Thank God! I am home! I slept in my own bed last night. I ate real food for breakfast (not cheerios and non-fat milk)! I WILL lose the 4.4 lbs. I gained eating a low-fat, high-carb diet for 5 days. I will frame one or two of the paintings I got done. I will get over the horrible feeling I have from being surrounded by an alien world for 5 days.
I feel like Stuart Smalley, but I must tell myself: I am a grown, capable woman. I AM smart. I AM sober. I care about other people – not for what they can do for me, but because I care about the person inside. My children love me, and have their own lives. I believe in God – even where the rubber hits the road and it is inconvenient. I am a writer of icons (where we learn that brush strokes are outward signs of ego) labors of love and faith upon which you would never ever sign your name. I own a home that is lovely. Not fabulous, but lovely. No famous people come to my parties, and I like it like that. (Funny, some famous guy came to the party I attended on Thursday – the same day the newspaper called him the “social pariah of the Hamptons.” ha ha .)
I was a bit of a mess when I left town, and I was looking for a week away to give me some perspective on my life. I am not rested as I had hoped, but I DEFINITELY have some perspective. My life is good. My life is very good.
I’ve made many decisions in my life, and many of them have been bad. However, there are two that stand out as stellar: The decision, that came as a gift from God, that I had to stop drinking – and the decision, a few years before that, that I leave the eastern portion of the US and strike out for the west. I belong here. Thirty-six years of my life I have spent in this arid, crisp, sunshiney place.
When I was in the security line at LaGuardia yesterday, I looked at the man ahead of me in line and wanted to hug him. He had on a straw cowboy hat, a long, untucked shirt, a pair of wranglers that must have had a 36 inch inseam, boots that had actually seen some cow dung and dirt, and a permanently dark brown neck. I asked him – are you going to Denver? of course, the answer was yes. I thanked him for “looking normal.” He laughed, but I know he knew what I meant.
My daughter picked me up and I was so happy to get into her car and go home. Today she will pick me up again and we shall go to the farmer’s market for cucumbers. We are both making pickles. Well, I am open to whatever looks good at the market. But a day of canning just sounds like the antidote for what ails me right now.
I am so grateful for this life today.
Better is a dry morsel with quiet than a house full of feasting with strife. — Proverbs 17:1