You probably know how I love beginnings.
I've told you a million times that I love mornings... and new seasons... and birthdays... and earthy holidays....
Oh, those lovely, lovely possibilities.
Of course for January first, I had plans. Yet another soulful cleanse... a treasured New Beginning. Except that last minute, it wasn't to turn out that way. Unexpected guests, which meant a bit of rearranging, and not being Ready for the new year.
Well... no matter. It can be put off for the next day.
Except then there's something else.
And something else again.
And then again.
And then there's life, and muddling through... and then Transition began.
One minute I'm tied into a thousand knots, being very attached to certain ideas about myself and my life... this one of mine is something I've carried for years and years--it looks like the knowledge of 'I'm never going to the dentist again', and has all the fear, angst, anxiety, deep embarrassment and apprehension that that 'truth' would imply... and then the next day I've made an appointment.
It doesn't sound like a big deal, a dentist trip, but this is a big, BIG thing in my life. Tremendous amounts of ugh over this.
And soon enough I'm sitting in the dentist's chair... waiting.... alternating between trying not to cry (and embarrass myself further) and praying he doesn't -but pretty sure he will- suggest yanking all of my teeth out, and cracking up, thinking of the Penthouse magazines in the dentist office on Seinfeld.
Not a big deal to most, getting to that chair, as I've acknowledged, but a very definite Thing for me.
There are reasons. Shyness about such things, the copious amounts of money I imagined it would take to get everything in shipshape, being judged by people with bright, perfect, toothpaste smiles, the idea of being 45 and having people tisk tisk over me, and say "that one has to go, too!!" Shudder. Nightmare.
I about cried when it was over.
"Yeah... need to put two crowns here (on temp fillings that had long fallen out), one of 'em needs a root canal, and you have two small cavities. And you have to have a deep cleaning, to get the spurs of calcium outta there."
That was it.
That was it. Two small cavities, and a root canal on a ghost that I've been terrified of for ages.
Fourteen or so years... ten of them with so much embarrassment, shame, and terror (knowing I was never going again) that I've been sometimes immobilized, and that was the verdict.
Get this house clean. It's time for Imbolc.
And then Trevy is going through his transition.
You know the story of that, already.
And now, it's a week or since I've last written, and it's raining. It's been raining off and on for days.
I've had the front door open for more than milliseconds at a time.
The air is clean, and the land is being washed and purified.
My home is clean and shiny,
my babes are happy,
I have an appointment with a certain doctor in a few days to get some pretty, small, white fillings, and get some other teeth shined up.
Here you are, and you think you know all these absolutes about yourself... then all of a sudden, you've switched your life around.
You find yourself fixing cupboards (because you can actually take time to do it, as you're not overwhelmed by zillions of other things), taking your truck into the shop for new brakes, trying out homeschool P.E., and thinking "Yes!" to Kids Club again, planning showshoe fieldtrips and dates for the theater.
Loving life and being at ease...
and making room for all kinds of things that are Good.
There is thunder out there, tonight.
All is well.