After thinking most of the summer that I was going to move to some Coast next year, I've made the decision to continue living in Bend, even though I don't like the high desert. This is my thinking and the context in which it occurred.
The context: Last week I was in deep grief AND I was sick and in pain from a diverticulitis attack. It was also one of the loveliest autumn weeks I've seen. During that time I realized:
The animal sculpture corner |
- 1. I love my nest -- the space of art I have created upstairs. It feels safe, welcoming, and mine. I can't imagine getting all my art into a smaller space. I look at all I've collected and I don't want to get rid of it until I have to. The corner with my mini bronzes all sheltering around one of my own poems. The corner with the pictures of the sea and bridges. The wall with the Marion icons and religious work. The wall with the "best" pieces - Dali, Bartow, Kerns (the collectibles). My comfy bedroom with a rainbow on one wall and the Milky Way on another. And what about my 65 inch TV and its special handmade table?
2. Bend has plenty of medical care for old people unlike some seaside towns and I'm fuckin' 70 years old and not the healthiest monkey in the tree. Even though I felt good this summer, my week of cramps and hurting when I peed reminded me that I'm "up there."
3. I am lazy and moving sucks, and I mean in a major way. Eventually I will need to move into an old folks home. If I move before that, I will have to move twice before I die rather than once. Fuck that. Seriously. Fuck that up the ass and sideways. I was kidding myself when I thought I, as a person, had the energy to move before I have to.
4. I love my perch at The Haven.
Another morning view at The Haven |
6. Autumn in Bend has been absolutely stunning this year. I like the four seasons (actually, I love The Four Seasons but that's another matter).
7. Will is buried here.
8. I have living friends here as well.
9. I still love Trinity Bend, in spite of my experience of being abandoned to my grief the first year of widowhood,
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