I’m realizing that I write more on my blog when I take time to be alone. Today is Memorial Day. I have no obligations to be anywhere. My older children took my younger children out for the afternoon. The house is quiet but for the clock ticking. Birds are singing outside. I have eaten an appropriate amount, neither too much nor too little, and it’s not time to cook the next meal yet. I’ve written and scheduled two blog posts. I wrote a bunch on Facebook last night. My body feels relaxed, not in pain, and my fingers are only mildly complaining of overuse typing. There is electric light to supplement the cloudy light from the windows. On the table sit two bouquets of flowers and a thriving plant that I’ve kept alive since Christmas. I sorted through papers on the piano room table. I threw out or re-homed a number of things. To “re-home” is to politely get rid of something by giving it away. My daughters left a few things here when they moved out. I found a snow globe with snowy owls in it, a pretty clear plastic bowl, and a royal blue stuffed fish. In the piano room was a stack of canvases from the art class three of my children took some years ago. I asked them to claim or get rid of them. By claim, I mean, put it in your own bedroom; I don’t want it out.

My last two children are relatively spoiled; they each have their own space to maintain, badly, as it happens. I periodically go in and bring out dishes or laundry or both. My personal home maintenance went down the drain when my husband died. We’ve been in survival mode for years. I’m glad that I can decide to get rid of some stuff. It means my brain is working again. Periodically I fall into grief, but more and more I can make decisions without curling into a ball. It feels good.