Damara Likes Cats

I’ve taken up a new hobby recently. I take what people are throwing away or selling for a few dollars (chairs, cabinets, frames, decor) and I try my best to either re-imagine, or restore them. It’s an excuse to go to the house I grew up in and use my father’s tools. There is something cathartic about pulling your hair up, wearing clothing you don’t care for, and using a power sander. There is something cathartic about painting and removing hardware. Last time, my mother asked, “You’re still working on that old cabinet? Why not just move on?” But I’m not ready to finish. I am not ready to be done. So I glide my hand on the surface, desperately seeking an imperfection and gratefully smooth it out when I find one. My brother-in-law tried to understand, standing nervously in the doorway as he asked what the piece symbolized. Laughing, I told him he was over-thinking it. But the truth is that I am just thrilled to have something that is my own.

A few months ago, my iPod took a fall on a treadmill and never recovered. I just found another one and put all the music I listened to when I was single onto it. Yesterday, on accident, I deleted all the files. It wasn’t a big deal, I have copies of all the music at my parents’s house. But I was devastated. I was so close to reconnecting with my own-ness that I felt when I was alone. It’s as if it is forbidden to both be in a relationship but keep your self. But I want both, and doesn’t everyone deserve both?

So I entertain the notion of going to my childhood house to work until I want it so badly that it is worth the accompanying guilt, and I drive the twenty-three minutes away, kneel in sawdust, and focus on my self.

It’s a little
As if I was uprooted
And lifted
And now I am
A cloud. 

Finally home and feeling comfortable. Cold air welcomed me (well, cold air for the state) and rain soon followed. I’m staying for a few weeks with my in laws while we find an apartment in Los Angeles that we really like. If their house wasn’t so large I would feel uncomfortable, but I’m not uncomfortable, and not comfortable either. I know that because last night I drove alone the twenty three minutes to my family’s house. Everyone’s mostly gone now, it’s just my father, mother, and little sister. As I walked up to the door their kitten ran alongside my steps. I picked her up and carried her into the house with me. My mother was sitting alone on the fireplace stone, warming her hands, faint music playing on the radio on the tv. They all had a fight, that’s why we didn’t meet at the pizza restaurant that we were planning on. We talked until my father slowly made his way out of his room and hugged me. Then, as we ate tomato soup, my little sister slowly came out of hers. By the end of the night we were talking and laughing, and I remembered what it felt like to be really comfortable and happy. Today I will go Christmas shopping and walk with C at market night. If he wakes up soon, we’ll go to the corner bakery. If not, I will wait for the rain to clear so that I could walk my dog. This morning I murmured my plans to walk him to C, who, still asleep, only nodded. His dog Miley was laying next to me, a brown little dog with a funny face, endless energy, and a big body and small arms, legs, tail, and head. I love her. When she heard me say the word “walk” she looked up at me with intent eyes. I’ll take her with me when I go. I guess the point of this is to say that I am much happier here than when I went to school up in Idaho. I am actually quite happy, and I love the way the rain subdues the day.