of much ... Literally and metaphorically... a weekend that witnessed the passing of a daughter’s dwarf hamster. The news that followed of the same daughter getting to be accepted for admission to do her Masters, part time. The digression from the initial thoughts on subjects to study at the next advanced level of her interest in the spectrum of Austism from her current vocation ...
For me, in the rotten roots of a home that digressed from a palace, to a unimaginable scene of much. The layers peeling back like an onion, only the grit of determination and ruthlessness shows our attitude change. The baggage that laden, in that aftermath giving the prediction of change I fathomed, finally becoming more in the fruitful times of change. The fruition of thoughts that seemed endless in circles. The physical attack now of the muddle from this aftermath. The struggle now seen, from that aftermath in the more swift removal, that is being sifted through.
There is the stuff that takes a longer time ToDo ... I have pulled out the easy stuff to swiftly see some visual difference. This is an incentive to keep at it. I am now in countdown for a Mum sit time ... a sister postponed last years trip to spend time with my daughter. It now takes place in the forthcoming time.
These times away in different homes of many kinds; gives more of a sense of how the life running layouts in the routes and routines of the home within. The home will function more lucidly. This in turn will give a more lucrative life, the feeling that there is progress. The downsize of hobbies, some of these interests pouring into the virtual world, instead.
Although I still cannot resist the feel of the certain aspects of the sewing world. The books though have flown out the door in a steady stream. We loved our books. I now not so interested, the scars of having too much around still sees them taking up space, which irritates me ... in a way beyond words.
The interesting fact of living very differently, post hoarding. This fact observed that happens. I have seen the gradually change in not bothered so much either, with that periodically perpetual items required in replacement on the shopping list of supplies to run a home. I do without, where it can be so. There is more of an ease in making do when it is only yourself. The moans of others is now silent in this home, if something is not in place! Though in this, that now sounds so ironic now. Especially to those that forgot a family lived here in that time of bombardment.
It was those who did not really know us as people, separate to the hoarder. One a daughter, who wanted to study through to the still sometimes elitism of advanced study. The boundaries of class and obstruction of others that is so rife throughout history, it is not really that long since women were able to do this ... my maternal Auntie went against her parents roots in this matter of the woman's place was at home, to obtain her degree ...
And the other, a wife and Mother to step back out to retain the individuality, instilled from my family, a supportive husband too. The travelling once adored, marred with apprehension. The type of vocation once, where social interaction is paramount. The gift in time, since my Sunday school, Brownie Guide days; re-establishment in the mix of difference, in the foundations from this. The core of my skeleton too, in strong sports from this time. It gives me some glimmer of hope to know, despite some of the words said you cannot get to the past. This foundation of my own roots, is the strength instilled to bypass the long curving uphill struggles of the extra baggage in all forms, seen and not seen... for the continuation again on from these initial foundations ... on how I came to be; like we all are with our fundamental cradle to grave cycles of life. The very different and evolving eras in the many decades that pass in time .... that very special witness some of us get to see, in the passing millennia too ...
The specially marked school photos of 1999 and 2000 ... part of the endless mirage of a mixed up life. I have been back in the different years, months, days past. The times not only mentally difficult, the times the bruises and injuries from mishaps outside delayed the progress in straightening out the home. The paperwork not only following a death, the muddle of the bill disintegration to get the finances straightened back out.
The perpetual clean, tidy of all aspects of life back in fundamental routines. The fact a husband mentioned this phenomenon of these routines I kept. This is something we realise after the effect, the way he deteriorated in those subtle declines we don't notice til after ...
The interesting fact of living very differently, post hoarding. This fact observed that happens. I have seen the gradually change in not bothered so much either, with that periodically perpetual items required in replacement on the shopping list of supplies to run a home. I do without, where it can be so. There is more of an ease in making do when it is only yourself. The moans of others is now silent in this home, if something is not in place! Though in this, that now sounds so ironic now. Especially to those that forgot a family lived here in that time of bombardment.
It was those who did not really know us as people, separate to the hoarder. One a daughter, who wanted to study through to the still sometimes elitism of advanced study. The boundaries of class and obstruction of others that is so rife throughout history, it is not really that long since women were able to do this ... my maternal Auntie went against her parents roots in this matter of the woman's place was at home, to obtain her degree ...
And the other, a wife and Mother to step back out to retain the individuality, instilled from my family, a supportive husband too. The travelling once adored, marred with apprehension. The type of vocation once, where social interaction is paramount. The gift in time, since my Sunday school, Brownie Guide days; re-establishment in the mix of difference, in the foundations from this. The core of my skeleton too, in strong sports from this time. It gives me some glimmer of hope to know, despite some of the words said you cannot get to the past. This foundation of my own roots, is the strength instilled to bypass the long curving uphill struggles of the extra baggage in all forms, seen and not seen... for the continuation again on from these initial foundations ... on how I came to be; like we all are with our fundamental cradle to grave cycles of life. The very different and evolving eras in the many decades that pass in time .... that very special witness some of us get to see, in the passing millennia too ...
The specially marked school photos of 1999 and 2000 ... part of the endless mirage of a mixed up life. I have been back in the different years, months, days past. The times not only mentally difficult, the times the bruises and injuries from mishaps outside delayed the progress in straightening out the home. The paperwork not only following a death, the muddle of the bill disintegration to get the finances straightened back out.
The perpetual clean, tidy of all aspects of life back in fundamental routines. The fact a husband mentioned this phenomenon of these routines I kept. This is something we realise after the effect, the way he deteriorated in those subtle declines we don't notice til after ...
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