I have finally given away all my letterpress equipment.
People have asked why, but I don’t have a good answer. As I near 70, I had random thoughts of how David would deal with all of it if something happened to me. I also realized I was not as excited about getting out all the necessary accessories- ink, mineral spirits, type, paper, etc–to begin the process. And it was always messing up my kitchen.
So now I have order. My kitchen is clean and my second bedroom where I stored type and business supplies is once more a bedroom. We’ve set up bunkbeds for the grandchildren and a corner for me to sit and ponder: What’s Next?
I know I need to be creative. Write? Paint? Do calligraphy? Create handmade cards? Knit?
For now, I am going to simply sit.
The last few months have meant self care and mindfulness as I’ve worked through health issues. I am almost finished, aside from one last appointment. With nothing serious on the horizon, I’ve worked on inner issues– food, rest, and therapy.
And I’m planning a trip back to that beautiful place pictured above, my childhood home I’ve inherited. It’s not on the water, but close. I can hear ocean waves when I fall asleep. My breathing changes when I’m there. I call on the ancestors for guidance.
I am working on revising a poem I wrote about it:
I stumble on the sharp stone, my bare feet
unaccustomed to the pain of the gravel-filled road.
No summer feet yet, so I brace for another sting. The briny air,
glimpses of sailboats and farther off the sea.
I am drawn toward the dock and the rock, a massive testament
to weather and coastline. We’ve scratched our names on it,
climbed it, hidden behind it. And now I am here-staring across the water,
inhaling familiar smells. I think of learning to swim, missing a boyfriend,
chasing children, pushing a father in a wheelchair.
There’s nothing we can do, the doctors said. And I came here.
This place expects me, holds me, as I drift along a whispering shore, floating with the seagulls.
“You need to know that lovely places exist and you can go there, when things go wrong, and it’s a place of solace.”
― Charlotte Eriksson