Beginning to Feel At Home

I daresay it's a small step but an important one. I finally realized what the doctor ordered. I put up an Indian looking spread that instantaneously generated warmth to the drabby cream colored walls. It's amazing what an effect it had upon me. It reverberated the safety signals setting off an inner echoing: "Okay, you can write. It's safe now."

I'm a trooper but I'm tired of sticking it up. Plus, I guess I'm only human. Little Ivry wanted so badly to know what I was up to as I stuck the last of the cotton underneath the Styrofoam. (I don't want to mess around with the walls.) I wish I had the patience enough to tell why 'home' is so important - it's the little things that bring more order to the clutter around us. Plus a little lesson to the redhead wouldn't have hurt.

I wobbled back on my feet and told him to get to bed. He understood what that didn't mean to him at the given moment like all two year olds do!

I was hooked - from one spread to another another table, I felt mystified by this thing called 'home' - what else can I feel other than aiming to feel safe? Inside I'm still a panic bomb, but this spread really does it for me and now, I can perhaps find a friend around here - and then I won't feel so lonely.

Anybody else have experiences and/or advice on how they settled in and 'built' their home?

It's always fitting to hear such 'journey experiences.'

Books and Seagulls, a few Reminders, and My Left Foot

All morning long at the Western Penn Hospital, I hoped and prayed the ankle I twisted yesterday evening after missing the step while carrying Ivry's stroller wouldn't be fractured or broken. I've never sprained an ankle and never needed crutches. Until today. I hopped from room to room, from car to door, from the bathroom to Ivry.

In case you haven't noticed, we're right in the middle of unpacking our overseas shipping. There's nothing more comforting than filling up bookshelves with albums and listening to Ivry say, "Ani [I'm] a seagull," but not when your ankle is sprained. Not fun.

I thought a bit about seagulls. I wish I could fly like a seagull instead of propping my ankle with icepacks. It's such a debilitating feeling, reminding me of the post of "Writing in the Dark." This is one of those reminders that we never have that certainty or illusion of control. My mind thinks quicker than my left foot.

Words become lighter than air when I unpack all of Ivry's books and watch him silently turn the pages as if he's confirming the stories asking, "How do you say this in English?" and pointing to a bulldozer, digger. Signs of literacy. How comforting.

I believe in faith and hope and the spirit of being. But when I loose control, watch out. I become afraid and fear becomes my captive.

Two people who have deeply affected my life are no longer alive. I heard Luciano Pavoratti many times and read Madeline L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time a thousand times over. I no longer live in a comforting world.

Just for the record, I'm not such a great mom when I feel debilitated like this and especially when people I've never met personally enter and leave my life like this. Just like a twisted ankle, I become antsy and edgy especially when surrounded by thirty five unopened boxes. Ivry tries to understand my pain, but I am not such a great communicator as I have difficulty understanding these things myself.

Ivry wants to be in his own control flapping his arms, playing leapfrog with my body and I lie lethargic. It is times like these I turn to writing as an open voice hoping I won't feel under siege and turn to hear my prayers for a speedy recovery, for Haim to find a job, for getting through this period.

So I read Anne Lamot's Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. Every word she writes is faith and spirit. Books can be great friends. I'm glad I got mine. Now, I just need to work on my patience and take it "bird by bird."