Back to Lights

"You gonna wire that chandelier by yourself, little lady?"

Maria Teresa chandelier, Gracious Home

The man at the store was quick to add, "No disrespect." And he didn't mean it, either. Gracious Home isn't exactly the kind of store, shall we say, where women who buy chandeliers come in, pay for them, carry them home, put them together, hang them, then hardwire them all by themselves - to say nothing about balancing a stool on a bed (it doesn't) and hanging it all up.

That's the difference between A then and now - getting Back to A used to mean learning to do things myself and reveling in the discovery and challenge. This A doesn't blink. It's no longer a challenge. She knows no other way. It's who I have become and I have earned it with cuts and scrapes and spills and bruises enough to warrant more bandage boxes than you could imagine. (I'm still working on being at the "A" where I can actually find them when I need them). Certain traits, I've learned, happen to be embedded a little more deeply than others. . .so yes, while there's still learning - that never seems to end - what was once an interesting little project - a temporary life chapter - has become life itself. 

Back to the chandelier. 

There was a moment's trepidation as I went to connect the plug - hand wrapping wire - or even seeing what is inside a plug in the first place - was new territory, but then...well, then there was light.

Because there always is.

Reading too much into hanging a little chandelier? Maybe. Ever coming close to describing that little skip in the heart when it all comes together? No. not even close. It's as good as the original A.

Some things, I have learned on this journey, are meant to morph, to transform, to meld with the age and the time and the place. 

Transform your bed into a canopy with one simple trick - hang curtain rods from ceiling.

Back to a crystal moon in a night sky

Back to never underestimating the power of a really baller bedskirt.

Back to boudoir. . . 

And then, just as simply, there are others that are meant to be just as good as you had hoped they would be from the first day of attainment, and stay that way forever. In an ideal world, my two baby boys, Harold Moscowitz and Louhizzles McNizzles. 

I'm never better than when I find myself heading due north for that steady lighthouse - and yes, part of the certainty and confidence and wonder which stems from that feeling is also inextricably bound with permitting oneself to get lost at sea, too. Not a pretend loss. I'm talking about a scary holy shit I'm sinking kind of lost. Because I've been there, too. A journey skimmed on crests alone, after all, is hardly a journey. It's about rising. . . and yes, falling. But when the rise comes, it's as natural as a wave breaking. 

And just as beautiful. If you've been there, you know.

Explorers, you see - we always do come home. We take longer. We afford greater risks. We're a bit of a sea storm unto ourselves at times. But our light burns magic - unchartered, unreasoned, untamed.

Undiscovered.

So you think you're lonely? Well my friend, I'm lonely, too. 

-Journey, Lights

Lonely. . .it always is in the beginning, no matter how many times you begin.  I've learned you have to brave it alone for a bit. And then. . .