I have two afflictions; hanging onto crap and being lousy at organizing. As I continue with my meditative and Buddhist practices, it's only natural to create a clear, simplistic space to live out my days. Have you ever been in a Buddhist temple or monastery? They are some of the tidiest places on Earth. Not just from a minimalist standpoint. Some of them are dripping in ornamentation. Even so, everything has a place and everything is in its place. The purpose behind keeping a tidy house is it supports a clear, still mind.
Ever notice how much better you feel after you clean house? Maybe not? I do. I feel energized. Yet at times I get overwhelmed getting a start on things.
Yesterday I paid a visit to my ex and my former home on Beacon Hill. We bought it together on Valentine's Day 2004. It's a 1918 Craftsman, which was once such a sweet, charming place. It was in better condition when we had renters in it. Now the hillside is overgrown with blackberry brambles. The second story deck and carport look as if they're going to crumble with rot. The basement is still a cluttered mess. Part of the clutter is on account of my belongings, most of which I took with me during my visit yesterday.
My intention for clearing things out was more of a longer term strategy to simplify my own life. Consolidate my crap, getting rid of what I no longer need. Well, I don't technically need any of it. The one thing I really wanted was a box of my dad's old family Super 8 film reels. On a few occasions I've awoken from bad dreams that these treasures had been water damaged in that basement. The plumbing needs to be replaced and we've had leaks on boxes down there before.
Those reels contain irreplaceable family footage my dad shot going as far back as the early '60s. My intention is to have the reels digitized and then make a short film for my mom before she leaves this world. Eureka! There they were in my ex's basement, dry and undamaged. I'm so incredibly grateful.
Part of me felt sad being at the house. Not because of a longing for it. I'm quite happy and content in the home I live in. Maybe this is purely my ego talking, I couldn't help feeling like I'm in some way responsible for him letting the house become run down.
Within the first year we bought it, we had the house repainted in farm colors; red exterior, white trim, mustard green doors and black accents. The home has about seven or eight forested park lots on either side of it; no direct neighbors. So we figured what the hell, why not be more expressive. It's really a cute house, it was, it could be again.
Living in that house I remember so much joy in my heart. Waking up each morning like it were Christmas day, a brilliant, exciting gift waiting to be unwrapped. I'd spring out of bed early, take my beloved Tido out to do his business, make a carafe of fresh ground French press and savor the morning with my little, furry white and black spotted buddy. Regardless of the state of my human relationship in that house at the time, I loved living there, the life we created there for ourselves and each other.
It's not my house nor my life anymore. My ex is responsible for his life. Even knowing this, I cannot help feeling like in some way he's worse off because of me. Like the home and grounds being in derelict condition represent an open wound that's still festering. This feels sad to me. My heart is heavy. I want my ex to be happy. I want him to live a good life.
He unearthed a picture of us with his brothers during our inaugural 2002 trip to San Pancho, Mexico, where we have a second home. I loved him and his family so much. I still do. I asked if I could have a copy of the picture. He handed me the framed picture and said I could keep it. I don't know that I will keep it framed and displayed in my home. I do cherish that time and the joys we once shared together.
As I continued to fall down the rabbit hole of my life's artifacts, I noticed I had saved a lot of correspondence. Among those items were cards, photos, unanswered letters and most egregious of all unanswered wedding invitations. While all my friends were getting married, I was barely making ends meet. Even so, in hindsight I'm sure a simple no on an RSVP card would have sufficed. I did find some letters and postcards I never sent. Before I judge myself as lazy, I want to first acknowledge I once lived a very full, active life. Only when I was a kid was I ever consistent with correspondence, until eventually that first BFF relationship fizzled out.
The more recent of those BFFs past is my high school partner in crime, and some of the most fun filled times of my life, Jeff. We have been "touch and go" for years. Meaning it may be years between contact. Contact is usually a written message, email, from one to the other and a reply, maybe a reply to a reply. I felt compelled to reach out, here's what I wrote him:
"Subject: Just want you to know ...
You've been on my mind as of late. Call it nostalgia or what you will. Regardless what each of us considers the other to be, I smile when you come to mind and want for your happiness. Most sincerely, B"
My greatest offense was clearly not writing more to my dad. I was really upset with him all those years ago. Perhaps not unlike the way in which he was upset with me. Maybe it all boils down to each of us having certain expectations of the other?
I still think on the time he ended the marriage with my mom as an era of great disappointment. Not that I wanted them to stay together in a loveless marriage. I wanted my parents to conduct themselves in a more respectable manner. My mom completely fell apart. My dad fell silent and contemptuous.
Combing through these artifacts has unearthed so much more than time for one post permits. Something has awakened inside of me. I was restless last night between 2:00 and 4:00 am. So much more to impart on another post ...
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