Regret

I was looking through my dad's, my mom's, and my old photo boxes. My mom took lots and lots of photos. She wrote me frequent letters and always some photos of her life in Australia: holding baby crocs; eating fluffy worms on a trip to the bush; eating Christmas dinner in a sundress; trees with enormous flowers; and miles and miles of sandy beach. I never appreciated those letters. I was too busy with something to sit with them. Too preoccupied by my own "special" thoughts.

I'm listening to Ed Sheeran's love songs while I look at these photos and letters. Oh man, tears.
I have been looking at my life and what I would like to do, to see, to be. What would I regret if this was my last day on earth? I would regret not loving enough. I regret that now, today,  but hopefully I have time to live differently. I regret not telling my mom how wonderful her letters were, and what an awesome life she lived, and how she helped me be who I am, regardless of her circumstances, what a good mom she was, how hard she worked, and thanking her for her just being my mom. And I regret all the mean and nasty things I have said and done and not done to people because I didn't see love. I didn't know. I didn't know. And my mind explodes into regret of more and more. But it's all because I was ignorant (as in didn't know) that love was important. That praise and gratitude are what lead to love. I only ever needed to appreciate what was right in front of me. All of it. Appreciation would have lead to thankfulness and it would have led to love, simply because that's the way it is. It's a good thing it still works that way and will always work that way. Believe it or not.

May you love with all your heart!

Splurge worthy

I brought a beloved rug to the thrift store today. It was a beautiful leather shag rug. It was a splurge worthy purchase nearly 20 years ago. It moved from room to room finally landing in the bedroom in the basement. It wasn't always the best carpet to have. It was too heavy to haul outside. It had to be vacuumed. The dog loved rolling on it and squashing the newly vacuumed and fluffed up leather shag. It showed the white dog hairs. It wasn't particularly warm under the feet. Yet, it was beautiful and luxurious. As I've been clearing clutter and cleaning house and inspecting the room we have for guests, I noticed a musty smell. My basement isn't terribly musty ever because of a wood stove and rear entry basement so it's easy to air out. I smelled the rug. Oooh! We shook it outside in the snow and left it there for a day. I brought it upstairs into my office. Oh how lovely it is! But after two days the smell was still there and it appeared stronger upstairs. Baking soda didn't work. It was time to get rid of it. And I am hoping someone knows how to clear the musty smell or perhaps doesn't care if it smells a little if it's on a porch or at camp. I'm left with a bare floor and a tiny sheepskin under my feet. It was time to let go. I have such an appreciation for that rug. I realize that sometimes it is important to let go of even fine beloved things if they no longer serve. Let someone else have the small joy of a great find.

Work

I'm working. Working at the yoga studio. Teaching. Cleaning. Organizing.
I'm working. At home. De-cluttering. Cleaning. Organizing.
I think it's a spring thing for me. And for sure it's a mom passing away event as well.
It's amazing that work never ends. I do one thing and I see three more things to do.
My pace is slower right now. I've always been more of a stamina person than one who goes in spurts or sprints.
Eons ago I did some running. I could run long and slow and keep on going. I like doing things that way. I don't even like to walk fast anymore. I like to mosy. I hope mosy is a word.

I have a lot of things for a small house so organization is key in having neatness and finding things when you want them. My mom used to say that she couldn't truly relax until she had undone things done. Now I know why she was stressed a lot when I was a kid. In the last 25 years or so she really had things in order. She knew how to relax. But never until her chores were done. Every morning her bed was made. She had the same breakfast at the same time every day. There was a coffee time. A laundry day.

There is something to be said for that. Order in life. Hmmmm.

Dancing again

Yesterday I started to spontaneously dance. I had tried occasionally to dance to music but it felt stiff and forced. Then yesterday. I had music playing. Krishna Das chanting. And I lifted my feet and bounced around the kitchen and into the living room and back again. Wow! It felt like new growth. Spring had sprung. I shouted to Don that I'm dancing. I realized I hadn't danced for a long time. Dancing can be a barometer for how's it going. For joy. I felt so happy to have a fog lift. I can't quite tell how long I've been foggy. I didn't even know I was foggy.

I've come and gone to Montreal. It was rejuvenating. Good food. Good company. Good sleeps. Family. I learned some more French from Alice: a moi! encore! oh la la! voila! pomme, papillon. We did some Shoga (Yoga) and read books and played with play doh and colour coloured.

I feel a bit like I'm an alien spaceship. Hovering over the surface of the earth. No tether. If you saw the movie "Arrival" well I'm the ship. It is so odd not to have my mom be the first thing I think about in morning or last thing at night. Though I am still awed by her presence.

My life has changed and I'm not sure which way I'm going. I will soon, I'm sure.