I woke early this morning but then thought it’s Sunday and a three day weekend, so just a little bit more.  I fell into a dream that when I woke I thought my mother was alive.  She was alive in the dream and so with me, and I feel her here now.  Love.  Support.

We bought this house in 1978.  It was meant to be temporary.  We both moved a great deal as children, and thought that was how life should be.  Every few years, a new home, a new place, but then, we settled in and saw how wonderful it was to see our children’s friends grow into adults, to know long-term friendship and support.  And, now, we’re getting older.  We need to move.  Yesterday I walked with a friend of 47 years at Rodeo Beach and we both agreed we want and need to live near our children.  It’s time.  Which brings me to the task of what it is to downsize. 

In The New Yorker this week is a cartoon I cut out to put on my fridge.  A couple is standing in front of their house looking at a Storage Pod container.  The caption is “They grow up so fast – remember when it was just a little junk drawer?”

I think of vases.  I have every size and color of vases.  I love each one.  Which ones are now released to travel out into new worlds?  This morning’s dream supports me.  My mother is here.   Everything is here, and I’m full as I begin the task of spreading my wings, after cleaning each feather – and yes, I have a collection of feathers,  rocks, and I’m full with the space for breath.  I am a multitude, and as a multitude, I move along in the journey of breath becoming air.