Ghost Meter

When the electrician removed the old meter box (the original box  from when Florence and Harold got power in the 1940’s) and put a new one on the south side of the house,  it’s  shadow stayed behind.  I thought it so elegant, the snaking kite tail coming off the top and the  detached finial at the bottom.  Now a memory, someday to be painted over and forgotten completely.

I remembered this morning, when we went back to the old Bedlam Farm to get the cats and pick up a few more things from the house,  how much I enjoyed sitting on the screened in porch  in the warm weather.  And how easily I forget what a delightful space it is when it gets too cold to use.  I had already forgotten, and the last time I sat out there was probably less than a month ago.  Just like how I forget what it feels like to be cold in the summer or hot in the winter.

We’ve only been in the new Bedlam Farm two days, and I’ve already forgotten what it feels like to be at the old Bedlam Farm.  This is home now.  And when we go back to the empty house where we lived just last week, our being there feels like a memory to me, like it’s no longer ours.  Like the house is reclaiming itself, gathering itself for the next people who will live in it.   It’s like the house no longer belongs to us, but to itself.

I guess my point is that we forget.  That forgetting is a part of moving on.   And maybe, what helps us to let go.  And I don’t want to completely forget the past, but I also don’t want to live in my memories.  I want to live in my new house in my new life and in every changing moment.

 

 

8 thoughts on “Ghost Meter

  1. What a wonderful way to embrace change, Maria. I know many new memories await at the new Bedlam, a sacred space created by you, Jon and your support team. Onward and upward!

  2. Wishing you and Jon the very best in your New Home. It is sad when you leave a place that you loved, but new memories are always made, especially loving once.

  3. What lovely, wise thoughts, Maria. I was finally able to do the same with my parents’ home of 64 years. I am making a scrapbook of all our lives in the house and your words will be in the pages. Thank you.

    Can’t wait to see your studio filled with your fabrics and your energy!

  4. You (and Jon) are where you belong. You have sacrificed and worked exceedingly hard to get there. The work will likely continue for awhile but, hopefully, is beginning to subside and make way for peaceful dwelling.
    What a lovely image to share; that of former Bedlam Farm “gathering” itself, readying itself for its new residents. They will be so happy to be there….in a place left lovingly, honorably, and respectfully for the next.

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