I think it was (Amanda) Soule Mama who started a corners of my home theme. I like the idea, and the phrase. I think it’s a flickr group, but I haven’t joined. I get chastised enough for the amount of time I spend blogging. Which heralds in the far too easy to assume tidings of guilt. I was raised Catholic, after all. Actually, I was pondering guilt in general, and thinking of writing something in the Sunday Confessions theme, while sitting in a chair that I recently placed in the corner of what used to be the dining room, gazing at the photos on the far wall, and that led me to want to talk about the corners of my home. It’s all related. I find rearranging furniture and rooms to be quite cathartic. I’ve been participating in the office pool weight loss challenge and have only lost 5 pounds. My doctor suggested that I exercise at least 45 minutes, 5 days a week, and don’t eat anything after 5:30 p.m. I don’t even get home before 5:30, so this is not the easiest thing for me. My coworker, who is charting the group’s progress, also pointed out that his trend analysis shows that I won’t meet my goal. Nice of him, wasn’t it My life and lifestyle being what it is, I don’t want to give up watching TV. To compromise, the treadmill is now center stage in the dining room, along with my reading chair. From the treadmill I have an excellent view of the television. From the chair, I have a view of my photo wall. (It’s not hard to see which ones are within reach of a certain very busy and curious one-year-old.) Which brings me to the corners of my home. Like I said, all related (in a very convoluted way).
In my home there is a wall of photos. Photos of family and friends. Photos that bring back memories of life experiences. I see Pea Soup in bloom with number one. She is radiant. I see my brother, the young sailor with hopes and dreams of family and fatherhood, of happily ever after. A young man who lost hope. I see brothers and sisters, parents and grandparents. Children. I see myself in times of love before love went sour. Only three of the photos are new (Mr. Gadget’s kids, and my Boo, not visible in this image). The others span about forty years, between 1956 and 1996. I see a high school photo of my mother, a young beauty with hopes and dreams, so different from the woman I grew up with. I see a brother as an infant, an innocent babe with a sparkle in his eyes. Before life changed him. Changed us all, with its ripples. My heart cries for the people in these pictures, wishing none of them had ever suffered any pain. Wishing they could all have kept the sparkle, the twinkle, the effervescence of youth, of hope, of life, of love. Wishing all their best dreams had come true. “Life is pain, Princess.” That’s what the Dread Pirate Roberts said to Buttercup. He’s right, and it’s not all bad. Pain brings with it lessons. Lessons that open us up to the possibility of bigger and better things. Had my own path not been what it was, with all its bumps, bends, turns, and sorrows, I wouldn’t have my precious Boo. I can’t even imagine a life without him, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about the road that I have walked, if it meant I couldn’t have my Boo. But my heart still cries for the sorrows of the people I love. I wish that I could wish their sorrows away. I wish that I could rain love down on them.
