So I know you are dying to see the new-and-improved (wait…that’s not technically possible, right? Just improved, then.) wine room with more racks, better organization and apparently, for some reason, TWO CASES of port. Admittedly “good” port, but that’s a little bit like saying a “good IRS agent”, right? You can buy pretty much the same stuff on aisle 12 of your local Walmarts under the label “Robitussin”. Who buys this much port?
Can I put port in a roast or a braise? Because I got nothin’.
Anyway, I’m almost done, pics of that and a tutorial next week.
But today, I’m noodling around on the subject of boundaries. My friend Candace and I were discussing this in relation to my life and my writing the other day. I’ve not really stopped thinking about it since.
Basically, I come from a people who VALUE privacy. Boundaries. Before I moved back home, (not out of failure to launch syndrome, but rather a “what now?” sort of situation…) my parents would call me before they came over, and I would call them before I went to their house. Always. Sure, we have keys to both, we’re welcome any time, but we ask. We knock before we open doors. (But we do not slam doors, ever.) We do not (intentionally, at least) ask questions that are none of our business, we do not pry, because we do not want to cause unnecessary pain or embarrassment to someone. We are, however, always available and willing to listen and help if we are needed. Think British, only more reserved.
Except BIG progress…I now sleep with my bedroom door open.
How I became the extrovert sharer-of-all-things here on the blog, I’ll never know. (Talking. It’s that I have so many words in me.) But you’ll note that I do not share names unless explicitly and freely given permission to do so. Because that’s not my story to tell, or my privacy to give away. Candace, however, gave permission.
Anyway, partly because I had a pretty big privacy breach directed toward me the other day (it’s interesting to nobody, really…) and partly because of Candace’s EXCELLENT guest post here, I’ve been thinking. There are things that we all need to talk about. There are things (and people) that we need to protect. Sometimes, the need to talk trumps the protection angle. And vice versa.
This year, we’ve both experienced very painful, very common things, and felt lonely and unprepared for them. Like we were alone when, in fact, we were not. If we were better at balancing the need to talk and the desire to protect, maybe we wouldn’t feel so alone, so unprepared when things like these happen. (But Candace said it better-go click on the link, I’ll wait.)
As Candace sagely observed, sometimes here on the blog you get “Dinner Party Wordie”. Which? I’m awesome at those. But the boundaries are way up at dinner parties. And sometimes, I struggle to write because I feel like if y’all read ONE MORE POST about Wordie’s Feelings, you’ll have to stab at your eyes with a sharp implement. Isn’t bacon a more interesting read than what I feel about…the first wine I tasted where I actively grieved that Daddy never got to taste it? (Adastra Proximus Pinot. You need some. Really.) (Only now I’m wondering if they do a Proximus Pinot, because I don’t see it on their site…but I could have sworn I ordered some…) How sometimes I really think I am a puppet being controlled by grief–that when I’m walking down the street in Yountville and appreciating the fact that I am in one of the prettiest places on the planet, a place we all love, all of a sudden, I’m pounded by the thought that the man who introduced me to wine, to this place, is never going to see this again. And then after that, I wonder if I’m doing this process right. How I keep going back to anger, at really silly things and at him, and then wondering why something that is completely in the natural order of things (parents die before their kids, it’s how it usually works, we will all most likely lose a parent and feel that pain) is taking so long to make sense or be peaceful for me. Everybody loses their parents. Is it like this for other people? Or am I doing this wrong?
So in an effort to improve my writing, I’ll work on the whole boundaries thing. But I promise to keep the television and Labrador commentary, too. And protect the privacy of the folks about whom I am lucky to write.
And now I have to go cook some stuff for a bachelorette party!