Life's Little Pieces (Maggie Shayne)

Life, I think, consists of lots of little pieces. So do we, I guess. Shamans talk about soul pieces, parts of ourselves that get stolen from us along the way by those who hurt us, or events that shake us, and they guide people on journeys to reclaim those missing parts. My life's little pieces were all holding together pretty cohesively,



I think, until the fire blew them hither and yon. But I think I've begun gathering them back together again, one by one. The very biggest piece came back into place for me on this past Friday, when the heating/cooling expert came to the house, and managed to get heat into my one little haven-like corner of it. The office that used to be a bedroom that used to be a garage, that is currently my apartment. By the time the clean up & demo crew left for the day, the heat was on. The water, hot and cold, was working in my bathroom. The electricity in my little section was on. There was no longer any reason not to be there.

So I washed up and headed off to town to pick up the essentials I would need to survive. I really needed almost everything, bedding, towels, dishes, a mini-fridge, throw rugs. By the time I got back, the back of Sam, my Murano, was so packed I couldn't see behind me. I unloaded it all, and spent until midnight setting things up. I managed to reclaim my little round breakfast table and chairs from the soot, and a few of my dishes too. As I laid the first area rug over the plywood on the floor, Glory, my cat, laid on it and rolled from side to side, purring her brains out. She was glad for warmth, for something soft, for me being home and making a cozy nook for us amid the remnants of our precious home. And it was good. She slept by my side all night long.

Saturday was easy, because I went back to the B&B for breakfast, and to pack, then spent the rest of the day and part of the night with my critique group. So Friday I worked until midnight, then slept and Saturday I was gone most of the time, and then came back and slept. But Sunday was a little tougher. No TV or internet, and I was alone in the house for the whole day for the first time since the fire. I walked around looking at what was no longer there.
The soot and blackness and smoke smell are mostly gone. Now what remains are the skeletal bones of my Serenity. Two by fours and plywood, stripped bare. And that's progress, really. But to me, on Sunday, it was just emptiness. And I admit, I spent most of the day crying. Couldn't seem to stop. But I think I needed to let it out. Well, mission accomplished.

After that one rough day, though, things improved. The Dish guys came and got the Television working, so I could reclaim another little piece of my life. I like watching CNN late at night, and The Today Show first thing in the morning. My routine is returning to normal, bit by bit. A few days later, the Internet guy came and got me back online again. And that's another little piece taken back. I need to be able to blog twice a week and check email every morning over coffee.

Tomorrow's mail will bring me another bit of my life back. The synopsis for the new book, the one I had just sent to my editor before the fire, thank goodness, is on its way back to me. My critique group gave me new ideas, and I'm ready to create again, but I wanted the synopsis to work from. Since my laptop and the thumb drive on which I'd backed it up were both burned to nothing, I haven't had it. But tomorrow I will, and another piece of my life and my routine with it. I'll be writing again.
And pretty soon, very soon, I hope, the rebuilding of my home can begin. The demolition and clean up is as finished as it can be, I think. We still have a few other things to do before we can start hanging sheetrock though. We need to try to clean the bricks around the fireplace. We need to get the electrician back here to rewire the entire place, except my area which he's already done. And we need an architectural engineer to take a look at the place and give it the thumbs up. Once he does, the code enforcement officer will grant us a building permit, and the resurrection of Serenity can begin.

I can hardly wait to get started.

I find it interesting to think about and be aware of what I missed most, among my "things" once they were all stripped away. I wonder what that tells me about myself. I think the first thing I was missing was music. From the first day the crew and I began working here, I felt its lack, and by day two I had dug a tiny boom box out of the rubble, washed the soot off it, bought batteries for it, and found a radio station that worked. I couldn't seem to be here without music. So that was first. Then the phone. It wasn't so much that I missed it as that it was necessary. No cell service up here.

I missed my TV and my Internet terribly until I got them restored too, probably the Internet most. It's my main means of communication with the world.

I missed plants. The very first night I went for supplies so I could sleep here, I picked up two plants. A hanging pot of ivy and a bamboo in a pretty dish. Oh, and my Bunn Coffeemaker. I was so upset about losing my original one. It was a gift, and meant a lot to me, and I loved it. I was shocked to find one in Walmart that very night, exactly like the one I had. So I picked up some Dunkin' Donuts coffee and was good to go. I missed my clothes terribly, particularly because I was told they probably couldn't be saved, so when the dry cleaner brought them back, most of them perfectly clean, I was overjoyed. I think I enjoyed sorting through them and putting them away more than I've enjoyed most things lately. =) Oh, and my books! Gosh I missed my books. Hmm, the more I think about this, the more things I think of that I've missed achingly.

And then there were less tangible things that I missed. Being in my own space. Having my privacy, and my own things around me. Being able to blast my music and sing out loud, and workout when I felt like it. I loved the B&B, but being a guest is never quite as good for me as being . . . home.

Home. It's important.

What do you think you would miss most, if all your stuff just blipped out of existence one day, and you had to start over with nothing? (Try not to think in terms of destruction, though. Think of it as just an experimental mind game!)

Till next time,
Maggie