lilac quiver: Three Stories

I am travelling at the moment and it is hard to post, here is something, I prepared earlier. At a writing course a few years ago, I wrote the following piece. The prompt was to weave 3 stories with a common theme. My theme was the makeover..

Gently I lowered the door of the oven. For weeks now we had been propping it closed with a broom. It was impossible to estimate how long it would take to cook a cake or a roast. The seal had gone and the hinges were rickety and now as I gingerly opened the door to check the dinner, it fell to the floor. Now we really had to do something about this kitchen.

It was a quiet day in the city. Bruce and I walked arm in arm. I glanced towards the shop window and momentarily confused I wondered who owned that incredibly fat stomach. “Must be Bruce”, I thought. “Oh my God, it’s me!” Now I really had to do something about my weight.

His face was contorted with rage and sadness. “You are impossible to live with, he said, I’m drowning in a toxic hell.” The barb sunk in. It wasn’t just about us. It really was me. I feel so hurt and angry and unlovable all the time. Now I had to do something about me.

The drawing was on the kitchen table; our friend Jon was sketching his ideas on a piece of paper. “You should block up these windows, take out this wall and reorient the kitchen completely." Yes, it makes so much sense. I could visualise the change. It would be a much more usable space.

I bought the book. The one that said you can change your body by eating healthy, vegetarian food, cutting out alcohol, coffee, dairy and wheat. I liked what I read. The book appealed. I had a plan that provided the map. I knew I could do this.

The Process promised a huge change. Commit yourself for 8 days and you will deal with years of negative patterns and behaviours. Research showed this program had lasting results. If I was going to do the work, I wanted to know this was the one.

The night before they demolished the old kitchen, I lay awake all night. We live in a two storey house. Our bedroom is upstairs. Would they do it properly? What if something collapsed while they were ripping out the downstairs. The makeshift kitchen was in the laundry and every room was full of stuff.

Giving up coffee was the hardest. The headache thumped inside my brain for days. I drank copious amounts of water and waited for the poison to leave my system. The five o’clock signal for my daily wine was hard work. An argument raged in my head.. Yes/ No, Don’t be a wimp / You deserve it – its OK / Think of the long term / Come on I need a reward.

Walking in the door of the retreat, I was terrified. Turn off your mobile phone and say good bye to the outside world. Eight days without contact. How will they cope without me? What will they do if there’s a crisis? Can I really devote eight days to working on me?

After one month, we still have a gaping hole where the new kitchen would be. Boards were nailed in place each night to cover the space. Our barbecue is balanced on two planks and is our new portable kitchen. We wok our vegetables on a little gas ring and barbecue the meat. One month, 30 days; the adventure, the novelty still held promise and hope.

One month into the diet and I was noticing the difference. Each morning I stepped on the scales and gram by gram my weight was coming off. Caffeine-free, alcohol-free, dairy-free and wheat-free; I felt virtuous, excited and energised.

One day into the Process and I had cried buckets. Volker had asked me so gently, “Tell me about your pain.” Tears welled up. I was so relieved to unburden myself. “I feel so unlovable. I feel as though there is a hole where love should be and I don’t know how to fill it.”

Two months on and the kitchen is taking shape. Our little camping adventure is wearing thin. The kitchen / laundry is cramped and hard to keep clean. Dust layers every surface. Every morning work men arrive at 7am and make my house their building space. As I rush out the door, it seems there are another 5 decisions to be made. How long will it take to have my house back?

Three months on and people notice my new look. I constantly have to hitch my jeans as they slip over my thinner hips. The endless restrictions are becoming tiring. I enviously eye the frothy cappuccinos at our local café and admire the new wines on show at the cellar. The boys are complaining that the menu is getting boring. I wonder how much longer I’ll stick to this regime?

Seven days into the retreat and I have broken through the surface. I am coming up for air. I can feel the tensions and hurts melting away. Love is seeping back into my soul and tenderness is growing in places where pain used to be. I want to luxuriate in this and stay cocooned in this protected world forever. I wonder how I will be in the real world?

Three years on and the kitchen is the hub of our house. We welcome guests, share feasts, celebrations and close times. We have opened our house to let the light and garden fill the space and brought people into our lives.

Three years on it is time to lose more weight. I dropped 16 kilos the last time and kept it off. I knew I hadn’t lost all I needed to lose. I took a breather and now I see I want to do more. I look out at the possibility of being a lighter and fitter me.

Three months on and I am back in my real world. While the pain has been cauterised and seeds of love sown, I see light at the end of this tunnel and the journey to fill my soul with love has begun.