I was told a few months ago "I am bored with you." And it did not mean with my conversation. Pretty tough thing to hear. And even though I don't want to give it any moment of my time it is hard to escape it as it rings in my ears.
Today I worked in my yard. I planted lots of flowers and trimmed plants and listened to my favorite music as I did, and my daughter and her friend laughed the afternoon away in the backyard playing with bubbles, and water, and pulling each other all over in the wagon on the green green grass. And I was happy. And I thought, "maybe this is quite boring." But I like it that way.
And as I worked away I caught myself thinking about the "old days" as someone would be driving up and my little picture would be complete. And he would probably think I was boring. But I would be happy. My life in my yard with the new planted flowers and children laughing and sprinklers running and the whole world that lies beyond the front door would be mine, all my moments would be complete. But there are no "old days" anymore, there is no one driving up, and if I am boring, I am boring all for myself.
And as I told my friend the other day, I love domestic work. Boring I guess. I even love to polish shoes. I loved as a kid watching my dad polish his shoes. He had this shoe shining kit, with a little wooden box, with a spot on the top to put the shoe and shine it up, and I used to love watching him and I looked forward to polishing my shoes. And I did. And then I polished the shoes in my marriage. Boring I guess.
And to make my day really exciting I cleaned the house after dinner, and vacuumed and mopped and dusted and listened to my music all the while, and I was happy. Boring I guess. And now my evening is ending with a blog entry about how boring I might be. But I don't think I am boring. I don't think I am boring in anything I do, even what he referred to. I am quite alive and someone else one day will not say "I am bored with you."
Today I worked in my yard. I planted lots of flowers and trimmed plants and listened to my favorite music as I did, and my daughter and her friend laughed the afternoon away in the backyard playing with bubbles, and water, and pulling each other all over in the wagon on the green green grass. And I was happy. And I thought, "maybe this is quite boring." But I like it that way.
And as I worked away I caught myself thinking about the "old days" as someone would be driving up and my little picture would be complete. And he would probably think I was boring. But I would be happy. My life in my yard with the new planted flowers and children laughing and sprinklers running and the whole world that lies beyond the front door would be mine, all my moments would be complete. But there are no "old days" anymore, there is no one driving up, and if I am boring, I am boring all for myself.
And as I told my friend the other day, I love domestic work. Boring I guess. I even love to polish shoes. I loved as a kid watching my dad polish his shoes. He had this shoe shining kit, with a little wooden box, with a spot on the top to put the shoe and shine it up, and I used to love watching him and I looked forward to polishing my shoes. And I did. And then I polished the shoes in my marriage. Boring I guess.
And to make my day really exciting I cleaned the house after dinner, and vacuumed and mopped and dusted and listened to my music all the while, and I was happy. Boring I guess. And now my evening is ending with a blog entry about how boring I might be. But I don't think I am boring. I don't think I am boring in anything I do, even what he referred to. I am quite alive and someone else one day will not say "I am bored with you."
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