there was one lone spoon that was sterling silver, for which I got $33.00. That was nice. I let the rest go.
The next payoff came in my taking everything out of the drawer; thoroughly cleaning it all, plus the interior of the drawer itself. With the extra space, I did some happy re-arranging.
Now my life is not just cleaner, but lighter, and has more room. When we let go of what no longer serves us, even in small ways, we have more room, and that’s when we grow.
What have you been doing to allow more room for growth?
Growing up in a house with a very anxious mother wasn’t easy. It affected everything and everybody. While I understand as an adult why things were the way they were, it was difficult as a child living with someone who needed to control just about everything. I didn’t consciously know it then, but I longed for someone in the house I could just `be’ with … without intrusion, always accepting, always comforting, and who’d never give up a secret. And my dog became that someone.
When I was 5, my brother 9, our parents decided we were old enough to have a dog, so at Christmas they gave us a beautiful Boxer puppy. I don’t think either of us quite `got’ the concept of having a dog at Christmas when there were still so many other exciting presents to open and play with. But Tinkerbell, as she was named, was not to stay with us very long. Within a few months she developed epilepsy. I don’t remember seeing the seizures my mother described Tink having on the kitchen floor, with blood and foam spewed all over the room. Perhaps I willed myself to forget. There were no cures for epilepsy back then, and Tinkerbell’s only option was to be returned to spirit. I was so young, and hadn’t become very attached to her yet, I don’t think I completely understood what had happened.
Then our parents got another dog. She was sold to them as a Boxer, 6 months old. I recall my mother being so happy that she didn’t drool like other Boxers whose faces were pushed in. There was a reason for that … she wasn’t really a Boxer. At best, she was a Boxer/pit bull terrier mix. My obedience trainer, when he looked at my childhood photos of her, told me that she was pure, and that was how they bred American Pit Bull Terriers back then. It didn’t matter … she quickly became the best friend and confidante I longed for. Her name was Dutchess. My mom had `officially’ named her Dutchess Von Wiggles because she had a butt that was constantly in happy motion.
Dutch couldn’t sleep with me as she wasn’t allowed on the second floor, so I slept with her whenever I could downstairs. We watched TV together, me resting my head gently on her side; and we curled up in sleep on the living room floor. Dutchess learned all the tricks a dog learns, and loved to go for walks or play outside in the yard. I can honestly say, in a way that only a dog or animal lover would understand, she was everything to me … she was my best friend. I did have a human best friend – happily, I always had friends — and I had my big brother to play with and taunt, but Dutchess was different. She was just what I needed – another soul in the house that simply loved me straight out, no matter what. And I adored her for that.
When I was little, my parents would cover her eyes and ears and I would hide. Then they’d let her go … “Find Jeanne!!” And Dutchess would search every nook and cranny downstairs to see where I was hiding, just bursting into wiggling, wagging joy when she found me. What child doesn’t live for those moments? She made me feel safe in a childhood where feeling emotionally safe wasn’t easy. Dutch was the heart, soul, and embodiment of unconditional love. She was both my rock and my wings, my compass and stars; she was my comfort and confidante. She was one little girl’s very best friend.
* This story was originally posted in 2007, and has been edited and updated.
Finally! A bright, sunny day! We’ve had so much rain lately, and there hasn’t been much inspiration or sunshine to even go walking, let alone take pictures.
I grabbed the opportunity one dry morning and walked, admiring all my neighbors’ landscaping and planting efforts. These are my favorite photos among those I took.
There are a fair amount of gardeners here who know what they’re doing with perennials and shrubs. They plant creatively and with great timing so there is always something blooming throughout the summer. I consider this a true art.
What I also appreciate is the appearance of entire gardens growing wild, even though how these areas are planted, in most cases, was carefully planned.
I did a fair amount of gardening at the first house I moved into on this side of the state, almost entirely with annuals. Admittedly, it looked very pretty, and complemented many perennials already in place, but my humble efforts still left me in “aspiring gardener” status (in my opinion.)
Cheers to all the gardeners in my neighborhood and beyond for their contribution to making this world a lovelier place.
I saw this quote from Anne Lamott, and found myself pondering it a bit. it’s so true, and it would seem so easy to just step aside. If it were that easy, I suspect there’s be a whole lot more creative thinking going on in this world.
Speaking for myself, I let my creativity flow how I can, when I can, knowing full well that there are things inside me that want to be said, but not necessarily in words. I am always working on getting out of my own way, because I want to see what’s inside, too.
I love looking at all the fabulous art on Instagram because it inspires me. Then I wonder – because what I see is so amazing (and sometimes AI) – is it possible it also serves to intimidate me?
And I’m reading. I’m halfway through A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle, and I will return to it, but I needed something else. I’m starting Thinking Out Loud by Anna Quindlen. I picked this up at the big library book sale, and although it was written in 1993, Quindlen has a gift for always being timely and relevant. Plus I’ve read a few of her books in the past, currently own one. She’s a good bet.
It’s Memorial Day weekend. In part, I feel like I should be doing something other than what I’m doing, but I’m enjoying some peace, seeing my home shine a little more, writing, reading. Isn’t this the kind of freedom those before us gave their lives to give us? Hope your weekend is going great, too.
Home is such an important place. A place to just be yourself, to relax, a refuge, a place to foster growth, a cocoon of dreams, an inspiration of life, a place to heal, and so much more.
April is National Poetry Month, so I’m offering this lovely poem by Christopher Marlowe.
Song for A Little House
I’m glad our house is a little house, Not too tall nor too wide. I’m glad the hovering butterflies Feel free to come inside.
Our little house is a friendly house. It is not shy or vain; It gossips with the talking trees, And makes friends with the rain.
And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green Against our whited walls, And in the phlox, the courteous bees Are paying duty calls. – Christopher Marlowe
But home is not just the structure itself; it is also the place, the neighborhood, the city, the town. They’re all part of “home.” And so, a few more photos of my home, as spring comes slowly into bloom. Above, the trees, just beginning to green up, and their late afternoon shadows accompany me on my walk along the river to the bridge.
Looking north, life is just awakening from slumber. This sentinel, which has steadfastly looked over the river for the 19 years I’ve lived here and much longer, is now showing the most shy of buds.
Crossing the Delaware River to Pennsylvania, where the blush of green in the trees is heartening.
Forsythia in bloom around one of our many turn-of-the-century homes, with the Chestnut Hill B`n B just behind.
Home is where we walk, where we become, and who we are for however long we stay.
Still A Dreamer 
