Redecorating, Does anyone speak Swedish?

I’m having an Ikea moment. My daughter and I spent considerable time there last weekend buying new stuff for the house. The smelly old sofa has been relegated to the computer room along with my husband’s big TV. No one is allowed in the new improved family room with food or drink, unless you’re a guest of course, and even then we’ll watch you carefully. I am resting in luxurious comfort on a new modern micro fiber sofa with my laptop perched where the manufacturer obviously intended it to be, in my lap. I hear the distant sound of Olympics from the other room but there is a tranquil clean feeling around me. No piles of newspapers, no plates, cans, or glasses, only peace and quiet and only a tiny bit of newly accumulated cat hair from the very fluffy cat lounging beside me. Oh well, can’t have everything.

I’m sharing this because I’m guessing that all of you think that when I don’t blog I’m up to mischief. Good guess, but this time I’m actually working. The house is coming together nicely, especially the lower floor where my daughter is making herself a grand space. She and the boy are calling it quits, although he doesn’t know it yet, and she is doing what she does to move on, redecorating. We all have our little vices. I will try to take pictures when it’s all accomplished.

Aside from the fact that I have so little time, I think I’m also suffering from Blog confusion. My two blogs, the one intended to be nice and the one that became naughty, have both blurred around the edges. Wordsonwater is still by and large nice, but in my most recent post I have made my sweet daughter in law feel bad about being so far away. With her being pregnant and all I didn’t actually know she had time to read it anymore, but she did and she made a comment that was almost as weepy as the original post. She sometimes reads this one too, and if she is, just let me say that I was being self indulgent and selfish to voice my feelings. I love her a lot and I miss her and my son, but most of all I hate that I’m going to miss the birth of my grandchild, his first smile, his first words. Regardless, I’m not sitting in Richmond twiddling my thumbs. Life is more than interesting and I have songs yet unsung.

My one regret about WordsonWaking is that the naughtiness has been sucked out of it. Now it is true that I started it as a weight loss blog, just for myself. The fact that it turned into something much more life altering than a diet is partially because of me and partially because of you, all of you, my close friends, those that stop by from time to time, those that read in secret, and those that only think they read in secret. I believe the first who found me made the most significant impact, but he only led me to a point, and then he wisely knew it was time to go. Witness will always be my knight in shinning armor, a man I love sight unseen. Others have taken his place as he grew and I grew, but well, I guess you never forget the first time.

Those of you who followed my “soap opera” (thanks for that perfect description M@) know the torment my soul went through during the year I spent taking off the weight, having the affair, and the on again, off again decision to leave my husband. I took your counsel so often when I had no one else to really turn to, no one who knew the whole story. When my husband discovered the man and my blog, I made the decision, right or wrong, to reconcile with him. For a long time after that I mourned the loss of my privacy. I still do sometimes, but I know it’s me, not him. I just need to be more honest and have the courage to say what I need to say. Perhaps it is not possible to be completely candid when you live with other people, but as Janis told us, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”

So I’ve worked my way back around to my sofa in my beautiful home that is not perfect, but suits me. It is very like me with its eclectic blend of things, both modern and inherited. The old fashion values are still surprisingly a part of me, and like the Martha Washington desk and the brass lamp from the 1930’s, they have no problem coexisting with my square steel frame sofa, the angular cone shaped reading lamp, or my contemporary ideas. Sometimes I have a struggle with a piece of furniture or a concept that simply does not fit into the confines of my chosen lifestyle and I have to make a decision. Do I toss it, give it away it, move it, or decorate around it? I did all of those things this year and I will continue to do so as the need arises.

One of the things I am not willing to toss yet are my WOW blogs, neither of them. I thought long and hard of creating a new secret site, one that would be by invitation only, but my husband has a sixth sense about secrets. He folds his arms over his chest and stares at me silently, with questions in his eyes. Now he is settled into his own little cluttered space, and as much as he hates change, he will come to love the spot. He would like it better if it had no windows and stayed at a steady 60 degrees, but until we build that underground house he knows he must make some compromise.

Someday soon I’m going to figure out what I really want to say here, but until then you will have to tolerate wistful, something a new friend told me I do well. The corners of my mouth turned up immediately at his analysis of my character. He was right of course, and I wonder if it is a function of age or if it has always been in me. Perhaps growing up in a small town is what filled me with yearning for things I did not have, places I could go. I know it always drives my actions and my writing, my relationship with my children and my husband, even my taste in food, clothing, and shelter. It also keeps me feeling and thinking, and perhaps even looking like someone several decades younger than I am. It’s the thing in me that says “sure, let’s go” when someone, usually my daughter, suggests an outrageous adventure. Our next will be in DC this weekend. I’ll keep you posted.