While I still have a lot of work to do on my new abode, it has a comfortable feel to it. I have neither a bed frame nor a television, but my kitchen is outfitted well and it is so courtesy of various people. One friend gave me plates, bowls, and various other kitchenware; the flatware belonged to one of my grandmothers; I drink coffee from a cat mug given to me by a different friend; Piper is enjoying spending time in the living room on a couch given to me by yet another friend; my kitchen table has the housewarming gift from my youngest stepson on it.
And there's more to come. For instance, I have a print that belonged to my stepmother ready to find a home on a wall. Plus, after I repaint a night stand that I got at a thrift store, I am going to put the pitcher and wash basin that belonged to my grandmother whose flatware I use onto the shelf at the bottom.
I find comfort in having a place furnished with these gifts, these inherited items as they make me think of where they came from. Drinking coffee from my cat mug generates warm feelings for the friend who gave it to me and makes me thankful for her generosity; sitting at the table upon which my stepson's gift sits reminds me of how kind and creative he is; when I eat with my grandmother's flatware, the few memories I have of her come flooding back and I find a degree of reassurance in family.
These things remind me of all the wonderful people in my life several of which have shown such great kindness these past few months. It is humbling to be in their inner circles of sympathies and the recipient of their generosity, not just of things but of their time, their ears, and their hugs. The associations of these things with people who are important to me serve as a reminder that I am not alone, that I am part of something larger that provides succor in my time of need and joy at all times.
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Last night I dined at a friend's house on tasty pot roast. It is nice having him just a couple blocks away now. As I was leaving to head over to his place, I noticed smoke emanating from the backyard and went to investigate with curiosity piqued. Peeking around the corner, I found that my downstairs neighbor was out back sitting before a portable fire pit and staring pensively at the flames which cast a deep orange glow onto her face.
I had run into her last month when I brought the first load of my belongings over. A Latina who appeared to be in the latter half of her 30s, I was delighted to discover that my neighbor was very friendly. She helped me lug a dresser up the stairs and even offered to enlist her sons for further help, should I need it. Since that initial meeting, I hadn't run into her outside of a brief encounter early one morning when she was taking her dog for a walk. However, I have encountered her cooking, albeit from a distance, when the back door to her apartment was open one day and the wonderful aroma of whatever she was making wafted out.
When we met last month I told her it was to be just me and my cat and last night she asked how I was settling in as well as how my cat was adjusting to her new home. I told her of the paucity of furniture in my apartment which led to me revealing that my divorce was in media res. She offered that, while she has never been divorced, a relationship of 20 years had ended, fairly recently I gathered, so we have that in common. I asked about her children and learned that she had 3 and their ages which ran from 11 to 21. The youngest is becoming more independent or headstrong, depending on your viewpoint. In turn, I told her that I have two stepsons.
She said that she enjoyed the simple pleasure of fire and that she hoped to have the flames roaring again soon. A woman after my own heart.
I always have time to chat with a pretty lady and it was certainly time well spent last night. While I approached her not wanting to be an intruder, I soon felt welcome, that her questions were genuine. I think I have a good neighbor.
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