I’m thinking of a phone call that came on a day I was feeling particularly glum. I like that word, meaning “gloomily sullen or silent,” from the Low German meaning “turbid, muddy”. That fits. To me, glumness holds vibes of living in a colorless world. This particular caller was also grieving losses, the first time we’d talked one-on-one. It was a lovely, lengthy chat. Afterwards, I felt much more alive, the world a brighter place. (I hope she did too.)
One thing I’ve discovered about glumness is it’s symptomatic of a suppression of feelings. For me, I suspect it’s a lifelong habit, but I am learning that our feelings are better served if they are recognized, no matter how sad or painful. Sadness is a reminder of a love shared, of a cause for gratitude. I am a different person because of my marriage.
Contacts with people move me to be more proactive. A recent sermon emphasized the need for self-care, even as we take action during these stressful times. Those Covid years made me even more of a homebody than normal, but it is past time to break out of my ingrained, in-walled, and unproductive routines. Sophie doesn’t really require me at her beck and call every minute—comfort creature that she is.
One recent night, my mind was circling around a particular action (one of many I’ve been putting off), and the underlying message was Do it for yourself. So the very next day, I did. I took steps to get on a waiting list for possible future living quarters—sometime in the vague future, when I no longer have a dog. (And when I’ve downsized myself).
I’ve had book friends all my life, but downsizing includes letting go of some of them. I’ve successfully donated a number, mostly books with no emotional appeal. Some of my well-worn old friends have been waiting to go to the library box at the park. Since it doesn’t hold many books, I only take a few at a time from a batch waiting near the back door.
Last week I pulled out one tale to revisit— Maria Escapes. I spent the rest of the day re-reading and chuckling over the forgotten humor. No way could I feel glum while following this Victorian era orphan as she runs away from school. She ends up being tutored—and having escapades—with three neighboring brothers in Oxford, England.
No, no, no! I can’t let Maria escape me. In fact, my wi-fi was down, so for two days I had no way to search out more books by Gillian Avery. Maria Escapes has proven her staying power. The British copyright was in 1957, and the U.S. edition occurred more than 30 years later, in 1992.
Having returned Maria back to my own shelves, I then pulled out a couple other old friends from my giveaways . . .
Downsizing is going to take a while. As that old song says,
Make new friends, but keep the old . . .
Kate Harrington 