When the muses speak …
We returned home after lunch and the parade and for some reason I got the notion to tidy up the spare room. It could be because I went to get something dumped on the bed in our hasty unpacking two weeks ago and had to climb over four empty suitcases, several pairs of shoes, some laundry waiting for a sunnier day and a 40k bag of cat food clipped with a giant clothes peg left over from summer at the beach when towels must be clipped to chairs to keep from flying.
I began by surveying, getting a mental furniture rearrangement plan and proceeded to make a bigger mess in the middle of the floor. Athan must have felt the I Ching-like message, expect good outcome and began to pitch in. In order to move the bookshelves they had to be emptied and that really makes you look at what you save and what you stash because you have no idea what to do with it. We threw out bent nails and such and filled a recycle bin, a bag for the goodwill equivalent and saved the heavy box of left over IKEA bits (oh why?).
By the end of the day the room was ready for guests again. And while I dream of more storage space I remember my full locker in Toronto and know that I would only fill it. But with what? I want to stay nimble and clear. There is also room now between the bed and the bookcase for two yoga mats and this small space can warm up quickly. We have downloaded the CD by Ted Grand, founder of Moksha and Modo Hot Yoga, who we met in LA while visiting. Here we go!
Order, like a contagion, spread to the rest of the house and a simple rearrangement made an evening reading so pleasant with pauses to look around and say. This is good.
I’ve been waiting for a day promising breezes and sun to launder our traditional Greek hand embroidered white sheets. It’s a bit of a tricky task. Until then, I found a set of sheets in the cupboard fresh from the line before we left last fall. As I furled them up to spread them over the bed, I was delirious to find they were fragrant with sunshine and sea and memory of apricots and pomegranates. Dryers seem ridiculous in this part of the world and from a sensory aspect most undesirable. Hanging out laundry on breezy, sunny Greek days is Zen for me.
“You’re writing again!” says Athan as I read bits out loud. “I guess we had to clear the house.” “D’huh” think I. The muses don’t like a cluttered mind. …The Ceremony