Author: ferylfiles

Today has been a really hard day. I have been so sad. I’ve not slept well all week so the filters are especially thin. My heart is bruised and battered; last night I woke myself up sobbing on a wet pillow. I dreamed of losing Bryan all over again. What does that have to do with being grateful about “home,” Becci? I’ll tell you.

Creating this home with Bryan, this comforting feeling of welcome, was something we worked at deliberately. It’s what made the pandemic bearable for us. It’s what makes folks enjoy their time here and cause them to delay their departure. It’s what made me do whatever was in my power to keep Bryan home and safe while he was sick, surrounded by the familiar, warm, and restful.

It’s also the place where I find refuge when my heart breaks over and over again. I’m thankful for home for all the beautiful memories and for the solace it offers when the painful memories come up too.

I may take a second bath today. It might just be one of those days again. I’m so thankful I can in this home we created.

Memories are a mixed bag. Some are uplifting and cheerful, warm and sweet. Others haunting and devastating. I know both are important and I should be grateful for them equally. It’s hard to be though. Sometimes the warm, sweet ones are even more painful than the devastating ones because there’s a longing to go back. At least with painful memories, there’s the relief that you’re no longer in that place and time. And what happens when they’re all mixed together, sweetness and pain, like most of life?

I’m thankful for the memories of people who have gone. Those are places I get to visit with them still. But memory is tricky and illusive and gently faded like a photograph left in the sun too long. Yes, I’m grateful for memories, but I’m also guarded about them. Stuck in memory means an avoidance of being here now. Perhaps, it’s best to visit briefly but not linger too long…

Silly that this listical has this as the singular and not the plural. A hobby. Just one hobby? Hmmm, well, that’s not how I roll. There are the obvious ones that most folks know about–baking, painting, gardening, photography, jewelry-making. But these aren’t the hobbies I’m going to discuss tonight. I’m grateful tonight for the weird little hobbies that I don’t share often, yet they bring me absolute joy. None of them are going to be money-making side-hustles and I think for that I love them even more.

I really enjoy going to antique stores, but not really with the purpose to shop or buy things. Oh sure, sometimes I do, but really I love to look at strange old stuff and then leave it there. I’m no longer in the “oh no this apartment is empty and feels unsettling, quick, fill it” stage of life. I’m in the “oh no this house is WAY too full and feels odd, get rid of stuff quick” era. If the arrangement of weird stuff is cool or curious or something is creepy and strange, I’ll take photos, but mostly I just like to soak it all in and even more so in the company of a friend.

Another hobby that I don’t really talk about much is, no matter the group setting, what I call Survivor Matchmaker. If everyone in this class/meeting/event suddenly got stranded Lost-style on a deserted island, how would people pair up and what would be the power dynamic? An overactive imagination doesn’t ALWAYS lead to anxiety, sometimes it leads to fun, bizarre stuff. Does this serve any purpose other than to entertain me and bring me immense hilarity? Nope. Not a bit.

I like to find faces in things like the patterns of tree bark, or bare branches in winter. Sometimes the knots in lumber have them. Sometimes I’ll find them in plaster or paint. I also enjoy making faces in pinch-pot vases. This is yet another place where my imagination serves to delight instead of disturb.

I promise I don’t have a jar of toenails or collect my cats’ whiskers and put them in tiny vases, not that there’s anything wrong with that if it’s your jam. I’m just saying, that’s not me. I hope you have quirky, weird little hobbies that absolutely delight you, too.

Oh I do love books and am so grateful for the worlds they transport me to, the new ways of thinking, the lives I immerse myself in. I have a number of books that are standouts. I’ve mentioned them in recent posts, but I’ll share a few more.

As a kid I loved Stephen King’s The Eyes of the Dragon and Devil on My Back by Monica Hughes. As a teenager and early 20-something, Judith McNaught and Jude Deveraux’s romance novels were IT, particularly Judith McNaught’s Perfect and Jude Deveraux’s Knight in Shining Armor. Perennial favorites include Steinbeck’s East of Eden, Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth, Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird.

I love romance novels because of the guaranteed happy endings. Things I would eschew in a film, I can more easily read like Thomas Harris’ treatment of Hannibal Lecter in Red Dragon, The Silence of the Lambs, and Hannibal. I don’t think I’ve read the fourth one…maybe later…

I’ve found in recent years it’s easier for me to read novels on the Libby app on my phone and have accomplished maybe close to 22 (plus or minus two) this year. I think it counts. 🙂 Regardless, I’m thankful for books and the portals to new dimensions they take me to.

Oh, bringing out the big guns today, huh? Well, let’s get to it. What am I going to say new about love? Probably not a lot. Still…I am so grateful for love–the show up and be consistent love, the matching of actions to words love, the gentle calm love, the vibrant passionate love, the tender touch love, the belly laugh love, the hold your hand while your world is crumbling love, the cook you a meal because you can’t love, the kind word love, the smile of encouragement love, the hug in the kitchen love, the conversations deep into the night love, the curious about your day love, the got your favorite ice cream love, the this reminded me of you text love, the tough conversations love, the persistent even when you don’t feel like you deserve it love.

I’m thankful for the love that continues even after the people I love have gone. I’m thankful for the love that breaks my heart over and over and over again because it means my heart has room for more love. And I’m so thankful that I still haven’t met every person I’m ever going to love in this life yet.