Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Homes and Introversion

Sometimes I wonder where my obsession with comfort and dwelling and sensory crave for the texture of siding and floors comes from.  Home is such a loaded word and it doesn't always make sense that one goes there in search of people.  It's dubbed as the more noble use for the term.  But this introvert doesn't seek that.

As I crawled within myself this morning to face, rail against,  but eventually absorb the newest development in my life I breathed in the denim smell of my well - worn couch.  I felt the flat stitched seams brush my cheek and knew that this house was holding me.

When we first moved in I beat it.  I could throw a punch in an empty room with the hardy dry wall simply, silently blocking my move.  My sore knuckles found they were no match but the steady house was there.  Did four walls know why the place triggered my panic or stirred up my memories?  Probably no.  But they held their solid ground without flinch.

Did it feel sorry for the smells and the damage it had in store for me?  Of course not.  Because even if it had a heart that heart knew I needed the scrubbing,  the ripping and the pounding to find my way back to meaning, anyhow.

The sun shines through these windows.   And the pipes pump fresh washing water to reset ourselves after a campout.  The laundry spinning,  the dishwasher chugging,  and the food cooling at a monotonous hum.  I am held by the structure and home in my heart.

Monday, October 20, 2014

Still I rise, One of my favorite poems

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise. 

Friday, October 17, 2014

Front yard Fall foliage

My little guy was happy to pose with this fleeting color of the season.

Beauty is everywhere.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Speed Bumps on the road to finding yourself

I tried two possible titles in my head while thinking of this post.  One was 'Detours' on the path to finding yourself.  But in my pollyanish, hope for magic-type thinking I decided that there are no detours, or coincidences, just lessons on the way.  I will not count experiences or time during my life wasted.  I will search out what I learned.  So there are speedbumps, but the path is all a true one.

Call it a mid-life crisis (although I don't plan to die at 70) but a lot of brain, heart, and spiritual changes started for me in my mid 30's.  Now that I've been knee deep in it for a few years, I have climbed out a bit to view the changes and make some observations.  One of the things I learned at the beginning of that journey is the vulnerability to addiction or numbing that we have when we try to avoid pain.  And change is painful.  Or at least I was afraid it would be so I quickly sought out friends, experiences, and distractions in as large a measure as I could find to drown out the quiet urges of change and the beautiful stretching that was needed.

At the time I thought this *was* the change:  having new friends and exploring new topics.  Over the course of time as the newness wore off and life happened I realized the patterns I was repeating and the running I was doing in all those distractions.  Mercifully (and a little painfully) I am back at the same point on the outside looking in at those distractions, while missing them, also starkly facing the work on myself that is still here a year later.

It's painful but a cleansing sort of pain.  A courageous pain that says I am strong enough to grow, I am of enough worth to go through painful change, and I have potential to create value for the world around me.  This is what I want to believe, although I get discouraged.

I'm reading.  A LOT of reading.  And I've been mocked about my "book of the week" as admittedly many are of the self-help variety.  But while I don't subscribe to any one "Secret" or magical change antidote the multiple messages are coming together in my categorical mind and I'm vetting out the nuggets that my soul needs.  I *needed* to grow, I love (although fear) growing and I look forward to having peace about what good that enables my heart to do.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Art is Possible (in a tiny home)

I found an accent chair in a collection on chairish (cute, right?) and I've been thinking over the last week how one could design a whole room around a chair--seriously.  These things are like buttah! And I realized the connection between furniture as art and the tiny house movement I do love to follow and blog about.

ordering info

When I think about tiny house design I think about the wood I'd like on the wall or the placement of the fireplace because every object and every spot counts.  The tables, the colors, the placement of each functional item, is the ART of the tiny home.  Extra decorative objects are out of the question as is storage for some kind of rotating display.  When objects are pared down the significance and need to be useful of each greatly goes up.

I think it would be perfect right in place of that wicker chair.

One of my favorite features I'd draw into a small house design is a small but central wood burning stove.  The warmth is both real and symbolic and I like to have that central theme.  Every time I pictured this chair I fell in love with I pictured it in relation to my wood burning stove.  So that is where I see it.

Wouldn't it be bright and splashy in the glass walled room below?

How would you design a home or a room around a single object?  Leave me a comment and let me know.


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