Well, here I am. Yet again-relocated. Each time I’ve done this, whether city to city or continent to continent, I’ve taken less & less with me.
A question of emotionally letting go coupled with a practical sense of logistics.
There’ve always been a few non-negotiables that travelled with me no matter what. My seashell jar, collected during myriad travels over decades. My photo album, to keep people I love close by, if only figuratively. The necessary clothes & toiletries.
And, of course, my pooch du jour. Remy, Serena & now-Mica.
When circumstances upended my life, whether by choice or fateful intervention, I’ve always adjusted quickly & with a degree of flexibility that kept me moving forward with some sense of optimism. Like everything else, it gets harder with time to keep that stiff upper lip, especially when circumstances have truly been unprecedented, unexpected & completely out of your control.
The details of the last few years defy explanation, even for someone as chatty as I am. The story would make a great mini-series, entertaining to watch, but tougher to live through.
Beginning with a personal betrayal that led to losing just about everything. Deciding to return to France, when the government chose-after my visa was issued & my remaining belongings had been shipped-not to honor the legal promise of my carte de séjour renewal. To the arrival of the pandemic, & the ensuing musical chairs of where I could possibly live.
Talk about the Goddess of Random Fortunes. Through the kindness of an old acquaintance, I landed in Palm Beach. I was so battered by the criss-crossings, that all I could do was exhale for a while. Eventually, though, my love of being surrounded by beauty began to assert itself. The problem was, I had next to nothing with me. Much of what I had left was stuck in Europe.
I sat on the floor with Mica, and slowly began to decorate my white-walled surroundings in my minds’ eye with a collection of small cup hooks I’d always had to hang keys, the dog’s leash & such. I needed stuff on all these bare walls & color! I arranged groupings of my cup hooks in all the barest spots. Like the Rockettes prove, one lady kicking-no big deal. Two ladies kicking, people look up. Three or more ladies kicking & we all start clapping!
And so it was with my cup hooks. Where normally, I’d have hung one by the door, I now grouped at least 3 or 4 together for impact. As I moved through my studio, it started to look prettier & more like my home.
I hung everything I could find-pieces of jewelry, my camera, small pictures, dried flowers, my masks-not decorative, but Covid compliant & colorful, all Mica’s paraphernalia, live plant clippings that I refresh each week, baskets turned inside out, an embroidered hand towel.
When I had finished, I was decidedly happier, & not nearly so adrift from all that had happened. I inhaled those welcome, hopeful feelings I’d regained. Of exhilaration-not exhaustion. Of curiosity & interest, not dulled despair. Of being motivated & optimistic, not uninspired & upset.
Imagine that. Creating a bit of beauty & comfort from just a few cup hooks.
Everything has taken on a warmer perspective.
Of course, I’m still me, perennially outside the box.
…not one single hook was used for a cup!