My adult daughter and I live together, while she goes to university… at least for a while longer. We have a very messy fridge door. Lots of things get put there when they have no where else to go, and then rarely get cleared off. Many items have been there for years, stacked on top of each other. This is what it looked like a few days ago…
Those little white bits that you see are fridge poetry. You can buy sets of words on various themes to “write” whatever you like… and then rearrange as you like. Many a creative saying has been “penned” on our fridge door. Here’s a closer look…
Without fridge poetry, no one would ever have thought to write that “secret corduroy is ferocious” or that “blushing boys were smoking perfume” or “free the peaceful prisoner” or “drink joy fire” or “fresh need-ness is crap.” People come in to my kitchen, and while I am cooking, they create.
The other day I noticed that up in the top right corner, near the ferocious corduroy, were the suffixes “ing” and “ing…”
That’s two “ing’s.” One for me, and one for my daughter. We do a lot of ing-inging around here… talking, sleeping, eating, working, hoping, dreaming, writing, texting….
Having spent most of the past year on a schedule filled with chemotherapy, surgery, tests, and appointments, I have contemplated death and dying quite a bit. I keep wondering why this disease came to me and why it has sent me to the sidelines for a while. When I have moments of energy, I’ve been organizing, decluttering, donating, trashing, recycling, arranging… trying to take care of things that I don’t want to leave to loved ones to do after I’m gone. (Not a waste of time even if you are in good health!)
But those two “ings” have made me realize that when one’s days are done, there is no more “ing-ing.” It’s all past tense after that.
So while I am still here, I am resolved to do as much “ing-inging” as I can and to notice if I am doing it the best that I can.
(This is a very recent insight. I am not done yet with these thoughts.)