Decisions, Decisions, Again and Again

After months of cleaning out-buildings and the old trailer, of throwing away or recycling tools and hoarded supplies we kept just in case the end of the world fell around our ears and we had to fend for our existence, I am now tackling closets.  What I realize is that, sigh, I’ve gotten down to my stuff.  This is like the term ‘cutting to the quick’, that painful edge where skin attaches to nerves.  This is the place where I have to realize I’m never going to do all the projects I’ve planned, and it’s startling.  I’m looking at material and patterns, beads and gems and wire, leather, acrylic paints and brushes and stretched canvases.  I had so many dreams of creativity.  Now I wonder how much time is there for me to complete any of it.

            I can no longer deny the end of my life.  After losing Linda and Yuwach and many friends, death is really the end of this lifetime.  Whatever comes next is a philosophical discussion, or a spiritual one.  The real thought is to understand, when I leave this body to wherever, that’s it!!!  All my projects are halted at whatever stage of accomplishment they may be in.  So the question is simple, “What do I want to complete?”  And I can get into quite a muddle about that one.

            The novels?  I want to finish those because I want to tell those stories.

            The genealogical exploration?  Possibly, as that could be good for the family.

            So no more leather making sandals or moccasins, but, wait, maybe I might want to make a small bag or two

            And no more beadwork, except maybe some edging here and there.  And perhaps some earrings or a necklace.  But I don’t want to supply the world with aura enhancing pendants.

            I don’t need to paint the famous portrait of anyone, but if the spirit moves me to splash some acrylic colors around, I don’t want to have to go out and buy all the supplies.

            Likewise I want all the colors of material available when I get a crazy idea for a baby quilt or pillowcase or just sewing strips, which I still find soothing on my treadle machine.

            All this becomes a problem of space and does not contribute to downsizing.  My storage locker is already half full, and I haven’t even moved furniture.

            So here I am.  What to give up?  What to keep?  It was easy with Y’s stuff and all the duplicates from the motor home and my mom’s apartment.

            Now it’s real.  Just as real as end of life planning.  Just as real as the decision about, “Do I really want to move?” which seems to be more about my having cold feet all of a sudden.

            It’s all up for rethinking again, and I will probably vacillate a few more times before something finally happens.