Searching For Some Kind Of Peace

This is where my peace lies. Sometimes it's the hallway and sometimes it's my bedroom when the bed is made and the yellow quilt  is smoothed out fine and the upper border is turned down a little. Sometimes it's my laundry room when the light is coming in and making the plants I have in there glow with the energy of photosynthesis. Sometimes it's my garden. Sometimes it's my porch. Sometimes it's the room with all the books- the library. 

But to be a place of peace, there has to be at least some sense of order, some surfaces that gleam instead of being covered with a skin of dust. And the ironic thing is- I hate to clean. 
I hate it with all my heart. 
Sometime last year we hired someone to come and clean or at least to come and get some of it done, making it less stressful and less work for me. 
It just didn't work out. She was very good at bathrooms, scrubbing tile and cleaning sinks and toilets and floors, but she didn't have the time to give us to get the things done that I wanted done. And honestly, her ideas of cleaning sort of clashed with mine and so, long story short, I am doing my own cleaning again which is to say- I don't give it the time to get things done either but that's another story. 

Today, I took a walk but I stayed in Lloyd where the chances of getting lost are pretty much nil. I took a picture of great, tall cabbage palm. 

It is the tallest thing in the picture. I have no idea how long it takes for a palm to achieve that sort of height. I imagine many, many years. 

The redbud is blooming. I took this picture of one in the yard of a neighbor down the street whom I have never met to my recollection. 

And yes- I did tinker with the light and color saturation on that one because it wasn't showing up the way it really looked and that is pretty darn close. Redbuds are often the first thing to bloom as spring begins to come in. I don't count camellias because they bloom all winter long. 

The fally down house is...well, falling down. 

It is almost melting into the ground like the Wicked Witch of the West when Dorothy threw a pail of water on her. 

They are clearing trees out of a very low area across from where the GDDG was built. 

And hey! It's for sale! Wanna buy some swampland in Florida? Step right up, going for a song. 
Seriously, what in hell are they going to do there? 

I'm having a moment this afternoon. Seems like everywhere I go they are destroying the earth, cutting down trees, scraping it bare down to the red, red clay to build more houses, more houses, more houses. 
I guess. Mr. Moon was talking to me on the phone the other day as he passed "our" Publix which is right by an exit off I-10 which makes it a quick, easy run for us here in Lloyd. Suddenly he said, "Oh my god! They have raped this place!" 
I drove by it a few days later and yes, they have. 

This brings such great sorrow to me and this is a time when I feel as if I cannot bear even another ounce of sorrow for what is going on all around me. And us. All around us. 

So I need a place of peace and that is my home, my yard, my garden. 
Today, after my walk, I decided that I would give the kitchen as good a cleaning as I could manage in the hours I had left in the day and I did. I barely scraped the surface but I managed to winnow a few things and scrub some counters and dust and oil the old kitchen hutch and the center island which is made of wood. And I pulled everything not rooted in there out into the hallway and swept and mopped. If I had any pride at all I would have mopped it a second time, and then, a third. It needed it. But I was tired. 
I am tired. 
Life right now is exhausting and I do not think that's going to change any time soon. 

I am finding it easier to winnow. I look at things that have been cluttering up my life for years which I may love dearly in some deep emotional way because of where they come from or the memories attached to them but everything feels so transient now, including life, that I just reach for whatever it is and either throw it away or put it in a box to give to the hospice resale store. 
Not enough, I assure you. My inner character has not changed overmuch. But I look at things and I think, "When was the last time you really, really looked at this? And what does looking at it make you feel? If I get rid of it, will I ever even remember it was there?"
Mostly not. 

Some things I cannot throw away. Things the grandchildren have made for us over the years. I do look at them. I do find pleasure in them. They will stay up. 

I need to go put the kitchen back together. I'm going to make clam spaghetti tonight which is the easiest thing on earth. I have greens from the garden soaking in the big white plastic bowl that I use for everything around here except for doing any sort of mixing in. I probably got it at the Dollar Tree or maybe someone left it here. Who knows? 

Not me. 
I feel as if I know nothing anymore. As if everything I took for granted like the Constitution, the rule of law, like freedom and justice for all (okay, maybe not that but it was a good goal), have all been blasted into smithereens. Like someone had an almighty big hand grenade and hurled it right into the capitol and stood back and laughed as things crumbled and all of our ideals bled a silent death. 

I'm just Ms. Cheerful, aren't I? 
Sorry. This is just how I feel right now. Perhaps tomorrow I will feel more optimistic. 

Love...Ms. Moon