Bye-bye chairs…

A local family came to get our living room chairs.  As I watched the truck pull out of the driveway, I reflected on how such objects, generally considered inanimate, can have an energy and feel of their own.  Is it we humans who anthropomorphize these possessions, or do they really acquire a personality? As someone who writes novels about faeries and talking beasts, I tend to believe the latter.

One of those chairs served as my meditation chair for a few years.  According to some spiritual traditions, the seat on which one meditates absorbs the “chi” or “shakti,” the spiritual energy of a the meditator.  I wonder if the next owners might unconsciously, or even consciously, be aware of the “vibe.”

Yesterday, a really nice guy, who is also a vintage Thunderbird freak, bought the last of the T-bird parts Pat had been hoarding to rebuild his 1955 Thunderbird.  There passed on the final remnants of a long-held dream, another difficult thing to let go.

Such is the realization of aging: that there are certain skills, dreams, and plans that won’t be accomplished in this lifetime.  I’ve let go of instruments I will not learn to play, instruction manuals I will not study, journals I’ve written but won’t read again.

The Habitat for Humanity Restore, and the Recycling Center in New Paltz, accepted big and small donations, from our motley collection of garden tools, to our comfy leather sofa that won’t fit in the new home.

And I said a heartache filled farewell to the glider chair where my daughter and I rocked the baby girls.

But—since we’ve got a third grandbaby coming soon, I’ve promised myself another rocker.

So it continues, letting go, lightening up, and moving on.