Today being the official start of Fall, I have been in a major nesting mode since I woke up. Between bouts of writing, which tend to set off bouts of crying, I have been cleaning, washing, dusting, mopping and polishing up a storm. Also baking brownies and making soup. For some reason it is impossible for me to make soup for one. I have to make soup as if I were feeding an army, or at least a very hungry large group of people. It's a good thing that (1) I love soup and (2) one can freeze soup. I have a well-stocked freezer. Since I am still recuperating from a bout with the Major Mucks, this nesting mode has proceeded in phases, I clean a little, rest, wash the dishes while sitting down, drag my little fold-down chair to the bathroom and clean a bit more, rest and catch my breath, try to figure out how in heck to work the glue dispensing thingies I ordered for my new scrapbooks, write a bit, puff on my inhaler, finish cleaning the bathroom. Get the new bed linens out, rest a bit more. Feed the outside kits, check on the brownies. Put fresh bed linens on the bed, reveling in that wonderful, clean scent of lavender and roses. Curse a blue streak when Bella Bella Smokey Noella jumps on the bed before I finish making it, plunking her derriere on top of my garnet pleated silk pillows. She yawns, showing off her pointy pearly whites, not caring a whit about my rantings about her @#$! cat hair getting all over my beautiful pillows. She knows I have the sticky roller thingie I am obsessed with and shoots me feline dirty looks when I shoo her off the bed. Of course, she jumps right back on again, the minute I'm out of the bedroom. I go through the two stacks of books on my bedside table, muttering there are are entirely too many of them, but they are some of my favorites and I like seeing them there, they are like old friends waiting for me, so after a bit of rearranging, they stay. Puttering, it's good for the soul.
Tonight I will take a Falling In Love scented shower in my sparkling clean bathtub and then happily snooze in fresh sheets and pillowcases smelling of roses and lavender, the scent of brownies will hang in the air into tomorrow morning, when it will be replaced by the scent of lemon cake and freshly-made coffee. I realized the other night while writing in my journal that what I love most about my cocoon, what I have loved the most in all of the nests I have lived in, is the peace that envelops you the minute you walk in. In my parents' home, no matter what our financial situation was, we always found peace at home. In the midst of hell, we knew that once we got home the world would make sense again, if only for a little while. I was able to face dragons, because I knew eventually I'd get to go home. The end of the day was always welcome, because it meant returning home. I lost that peace for a long time. I craved that peace for what seemed an eternity, while I was not living on my own. Found it again when I moved into my cocoon. It is this peace that comes from my deepest core and memories of home that keeps me going on difficult days. Because I know that sucky as the day may be, it will be over with eventually and I will get to come home, to a very mouthy cat, jasmine and roses, twinkling candles and blessed, blessed peace.
This feeling was further reinforced when a few weeks ago I got together with one of my best friends, her Mom and my goddaughter (her second child). We met at her Mom's house, which is one of my all-time favorite places in the world. I have spent many happy hours in that house, where I have always felt welcomed, loved, safe. Drinking coffee, laughing ourselves silly and talking about any and all subjects. One of my favorite memories is of one of those nights we all coincided in that wonderful nest, there was company visiting from out of town, the "adults" were all talking in the living room, the "kids" (us) at the dining table talking up a storm. For some reason we got to talking about a rather risque subject, a male strip club (it was the days when Chippendale's was a new subject) and got a bit loud in the process, completely forgetting about the "grown ups" sitting just a few feet from us. Until we realized everyone had gotten really, really quiet and we were yelling names for a club we would open and me, of course, yelling "*&^!, we'll call it *&^!!" at the top of my lungs. For being an asthmatic, I have considerable lung power. I thought my friend's Mom's eyebrows would never fall back into place. We slunk out, heads hanging in shame. But a few weeks ago, when we got together I was reminded, yet again, come what may, friends, especially mine, will always be there for me. Being with my friend, her parents, her children who I tend to think of as mine, is like being home, back when the world made sense, if only for a little while. They are a little piece of what was once a very happy, safe, little world. Which got pretty well smashed to smithereens and it has taken me a LONG time to realize that yeah, it got broken, but I still have them in my life, I have my memories and, dang it, I can make myself a whole new world. You can't get stuck in the past because, no matter how happy it may have been, it's done, it's over, you have to move on. I tend to wallow. I may look like I am moving forward, but inside I am bitching the entire time, wanting to find that magic time travel machine and go back. Of course, were I able to do that, I would tell my young self: (1) He's never going to love you, you will never be blond enough, pretty enough or thin enough for him, you're going to make yourself miserable over someone who wouldn't give you the time of day, it is so NOT worth it, get over it, move on. Trust me, further down the road you will meet someone who, to your utter amazement, will love you as is, make you laugh, make you nuts at times, but will make you happy. Yes, he will eventually move to California after having a major row with you because you refuse to go with him, but you know this is the best for both of you and you will, oddly enough, remain friends. Please, please don't tell him he reminds you of a tall version of Barney Rubble, do bake him chocolate chip cookies with walnuts, he loves those. (2) Save money, save money, save money. (3) Life is going to majorly blow at times, but in the end, it will be good. You are going to be blessed with some truly amazing, creative, brilliant Fairy GodMothers, who will be there for you through thick and thin. They will inspire you to create, write, go fleaing, garden. They will help you find joy in life once more. One will gift you with the Most Beauteous Sleigh Bed Ever and give you healing hugs, one will introduce you into a magical world where tiny, wise beings live and go on most wondrous adventures, which you will record with her and her Companion and one will always remind you to Believe. They will all help you "go forth and live the life you have imagined." Even when you do not see the light at the end of the tunnel, trust me, it's there just around the corner. Loved ones you once thought lost forever will find their way back into your life. You are going to hold the Most Beautiful Baby Boy Ever in your arms and see his mother, who you love as your own, in his eyes.
You, my dear, are going to go through hell, but in the end you ARE going to be happy and, best of all, you will appreciate the joys and blessings in your life. As the President says, Forward!
Ah, I rambled again, didn't I? What I started to say before rambling on down the road was that we had such a good time we made a pact to do this once a month, get together. The first Saturday of the month. This time the meeting spot will be my house, we'll go to one of our favorite restaurants and then return to my nest for Cuban coffee and intelligent verbosities. Mind you, I am going to buy an espresso maker, one of those Cuban-coffee makers this week and practice, practice, practice. I used to be pretty good at making Cuban coffee, long ago and far away, being once mad for a guy who lived on the stuff. He always smelled so good, of cologne and freshly brewed espresso, a heady brew indeed. Working my wiles, I decided to become a master Cuban coffee maker and used my Dad as my guinea pig. He didn't sleep for weeks with all the coffee I had him taste! That romance, alas, didn't work out. We did go out once, it was funny that until we were actually on a date I didn't realize he talked incessantly ... about himself. One fake asthma attack later I was home, in my pajamas and having cafe con leche with my parents. Good grief, that was back in the 70s, before my rocker romance and move to L.A. That's a story for another time.
I have decided, come heck or high water, I am going to keep a positive attitude. Even when I am positive the world sucks. I will put on music and dance the blues away. Even if that means being on mega doses of Advil for days afterwards. Bought three beautiful scrapbooks, I am in love with them, all pink and ivory and rose-bedecked. They come already pretty much assembled, all you have to do is add photos and personalize as much as you like. God bless Anna Griffin, love, love, love my rosy scrapbooks!Whenever the snargles threaten, I will pull out my scrapbooks, text my friends, or read my favorite blogs, those being Rx for the Soul, The Silver Pen, Frances Schultz and, best for last, the Whimbles. They are Silver Linings in my life, just like my friends and my Most Marvelous Magical Fabulous Fairy GodMothers, always providing inspiration, joy and beauty. I have my sights set, my ducks in a row, time to go for that brass ring, although in my case it's platinum with diamonds scattered throughout. What can I say? I love my twinklies.
It has been raining here all day. I opened the blinds and watched the rain pour, it was lovely. For a change, I was home during the storms, Silver Lining indeed. Enough rambling for now, time to visit my beloved Whimbles, how I do love that world.
Until next time, be safe, be joyful, be loved.
