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Wisdom Lesson Letters

“There are too many things that I want to do,” I say to my husband outside the shower he’s taking. He says, “Don’t you mean, need to do?” I think and I say, “No, I do mean ‘want to do’ ”. Sort out my conflicted feelings about my family. Or organize all of my kid’s kindergarten papers before first grade takes off at breakneck speed. Then my husband begins to offer up his suggestions for my time management.

They mean well, those men in our lives. They hear there’s a problem and they want to fix it. I cut him off before he suggests I should be more like his mother and schedule Fridays for grocery shopping. I say, “Why do you suppose my feet hurt all the time?” “I dunno”, he says and throws in the one- upper about his arthritic toes always hurting. I say, “Because I am always on my feet. I never sit down.” I am cleaning the kitchen, exercising, playing soccer with the kid, cleaning, doing laundry, or cooking yet another meal that makes more dishes. He actually wants to start accounting for my hours in a day and if I was making it all up when I said I’m free after one o’clock in the afternoon even though my kid gets one the bus at 8:30 AM. I raised my voice at this point.

His other aching toed foot went in his mouth when he said I might reclaim the “me time” I keep hoping for in 20 years from now. But by then I’ll probably have grandchildren to preoccupy my time. For real? And no fair. Being a caretaker doesn’t mean sacrificing your wanting soul on the pyre of eternity. Additionally, he admitted he thought writers spontaneously write when they feel the urge. I said no, the real writers block out the time to sit their rumps down and act like it’s a real job. Oh, he says.

Needless to say, I was mad at him today. Not snorting and stomping mad, but aggravated. Yet he is only echoing the asininities of generations of ignorants whose blanket statements I may be buying sometimes too. I could feel the lady wanting to protest. We hover, yet, when we take a night off, we get indignant that we’re met with such resistance and incompetence. No fair either.
I want to figure out what my wants are. These are aside and separate from what I have to or need to do. I might include in my list of wants that I want learn to type. Or devoid of the worry of what I’m giving up to do so, I might want to be able to work up to a 5 mile run or spend an afternoon writing or even watching movies. I might want to play in my house all day, decorating to my heart’s content, and then go to get my nails done, grabbing a mochaccino frappe latte from DD, and, on my return home, mess my nails up on a whim by digging in my garden. Impetuously moving plants around until my kid gets off the bus out in front of the house. And then I might want to hear about his day and feed him a snack. And I want peace in knowing that whatever I chose to do today was exactly what I needed to do.

Perseverance. Stubborn single-mindedness. That’s what I can be made of. Holding on until the knuckles whiten.  A first marriage that went on and on. Self definitions playing out beyond a comfortable exit.  A shop that was opened at exactly the wrong time but stayed open for a year and a half. We all are guilty of not seeing the exit signs. Enter a new beginning. Contrary to my expectations, my blog-gable life starts now.

But my site’s URL was Note the extra w and p at the end. The additional anxiety of fixing this was not what I’d envisioned, and paid too much for, as I began my life in the blog-asphere. Again I am indebted to an It guy. This round was Robin’s. He held my hand as we copied, checked, and did until my integrity was saved. is the address again. Although the passwords will be the death of me.

I find it funny how sometimes we just have to fight to be ourselves. As a child growing up with the name Shalagh (pronounced Shay-la), I had to fight to be me. Correct the authoritarians on the pronunciation of my name and essentially the address of me.  I did the same to my kid. Gave him a funny Irish name that will have him correcting people throughout his life. And establishing who he is in his own mind.

I had a dream last night that I had some presents, maybe x-mas presents, that got taken by a girl who had a sister. The sister didn’t know what was going on but I knew the other one had taken them. We searched everywhere and finally I asked her for them in a way that I hoped she’d know I’d forgive her. She brought them down from the upstairs. I was happier. Presents are otherwise known as gifts.  Among my gifts, writing and sharing my thoughts with the world. I have held back from sharing these and enjoying the outcome. And I may be ready to forgive myself for not getting here sooner. Meanwhile, I will build a palace from ashes.