My daughter's room is no longer pink. It has been primed and is now stark white, awaiting the choice of some most likely green palette.
And now I am paint-splattered and my hands are dry and scaly from much washing, yet the paint stubbornly remains. I am glad to have this part finished, but I know this is only a start, since I have yet to actually apply color.
Anyway, a truly deep moment hit me yesterday, thinking of life and living events and growing old and death...
It's my turn now.
Like so many millions of women before her, my Grandma lived through this. My mother was here, living moments like these. Mothering. Teaching. My aunts were here. My great-great-grandmums and aunts - they all lived moments such as these. Worrying. Fearing. Laughing. Loving.
We are each unique in our own moment, our own space in time we own it all to ourselves, and yet we share many commonalities.
We are first the virgin child, then the lover, the mother, and then the old wise woman. And we each live these moments and share in them, small vignettes that both mirror our ancestors' and foretell our descendents' lives.
When I live one of those profoundly simple moments of life: a hug from a child, a smile to a friend, laughter with a loved one, fretting with worry in a child's absence, all these everday experiences - in these everyday simple moments I can live glances into similar moments of past and future women as well.
And know that I am not alone.
Moments like these happen every day of my life, every hour even. Most days go by without a second thought of it. But when the depth of it hits me, inside one of those moments when time seems to slow to a crawl, to freeze an image in my mind, reflecting on the concept almost takes my breath away.
After all, it is my turn now.