Fourth day of rain here. I need to make room in my garage to get the car in so I can load boxes in comfort.
Last night, trying to get to sleep, my mind kept repeating,"I'm going to a new country! They all speak Spanish!" ... which didn't help much to quiet my mind. After all, I've been in a new country the last two years--the land of the single. The divorce, after 20 years of marriage, was not my idea. Leaving my beloved home of 20 years, well, that wasn't my idea either. This new country has not been a kind one.
The idea of home has always been so important to me. When I doodle I draw houses. I've had a reocurring bad dream, one I've had for 15 years, in which I decide to move from my home to another house I think will be better. It's in a whole new neighborhood and when I move in I realize that I want my old home back desperately. But I can't. New people have moved in. Now the dream is coming true. My relator says she's going to hire some mystic sort to come over and do some juju to break my connection with my home.
I've been feeding the birds again now that it's fall. It's one of the things I love most about looking out my kitchen window. They flit in, crossing ariel paths, knocking out seed that falls to a furry frenzy of chipmunks and squirrels. In the next few weeks it's going to an Old Country Buffet of seed in my backyard. The view out my kitchen window is the one that appears in my dreams.
Miz Boom Boom