We got cracking on a big house purge this weekend. As I have stated several times before, our clutter is always threatening to take us down and muffle our screams. One of my biggest struggles has been with having a space at home where I can, when I am not bone tired, pull out the paints and suggest a craft project or where I can sort out the mounting photos we have in our midst, without feeling slightly sick afterwards, and worse still, determined never to do it again. Most of all, all this stuff was really starting to create barriers between us. Together we finally took a big bite out of all this, and slowly but surely over the weekend, some treasures were unearthed, tons of useless (to us) things were either given away or discarded and places to work and play and eat and sleep and put clothes away in and read books and wrestle became distinct entities again.
WifeMotherExpletive extended an invitation I could not refuse: " Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking" on the word, Real . real is what I always strive to be. in a hurry to be as real as possible, I've overlooked so much. I have denied myself things that would have helped me understand things better. real, but real for who? as I age, I want to be more real to me because I suspect that there will be many surprises. hard to believe that I will be surprised since I have lived with myself for 36 , going on 37 years, but I don't doubt it for one minute. Honesty is where I falter. I can achieve "real" (does it qualify as real if it is in quotation marks) but it may not be true. In general, I want things to be tied up in a package and smooth even it is too jagged to fit. I want this, I know that to be real, it cannot happen but I think true is what I need to really aim for. I know some things are tru...
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