Whoever said that cleaning is like therapy is right on. I've spend the past 2 days cleaning my home and my mind has been wandering through a web of tunnels that have long been forgotten. I think subconsciously I chose this "cleaning" house as a way to make sense of some things. This week I learned of the passing of a good childhood friend. Whatever I try to focus on my mind winds it way back to memories of her that I didn't know I had. Everything in my mind is a snap shot. I can't remember words or even the sound of her voice. What I remember is hiking ahead of the group with her on a girl scout trip, sitting in her room, walking down to the beach. These little stills sneak into my thoughts of a Friday night dinner at an Austrian restaurant or, like last night, they occupy 90 minutes of yoga.
She belonged to a different era. Even as a child she was cultured and knowledgeable beyond her years. In fact, much of what I long to create is based on memories I have of time with her eccentric loving family.