I start here...

C Berg

C Berg
Iowa, United States
January 01
Wondering who I am, in a world that no longer knows what it is, in a country that is not what it should be, belonging to a race that is for the rats.


Editor’s Pick
FEBRUARY 17, 2011 2:23PM

Starting Over and Over at 60

Rate: 35 Flag


Inside the my little house, with Peter Thompson's Landscape on 44th Street diptych over the fireplace.  c. CBerg 2011.

The horse farm property is sold, and I have moved to the little house on the hill.  I left the broken rosebud cup at the other house, buried reverently in the compost pile.  I wonder now if I should unearth it, collect its shards and glue them back together.  It is hard for me to let go of anything, even a broken cup.  

I have given away or sold most of my furniture, and a lot of my equipment, almost all of my tack, and truck loads of household items.  I still have plenty to keep me, and more that I need to give away or sell.  

 One of my beloved daughters, Natalie, has gotten the studio apartment assignment, and will be able to start moving in a week.  We have waited so long for this, but now that it is here, I am sad, and at the same time I am happy for her in her move toward independence.  She is an intelligent, kind, beautiful woman who has had a few setbacks.  I have done my best with her and her sisters, and it is time to let them go.  "Your children are not your children,"  as Gibran says.  Yet, it is another change.  

The flood house is not finished.  It was supposed to be finished this week.  I knew it wouldn't be.  I am changing contractors, in the hope that it will be done, rentable, and will begin to pay for itself.  It has been almost a year since we started seriously working on this project.  I am thankful that the state and city found the money to help with the renovation, or even that would not be done!  Thank you, Jumpstart.

Outside, the sky is gray, and the snow is seriously melting.  I wonder if my heart is going to melt too.  It has had a coat of mud on it, then got buried in the snow.  It has been a long winter, a winter of change and of upheaval.   I have not even thought about love until now.  My heart hurt too much.

So I begin again.   I begin with my body...walking two miles, doing yoga, starting belly dancing,  and eating better.  It is my vessel to carry me into the future, and to keep me safe.   I bought two books on aging, and on Alzheimer's so I will know how to keep myself well for as long as possible.  I am lucky to have a generally healthy body, and a great immune system.  

I still don't know about the cup.  Should I rescue it?  Maybe so.  It will be nearly as good as new with a tube of super-glue.  All that is broken is not lost, is not trash.  Some of it is Art with Character lines. 

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family, home, change, moving

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That's a really cool chair by the fireplace.Best of luck in your new home.
Your starting over looks a lot nicer than mine did! I ended up jobless, homeless, in a shelter, on my daughter's couch and for the last 3 years in 2 small rooms with no car! I spent 2 years being sick all the time, now I am miraculously better. I think your "starting over" has some romantic beauty to it--mine did not--it was brutal and jarring and my kids were not so generous. Things are much much better now but it took a long time.
You are simplifying, simplifying. Thoreau would be so proud of you for your progress on this, although he would certainly demand that you divest yourself of all rental properties, too. I'm pretty proud of you, too, to tell you the truth.

Of course that all begs the critical question concerning the broken rosebud cup. I have made it a practice now not to offer unsolicited advice on personal issues of that magnitude. Choice of toothpaste? Maybe. Broken rosebud cups? Never. I suspect the clearly right thing to do will come to you in a flash without anyone's assistance.
I am not reticent on that score at all. Retrieve the cup. Glue it together. And then throw it away. Wonderful symbolism there.
Beautiful restful place.... how graceful you are in your letting go, I admire you immensely for this, and know it came with a price. Knowing the little broken cup is buried, maybe like a piece of your old heart, it will always be there, I would like that feeling, that part of me is always somewhere I once loved. Take care on your journey. Beautifully written.
This is a wonderful post, one of cleansing body and spirit. It sounds as if that cup meant a lot to you. If so unearth it. It can always be transformed into a little vase. I have many of those. If it did not hold good memories leave it where it is. You don't want negative energy in your new home. -R-
Looks wonderful, and I love the diptych. Good luck going forward for you and Natalie. "Leave the compost, take the cup."
This resonates. Shedding as we live, paring down to experience our lives. Leave the cup in the compost. Someone will unearth it and view it as a treasure. And a clue to a life well-lived.
since you asked I say leave the cup behind. (I'm 62 myself)
so much life in this post ... starting over is refreshing.
I admire your strength and your attitude. (One of your strength IS your attitude!) I also understand about the broken cup. It's hard for me to throw how broken pieces if there is sentimental value. I've got chipped and faded coffee mugs that my oldest son has given me over the years. I don't use them for fear of chipping or fading them further, but I've got them stored away safely.
I will let you in on a secret, although you may already know it in one way or another.

We all start over again every single day. The person who went to sleep last night is not the person who woke up this morning. Life is a process of constant change. Death is constant sameness.

We are most alive when we find ourselves in changing circumstances.

I've been reincarnated so many times, I've lost track of all the different people I've been in this one lifetime.

So, good journey, friend. Perhaps we will meet along the way.
Carol, I am so happy for you...that you are starting anew and doing well...good to see you on the cover...xox
As OEs said, that's a really cool fireplace by that chair.

Go. Go get that cup.
It needs you.
Just when we think we have something down, life throws another change. If things never change, we are neither awake nor are we paying attention. And that will keep you alive in many ways!
I have a couple of broken pieces in a shoebox. I'll toss them. Someday. When I'm ready. It will be a good day. One with no regret.

Your journey is encouraging. Thanks for the telling.
Wishing you the best. There are lots of people in this world that need something you have and that's your time. When you're ready. And I vote for leaving the cup. Sounds like you are taking significant action. Well written too.
you are an inspiration
A meditative post full of life's metaphors and poetry of the soul. Follow your heart and be happy.
Yes! Go for the Superglue! Am I'm right there with ya, though some greater limitations physically, perhaps. Me, not you!
Your little house looks beautiful, probably because you are. Can't say about the cup **sigh** I am being inspired for my own journey. Thank you. R.
I looks like you just vacuumed.

(btw, I see a cup on the table)

Some of it is Art with Character lines.

Love the picture, and I wish you well in your new home. I'd fetch the cup, glue it and bury it again.... a circle.
I think that Dylan Thomas's verse, "Do not go quietly into that good night" is also apropos here. You have my admiration and all my best hopes for you:)
go get the cup - don't think twice, it's alright... E

R, of course
I read and rated this last night but couldn't find the words I wanted to say to express how much I loved this. Your post resonates with me in many ways. I wrote something a while ago about having an "uncluttered" life and it is something I still work on.
Last night I thought`
I can fall asleep
if someone keep ups
the talking to me.
I know a Place where if you ever visited there
you would actually believe you were stepping
back into another past century. Winter's best.

Your powerful expression evoked a memory.
It was my remembrance of breaking my a cup.
I was sipping honey wine. Moon gazing is fun.
The cup is old with Nova Scotia Royal symbols.

I forgot. Sigh. I left a teacup on my pickup hood.
It was a full moon with dark skies and brightness.
It's more joy to watch sky than go on ocean cruise.

The Moon kept getting blotted out from darkness.
Wouldn't you know it? You guessed it. Teacup broke.
This is a true story. When sixty comes we muse much.
The memories flood back, and the looking deep is heavy.

I read these reflection at sixty are supposed to be weighty.
These sure read smooth, real, genuine, and in painful touch.
I picked up the teacup parts. I still saved them. Life's mystery.
My Sisters wanted silverware, and what was viewed valuable.
This reall was/is a painful memory. Life still goes on though.
One other time - I broke a crystal wine glass with a thin handle.
The base was flat and round. The thin glass was six inches high.
The chalice round crystal glass cup was a family heirloom. Sigh.
The flower designs were so delicate. What beautiful fine etches.

I really enjoyed this post.

I save all broken pieces.
I still recall facial smiles.
There is much we can tell.
Art James says, "I save all broken pieces." Me too.
This was wonderfully composed. Forget the cup. Onward and forward....like you are doing now. Best of luck.
Very well done!
You are an inspiration and I echo Gary-forget the cup because it will make room for a new one.
You should get the teacup and glue it back together. There is deep meaning there.
Wow...I just leave for a few hours and the most articulate wonderful people have stopped by and left notes! I thank you all for your comments and posts. I love sharing my little house with you...and my chair by the fireplace has two others that match it...$20 each, hand carved antiques refinished. The cup on the table? I put it there for the picture. It is the remaining rosebud cup of the pair of them I began my single-life with five years ago. The other cup, the broken one in pieces, is still under the snow, maybe to be found and excavated in the spring. Even if I rescue it, it will never be the same. I like, "Do not go quietly into that good night."
good for you! best wishes. There is so much nostalgia in where we have been in life but you have what makes a home yours, beloved family. Love and happiness.
Great then ı have a few more years tıll I have to face thıs. Nıce post and nıce chaır ın the lıvıng room.
yes you are right - and your character shines through this lovely, lovely piece. feels good to be back and reading you again - a big hug and warm wishes sent your way -
If you haven't read her already, do read A Durable Fire by May Sarton, her words would warm the cockles of you weary heart and wash away the mud and sloth
Congratulations on your EP. I always enjoy reading and catching up on your blog.
"So I begin again. I begin with my body...walking two miles, doing yoga, starting belly dancing, and eating better. It is my vessel to carry me into the future, and to keep me safe. I bought two books on aging, and on Alzheimer's so I will know how to keep myself well for as long as possible."

I found this part so interesting b/c I will probably be much the same way some day...trying to be balanced. Thanks for such a personal account.
So well done, well written, well lived..
beautifully written
and this:
"I wonder if my heart is going to melt too. It has had a coat of mud on it, then got buried in the snow. "

oh! just gorgeous, even in pain
Well written description of a life about to be well lived. Re your broken cup: When I was in high school decades ago I made a pot in art class. I loved that pot, ungainly as it was, but I hung onto it. Then one day after many moves, I discovered the packed pot's base had cracked apart. I dithered for years, patching the pot with temporary glue until I hit upon a solution: I photographed the pot from several angles, made a nice print for my wall, and then lovingly buried it, so it could return to the earth. Your mileage may, of course, vary.
What Barry wrote!
We all shed our skin and become another person about every seven years. Leave the cup. Gracefully.