Transitions

I didn’t expect much from today when I woke up this morning. The only thing on my agenda was to catch up on some laundry.

My day starts off like usual… feed the dog, feed myself, dispense meds, and get started.

After Gracie, my fifteen-year-old Shih Tzu, and I eat breakfast, I load the dishwasher and tackle the laundry.

I have way too many clothes—a result of gaining control of my diabetes and losing weight. I now have two sizes of clothes: what I wore before, and what I can wear now.

I am sorting through the larger clothes so I can pass them along, keeping a few oversized T-shirts because they’re comfortable. They also make great work shirts.

We’re in that in-between stretch where the seasons can’t quite make up their minds, so I’m trying to put my winter clothes away. That can get tricky here in the Midwest. Just when it feels like spring has settled in, winter rushes back and says, “Not so fast.”

I am packing the clothes I can no longer wear so I can pass them along. The winter clothes I still wear will go into storage—soon, once I’m sure Mother Nature is finished playing seasonal roulette with the weather.

But it’s not just about the clothes. It’s the space they take up—and what they represent.

The same is true for so many other things in my house.

I’m transitioning my office from designer Brenda to writer Brenda.

There are still too many pots and pans and small appliances in my kitchen—more than I need now. My family is smaller, and I don’t cook the way I used to when Carl and all four children were here.

I don’t need all of this anymore. I’m still figuring out what stays—and what it means to let the rest go.