I haven't posted in a while because goings on at mystic cedars have been a little fragmented. Some things are consistent.... Chickens are roaming the grounds and kids are showing up to feed them. Herbs are being cut and dried. I've been using the dehydrator for them but, I have to admit, I miss the sight and smell of herbs hanging in the corner to dry. Because I have such a quantity I will continue to use the machine but I am going to hang some for the aesthetic of it. Its salmonberry season so I have gathered a few bags to put in the freezer until baby sis wants to do a jelly making marathon again. While I remember my grandmothers making jams and jellies in hot kitchens on hot days , I have the luxury of being able to store fruits until a pleasant, cool day comes along. Same with soap. Wait for a nice cool day but not so cold I cant leave the doors open. I'm very fortunate to live in the PNW. That was reaffirmed recently when Jimmy's sister got married. The wedding was in Vegas. It was a very nice wedding. The bride was very thoughtful of her guests needs. But as lovely as it was I found myself seriously missing trees and....water. I have discovered that living in western Washington with our perfect water has spoiled me. No matter where I go ...everyone Else's water tastes, well, awful. I know their water is fine to drink but it doesn't matter, It still makes my nose crinkle . All the protections we have put in place are worth it to have fresh, sweet tap water on demand.
Part of the fragmentation is that I have been assisting Feral Jane with cleaning out her parents home. This has been a tough one. I grew up and grew to adulthood and middle age with that home always present and always consistent. I'm sure Jane got annoyed with me every time she tried to box something up and I screeched 'NOOOOO' . It took me a while to recognize that it wasn't the Christmas decorations I was trying to save but the security of what they represent. In the last 40 years, no matter where I have gone, what I have done, what kind of trouble I have gotten myself into that little red house has always been there as a stabilizing influence. Its changed over the years but not too much. The fence that I backed the car up on, when I was 17 (the grownups had to call a tow truck to get it off the fence) is long gone. But the mail box that I missed by inches is still there. The color of the bathroom has changed many times but the full length mirror is still showing my reflection. When I see the silver hair reflected back at me I also see the 15 year old in the blue eye shadow carefully primping in that mirror before a trip to Seattle. All the meals ever served in that kitchen are still lingering in my head. As well as the conversations at that table. That was where I expressed my woes, over coffee, while going through a divorce in my 30's. The dining room was where I got a take down lecture on letting my teen age son make own his choices about his future. The little red house is full of my joy, silliness, delusion, pain, grief, righteousness and embarrassment. Its also a place of making many decisions. Some of those decisions were really big like 'which path do I take now?" or 'how do I fix this monumental mess' But most of them were small 'do I want vinaigrette or thousand island dressing' 'Do I bring a jacket?' 'should I wear jeans or a dress?. And now that is all passing away. Over the last 8 months I have been through all the emotional phases over the end of an era and now I am left with simple gratitude. Not everyone gets the comfort and stability of the little red house. But I did. I had that grounding in an otherwise wild and sometimes turbulent life. It always held me in place, brought me back to center. I am grateful. And now I can help fill the boxes.
Part of the fragmentation is that I have been assisting Feral Jane with cleaning out her parents home. This has been a tough one. I grew up and grew to adulthood and middle age with that home always present and always consistent. I'm sure Jane got annoyed with me every time she tried to box something up and I screeched 'NOOOOO' . It took me a while to recognize that it wasn't the Christmas decorations I was trying to save but the security of what they represent. In the last 40 years, no matter where I have gone, what I have done, what kind of trouble I have gotten myself into that little red house has always been there as a stabilizing influence. Its changed over the years but not too much. The fence that I backed the car up on, when I was 17 (the grownups had to call a tow truck to get it off the fence) is long gone. But the mail box that I missed by inches is still there. The color of the bathroom has changed many times but the full length mirror is still showing my reflection. When I see the silver hair reflected back at me I also see the 15 year old in the blue eye shadow carefully primping in that mirror before a trip to Seattle. All the meals ever served in that kitchen are still lingering in my head. As well as the conversations at that table. That was where I expressed my woes, over coffee, while going through a divorce in my 30's. The dining room was where I got a take down lecture on letting my teen age son make own his choices about his future. The little red house is full of my joy, silliness, delusion, pain, grief, righteousness and embarrassment. Its also a place of making many decisions. Some of those decisions were really big like 'which path do I take now?" or 'how do I fix this monumental mess' But most of them were small 'do I want vinaigrette or thousand island dressing' 'Do I bring a jacket?' 'should I wear jeans or a dress?. And now that is all passing away. Over the last 8 months I have been through all the emotional phases over the end of an era and now I am left with simple gratitude. Not everyone gets the comfort and stability of the little red house. But I did. I had that grounding in an otherwise wild and sometimes turbulent life. It always held me in place, brought me back to center. I am grateful. And now I can help fill the boxes.
