Our cupboards and shelves are groaning with a surfeit of plates and kitchen supplies. Most of the dishes I brought into this marriage are still in moving boxes in that kluge of a middle bedroom. The Relief Society president sent out an email on Saturday: a sister is moving, and two brothers are moving out on their own.
Exit two sets of dinner plates, two sets of salad plates, two sets of cereal bowls, two sets of dessert bowls, a large and a small plastic mixing/measuring cup, a medium and a small crockpot. Also two sets of flatware in Ziploc bags and marked for their intended recipients: the sister’s is as closely matched as I could make it; the guys’ makes the word eclectic a wild understatement.
The leftover bits of flatware have gone into the newest, generic donate-to-charity bag, as they consist only of knives and forks. I still have plenty of Corelle dishes in which to nuke leftovers, but the ranks have thinned considerably, and more will leave the next time there is a giving opportunity.
I have been on the receiving end of charity many times since joining the Church (more particularly, while married to the children’s father). My condescension meter is hyper-vigilant as a result of those years of poverty; consequently, I am adamant about giving things that are still useful and attractive, things I would not be embarrassed to wear or to put on the table when company comes. I have used every one of the items which are going out the door, within the past two years. They are good, sturdy, attractive, and still have years of useful life.
I am still receiving charity, but this time it is less tangible: cards, notes, smiles in the hall at church and at work, hugs, phone calls. We all miss Beloved. His passing left a hole that can only be filled with many acts of kindness, both the ones I receive, and the ones I am able to give.
The book on grieving is beautifully written. I read it and weep, read a little more, weep some more, and it is good. It helps me to keep some balance between tasks/minutiae and the need to express my sorrow in healthy ways.
Knit did not happen yesterday, and Downton Abbey nearly undid me, but I slept like a rock and have written another handful of thank-you notes since the alarm went off. Now it is time to get ready for work. I am hoping for greater clarity of thought today and something approximating half of my former level of productivity. (The age of miracles has not passed, regarding the latter.)
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!