one common woman

"You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream." C.S. Lewis

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A few years ago we made a major move.  We headed north with our remaining children, (two teenagers), and our remaining belongings  (after getting rid of about one third of what we owned).  We moved to a smaller town, a smaller home, a smaller salary, and we also shed a car in the process, arriving in our new home with one, instead of two.  This all happened after we had sent our three oldest children out the door to start their own lives, so we were not strangers to the process of releasing that which we love or possess.  Since then we have sent another off to college.

So, the topic of downsizing continues to haunt my thoughts from time to time, and here are a few random thoughts I have had lately.

We haven’t downsized enough.  I still have several boxes of books that might not ever make it down from the attic until I take them to the Salvation Army.

We can no longer eat a whole chicken at one meal so the days when I longed for leftovers are gone.  Now I wonder what to do with them.

Recently I noticed that a jar of spaghetti sauce is only 24 oz., not 32.  (This bit of downsizing may have happened years ago.  I had been making sauce by the crock pot full.)  Even with the smaller size we still cannot finish a whole jar of spaghetti sauce.  It makes me wonder if I could once again enjoy spaghetti, warmed up in the frying pan with a little butter, like my Mom used to fix me for lunch sometimes.

While we are dwindling in numbers at home, we are not downsizing.  We have added a daughter in law, two sons in law and four beautiful grand daughters since our eldest left home.

Butter is something that has not been downsized.  You can still buy it in a one pound package.

My grocery budget has not been downsized.  I spend more on groceries than ever.  In one sense it does buy less, but I also have turned to higher quality products as the number of mouths I feed daily has dropped.


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Baby Blues

The title might be misleading, because I never really had the baby blues, before or after pregnancy.  Holding little ones never really make me long for “just one more”, and I was spared, mercifully, from that depression that plagues some women after child birth.

Rather, recently my youngest flew south all by herself to visit friends.  I did my parental duty before hand, encouraging her and reminding her that she was smart and level headed.  It might be the last opportunity she had to do this for a long time, with college and other life changes on the horizon.  My husband ran her down to Logan in the early morning hours and waved goodbye as she entered the terminal by herself, ready for her adventure.

I slept in.

I was looking forward to 10 days of  no running back and forth to lessons and to work.   (our children don’t get a license until 18)  There would be less cleaning up and fewer impromptu but suddenly urgent trips to Wal Mart, or Target or Hannaford.  I would blissfully engage in whatever activity I wanted, whenever I wanted.  And I did enjoy my week off, but you have probably already guessed how this story ends.  It ends with me, discovering that I miss running her around, that my dear husband makes more messes than I realized, and missing my Baby.  Not wishing her back, mind you, but just being reminded of the energy and vitality that leaves along with the person that carries it through life and missing all those little things that add up to being her.