Almost done with another project. A cute little drop leaf table, sitting free by the side of the road. I really could not pass it up. I can drive by lots of abandoned furniture. Always taking up residence on the side of the road. Like the many homeless people that seem to be gathering in numbers in my state. A sad affair.

I just wait for that tug. Invisible fingers gripping at my heart strings. I wonder why we always say, heart strings? I suppose like an instrument, strings like on a cello, a harp, a violin. Or perhaps cords like on curtain, or shade. Waiting to close up shop, or to open. Yes, I can see that now. You can play a heart. It can be easily manipulated. When it is broken, or full of romantics, you can say things like ” My heart is a mere sock puppet..” It is like a negative and a positive. And though socks are made of several strings. I cannot picture it as a string. But manipulation and strings, they are the same kind of cog.

Yes, I am rambling. I do things like that.

Yes, homeless articles. Once loved, now ditched. I see them, and I want to give them purpose again. I guess I project feelings onto objects. Like they have a beating heart. I have watched those hoarding shows, I feel for them. They want to surround themselves in things, like protective walls around a wounded heart. They want to save, because in themselves, they want to be saved. I can feel that. Somewhere in side of me, there is an echo of understanding.

I still have most of my sons things. The thought of me sending them to a Good Will or to the neighborhood Thrift Store down the road, for someone to handle. Poke at. Judge. Not know the stories tied to it. Not know the young man that walked in those shoes they are about to buy for $5.99. Unfathomable.

I know a time will come. But it is not now.

For now, I will keep my eyes open on things that need saving. Restoring. And feel the joy in the part I have played, to give an object new purpose. A new history. A new family. Keeping myself plugged into the creative outlet that has always healed me through my life.

I will have pictures soon when I am done, I am almost there, so I better get back at it. I already have a home for it, and they are waiting.

2 responses to “STRINGS”

  1. I regret things I got rid of in those first moments of grief, or in my case, anger. I think you are wise to not get rid of your son’s things yet. It’s the story that makes a thing valuable, and once a thing has left your hands, where does that valuable story go? Maybe, before you decide to let go, start a journal with each thing, its story and connection to you and your son? Regarding the table: I have been known to buy things simply because I know no one else will want it, like an infamous lopsided basket. And when I look for plants I always hit the back shelf where the ugly, damaged ones are. I even bought a fish once because it had been bullied and had no fins left and flopped around on the bottom of the tank. A friend named him Retarded Fish, but I made an aquarium and put him in it and he became Real Fish (thinking of the Velveteen Rabbit) and lived for three years. I’m looking forward to seeing your ‘new’ table loved again.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You leave the best comment’s. ❤️ And that is a good idea about his things. I have stuff even in the refrigerator that he bought. Like his favorite green olives. They are still good, so I keep them. It cannot be that way forever I know. But it is okay for now. ❤️


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