Reflecting

I’ve been quite reflective lately. April 22 was the 2nd anniversary of our move to Terre d’Esprit, and I have been thinking a lot about how we have changed. I mentioned that to Eileen yesterday, and she asked me how I felt that I have changed. I gushed for nearly the entire hour.

Remember the mouse post? The one where I found mouse poo in my kitchen drawers? And I freaked out? Now, mind you, I still don’t have much in my kitchen drawers (and what is in there is either washed first before using, or contained in mouseproof containers), but I feel like people have lived in that house for 85 years, and for probably over 80 of those years have been shared with generations of mice. I am relatively certain that nobody’s obituary has listed anything to do with mice as the cause of death.

I have always loved horses, and as a child I dreamt about having my own. Never did I think that I would be running a veritable breeding operation of livestock of any sort. Major and Lady have been busy lately, and hopefully this will be the first and last heat cycle this summer. The past few days Major has not come when I called him for his “dinner” and to come in for the evening, so I have had to go take the lead rope down to the bottom of the pasture and get him. I led Lady first, figuring that he would follow. I hadn’t counted on the fact that having him follow her puts in him in a very opportunistic position, no pun intended. I had to avoid being stampeded the past two evenings as they came into the barn. Let me tell you, it’s a little uncomfortable being around 2200 collective pounds of horny horseflesh. As I said, I hope the job gets done. But never, never did I mention myself on the other end of a leadrope while a mare was getting bred.

While I would never have considered myself superficial, I think that I have been just as interested in fashion and trends as the next person. I still admit to scanning the front covers of the tabloids as I stand in line at the supermarket checkout. I do watch “What Not to Wear” (and vigilantly check for hidden cameras when I go out to the barn in the morning). In the past I have been enticed by the cool toys the neighbors have had. Now, however, I take most of my pleasure from simple things. I have never been interested in, or any good at, photography. I can’t believe that it is me taking some of the pictures that I have taken at Terre d’Esprit. Truthfully, I just look through the lens and the photo takes itself. Nature yells and I just turn my head and snap the camera. It really isn’t my doing. What IS my doing, however, is the listening. I am not a good listener, and I think I have really turned into an excellent listener in the past couple of years. We look at the stars, we hang out in the hammock. And I wear clothes that don’t match out to the barn. I wear yellow rubber boots that look ridiculous with most things. And flannel, plaid jackets. And I don’t care.

Things are much more simpler, and I am finally starting to follow suit. I think we’ve used our good china once in the past couple of years. And you know, that is fine. I love it, and I keep it for good (which I said I’d never do), but it does convey a sense of complication, of pomp and circumstance, fussiness and frilliness. I don’t have an issue with that—and have loved that in the past—but I am seeking something simpler. Our meals are uncomplicated—things like cheese soup and pasta, lots of grilled food. Our everyday dishes are plain white—perfect for the job.

It’s not that I don’t like the fuss, or the complication, or the effort of those things. On the contrary—I love to cook a gourmet meal. I love to get dressed up and go out. I love a clean house, and to have all of the laundry/dishes/cleaning done. But I used to try to do that every day. So if you came over and “caught” me off guard, you might find me cooking a gourmet meal. Or you would catch me with a spotless house. Or you would never see me with messy hair or in my pajamas.

Now, if you come over, you’ll likely catch me in my pajamas, or sweatpants, or some other unmatching outfit. If you come over for dinner, you might get stuck helping cook it. And it likely won’t be gourmet. And we’ll serve it on the white dishes. You’ll have to overlook the mass of veterinary supplies that are stored in a bin on my hoosier. You’ll have to avert your eyes at my full laundry basket in the mud room, or the baskets of clean clothes stored in my bedroom. Or the smelly barn shoes on the back porch. And you’ll definitely have to look away from the dust that has settled on my furniture. Or, you could always write me a sweet message in it!

But I am so much less complicated myself. I can’t believe how liberating it is. No pretense, much easier to enjoy the moment when it’s not tainted with expectation.

It’s peaceful—truly full of peace.