Friday, December 15, 2017

Sanctuary


It means different  things to diferent people,  sometimes as large as a 30 acre estate or halfway house or church, sometimes as small as a child's bed where they burrow into blankets and dream.  It's a kind of Safe Place, not necessarily from danger,  but personal.

A place where all your tools or toys or dreams are kept in one area. No one disturbs them.

I've never been much for personal rooms, since the house I live in is as much an overall personal space for me as anything--but even my bedroom at home was far from a sanctuary, since Mother invaded it regularly, snooped in my bureau, read my diaries.  It was my space,  but in name only.

And I've always wondered at people who have untouchable spaces,  sewing rooms, or craft areas, or even tool sheds or home offices.  This summer I found mine, and never realized it until recently.  It's sort of a movable feast, and right now it's a sewing place in the dining room. Sewing machine, ironing board,  the dining room table covered with a thin rug to keep it from scratches since it's my temporary cutting table.  Light, heat, storage, space.



Now I get it. When you enter that space, you claim it as yours. You know where everything is, and why it's there.  My husband's workshop is that way, he has chisels and carpenter's planes there that go back to his grandfather's time,  as well as his own stuff.  He can walk out there, and say,  did you use one of my screw drivers today?  He doesn't mind, but he knows immediately if it's missing or moved.

Do you have a space like that, that works  for you?

10 comments:

  1. Yes, but it took me a long time to get one. It is my sanctuary.

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    1. Excellent. Sometimes we have it, right in front of us, and never realize. It's a good place to have, and better, to know you have it.

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  2. Oh, I *love your sewing machine! I was the stitch bitch in my younger days. My sanctuary has changed over the years. For many decades it was the "library" where I kept my book collection. My atheist church, if you like. :)
    There was a point where the collection gained critical mass and it became increasingly difficult to find a house big enough for it all. Moving became a Sisyphean task. Now in my old age facing the prospect of who's going to deal with all this culch after I'm gone, I've got lean and mean. I've keep it all on a desktop computer which I've been assured will fit nicely in a dumpster after I'm gone.

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    1. It is cool, isn't it. It belonged to my husband's grandmother, and I've used it for 40 years. Foot power, if we lose the electricity, I just keep on pedaling.

      There is also the Salvation Army, Goodwill, or friends who may have been coveting what you have been hoarding. This fall I took three full and I do mean full carloads to the Salvation Army, and have another batch growing even now. I mean, how many couch blankets does one NEED...if I didn't like the book the first time, why am I keeping it?

      Im in the same boat, with Stuff, the personal stuff that matters to me, but who else will care? When I go, what matters is printed out, and labeled. and the rest, as you say, goes into a dumpster. Or that big trash barrel in the sky labeled "delete".

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  3. My special place is always with me, no matter where I go. It's my memories.Who
    knows, maybe you are there too and don't even realise it. Lots of memories. I can go there anytime, and I can control who gets in.

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    1. Oh, I know about that one, it's another special place, I agree, and it travels well.

      This one is the kind you go to, not carry with you.

      I suspect there are as many kinds of of sanctuaries and safe places as there are people, for all kinds of reasons.

      And I'm glad you have the good memories. Some people, when stuff happens, forget that they were ever happy, and focus on loss, not the life.

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  4. not sure if the couch i sit on counts as it, but that is my sanctuary. with everything around it set just so..

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    1. It's what works for you. Maybe not always, or only, but that couch sounds most inviting.

      My father-in-law, when the wimmen folk got too much for him, would go out and sit in his truck and play the radio. That was his private space, and no one would think of invading it. =)

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  5. When My Beloved Sandra and I selected the floor plans for this place I put an X on what would be my office. I think that anyone who knows me could walk in and say "Oh, yeah, this IS Ron.'s room."

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