The Importance Of A Home

February 20, 2011 by  
Filed under Blog

I’m sitting outside in my yard drinking a cup of coffee.  I look at the trees and see them dancing to the tune of a Sunday breeze. The sun, not wanting to impose, caresses the pink flowers standing guard behind my Buddha fountain. It is a lovely crisp day.

I always refer to my house as my “Tara”.  In the classic film “Gone With The Wind” Scarlett O’Hara drew her strength from her plantation, Tara.  I’m sure, as it is with me, it wasn’t the structure of the house or its riches that made Scarlett endure anything and everything to save her house.  It was, as it is with me, because her house was her home.

A home can be a studio apartment or a mansion.

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Note to Self

June 4, 2009 by  
Filed under Blog

9:35 am June 4th 2009, 41 weeks and a half since my husband passed away. 

I’ve started cleaning up his office.  I’ve given his clothes away to family, friends and strangers and I’ve discarded the many bottles of drugs that he needed on a daily basis, but cleaning up his office feels like I’m raping a sacred site left behind by an old civilization.

Chris’ office was his sanctuary.  It was his place to be as messy as he was and to pile high whatever he felt like. 

Every note from every trip, restaurant, wine, spirits and music is in his office; his life’s work which to me are just memories of him.

I feel I have to start turning the space into something else but every move hurts so I give myself a half hour every so many days to walk into his office and go through his notes.  I end up throwing most of them out.  Not because they aren’t good but because their meaning and function ended with Chris’ passing.

His computer, I have been using since August 15th.  I wanted to let his friends and colleagues know.  That was the first line to cross.  Chris didn’t like anybody touching his computer.

I work on a PC, Chris worked on a MAC.  Every so often when I need to use Safari or Firefox to check out a site I go to his computer.  I now have documents and my history of searching in his computer. 

The only message I have left on my voice mail is from a day before he passed, when I was in my office with my nieces (my office is next to his) and he called my number because he could no longer get up from bed, and said “Deborah no one is to be on my computer.  I have too much work there.”

I tell myself “what am I supposed to do? Leave everything intact?”

It hits me hard the understanding that when we’re gone all that we cared so much about is eventually gone and all that is left is what we lived and had in our hearts and in the hearts of others.

Note to self: “when in doubt, remember the computer.”