When I was much younger I used to have nightmares in which I would find myself out in public at some even or another, where everyone was pointing at my feet and laughing. Invariably I would look down and find that I was wearing my slippers and I would wake up in a cold sweat, absolutely mortified. I outgrew that fear as well as my youthful social anxiety. Actually one of the ways I conquered my fear was by doing exactly what I dreaded most. I forgot and wore my slippers, a pair of Ugg boots, out to the grocery store. This was a long time ago, before you saw Uggs on every corner, and it was not common to see them out and about. It never occurred to me in those days that I would wear them out, just that they were warm slippers. The point was that no one noticed, or if they did, they were too polite to say anything, which is as it should be, and I stopped having nightmares.
But I still didn't wear my Uggs out in public. That was one of those things that I just didn't do. Actually it was one of those things that striving upper-middle class people like doctor's wives just didn't do and I toed the line. Until recently anyway.
I was actually thinking of wearing my Uggs out before I moved to Tennessee, but hadn't yet. When we were still living in the hotel I wore them a couple of times with jeans or a short dress and tights. They seemed a better fit, stylistically speaking, than any of the other choices I had with me. Once we were in the house they were happy to stay home while I galivanted about in loafers, clogs, my Acne boots, or the occasional Manolo. Until this weekend anyway when it was cold and windy and I had a cold as well. Warmth and comfort were desireable, and suddenly the uggs seemed perfect.
There we are, out and about on Saturday afternoon. me in my uggs, jeans, a pink striped shirt and fleece-lined Barbour jacket. G in his typical uniform of black fleece pants, gray tee, and brown fleece jacket.
Speaking of the new house, I can't believe its been 5 weeks already and I am still not completely unpacked. It seems I always over anticipate how much I can do, and then I get mad at myself for not living up to expectations no matter how unreasonable they may be. But the house, for the most part looks pulled together, and things are waiting for work that needs to be done, such as redoing a few closets, putting up bookshelves and unpacking the books and so forth. Forget about upstairs and my own creative space; it is all still boxes, although I actually have hopes of getting to it soon.
Once I wrote all this down I realized I am not that far behind schedule and that I don't give myself enough credit for having to do it all myself while at the same time trying as much as possible to maintain a sense of normalcy and routine for G. I forget that I voluntarily went from having full time live-in caregivers to having someone come in only 4 full-days a week and 2 half-days plus a couple of hours on Saturday, just to maintain a sense of routine. And those activities, spending time together, shopping, cooking, watching TV in the evenings, can constitute a full-life even without the unpacking, acquiring, assembling, and putting away that moving into a new place can require. And yes, there are days when life seems like a burden, and other days that it seems like a joy. I am learning to hold on to the joys and let the burdens slip through, although being human, that always sounds easier than it actually is, and the burdens seem to crave more than their share of attention.
So perhaps living up to expectations isn't always in our best interest. We are human. We fail. Hopefully we pick ourselves back up again, apologize to any we may have hurt in the process, and continue on. As to apologizing to ourselves, it shouldn't be necessary, although all too often it is both necessary and neglected. Something to remember when the brain turns on itself and our thoughts are consumed in self-immolation. Corny as it may sound, warm and fuzzy is often better and reality, if given a chance, may be more rewarding than keeping up appearances.
