Sanctuary

This past weekend, I threw a small dinner party for some of my friends – my absolute MOST favorite thing to do. I love to cook; I have a bookshelf full of cookbooks although equally as often I tend to experiment, depending on my mood. Some of my friends have experienced such parties several times, so I have developed a good reputation for whipping up tasty meals to the point that upon being invited, those on the “list” look forward to coming over with much excitement. Their positive response, in turn, makes ME feel really good… important for my self-esteem issues, but also to satisfy my internal need to “do nice things for other people” – another mechanism by which I get the emotional return I require, on par (importance-wise) with the blood coursing through my veins.

On Saturday, amidst my food preparation (and housecleaning – something I DON’T quite enjoy all that much!), I moved the Bunny’s fish tank out of our bedroom. The Bunny had a 50 or 60- gallon fish tank which was one of his hobbies – freshwater, averaging between 12 and 18 fish in it at any given time (the rule is “1 inch of fish per every gallon”) – and when he died, I inherited all of the “tank maintenance” responsibilities. Okay, let me state for the record that while fish swimming around happily in their tank is very soothing and interesting to LOOK at, there is quite a bit of stuff one needs to do to keep the tank clean, the fish happy and healthy, etc. More involvement, certainly, than I signed up for.

Fortunately for me, I have another good friend, Lori, who has wanted her own tank for a long time; but by virtue of living space and budget restrictions has never been able to procure one of this size. Knowing that she was into the fish thing, I offered her the tank (including the stand the Bunny custom-built to set it on – he liked building things with his hands), on the condition that she help me dispose of the fish in such a way where they would go on to live happy, healthy lives (her original plan was to convert the tank into a saltwater tank, which means you need a different kind of fish entirely).

Several weeks ago, Lori and her boyfriend Craig came by, scooped out the fish and transported them to the fish store from whence they came – assuring me they both personally saw the guy return them into the general population so they could be resold to some other guy who loves fish. Bringing us to Saturday morning, when I had arranged for some help to deliver the tank and stand to Lori & Craig’s upstairs – yes, upstairs, HAH! – apartment a few cities away. Fortunately, both the tank and the stand (now devoid of the fish and necessary water environment) was significantly lighter than I had anticipated; so the whole process took less than an hour, which allowed me maximum dinner prep and housecleaning time. I love it when a plan comes together!

With the tank out of our – my – bedroom, and taking into account I needed to clean the house for my company later that day, I took the opportunity to move around my furniture. I realized later that this was my third “processing” project… as long as my furniture stayed the same, on some deep emotional level I guess I still expected the Bunny to just come walking in at any moment. But this feeling was so deep, so subtle that I didn’t realize it was there until I changed things. And all of a sudden, it officially DID become “my” bedroom. It was the first step for me in feeling single again (I’ve mentioned to friends several times up until now how I’ve still felt “married” in my head).

While you may be reading this and assume this is a sad thing, I have to say while I feel a bit of wistfulness – certainly, because my Bunny IS not coming back, and if I had my druthers I’d always want him here with me – I also feel a bit of excitement, because I am reminded again that my whole life and what I do with it is entirely up to me. I am excited in the way that I believe my friends are excited at the prospect of coming over and having me cook a delicious meal for them.

In rearranging my bedroom furniture, I found myself sleeping on the Bunny’s side of the bed. It was different – not good or bad, just… different. Again, one more reminder and one step closer to “just Shirley.” In the rearranging process I moved our boxer Winnie’s dog bed to a different area (she actually has her own dog bed in three different rooms of the house – one in the bedroom). I notice she had no problems laying down in it, even though it was in a different place. Good dog… setting an example for her mommy.

Dinner – as expected – was good (no trips to the hospital – lollll), and although this mix of friends was a new combination, my guests found things in common to share and a great time was had by all.

That’s what I want MY life to be about.