A Holiday Revelation and Yet Another Issue to Work On

After five years since my mother’s passing, and more, really because there were the years of decline, the holidays are still tough for me. I’ve been blaming it on my mother’s passing, but wait ... it really started when both my sons decided they (and their families) would stay at their own homes for the holidays. They have every right to do so and I allow them their choices. I understand and can see things from their stand point. I know they love us (me, now).

Then when my brother and his wife also decided not to come any more, Mum and I settled into our “alone” holidays. Ma refused to go out, although we might have gone once or twice to Don’s for Thanksgiving, but Christmases were just the two of us. We stopped buying presents. Today I am realizing how much that still hurts; and how MUCH it hurts!

I’ve occasionally talked about this in past – a little. I’ve never told any of them how much it hurt and how much it hurts me still. Ma never talked about it at all. Maybe it hurt her more than she ever let on, and more and more she’d just sit in her rocking chair locked in her own thoughts. After all, Christmas, especially, was her favorite holiday and she so loved buying presents for everyone and having everyone come to the house. She lived to have a house full of family. Suddenly having the holiday day just being the two of us must have been more traumatic for her than I ever realized.

Maybe it’s time to start talking ... except I can’t without tears. Every year the season is full of tears. And I CHOOSE to stay alone.

I’ve been afraid. If I start to talk about how I feel, it will all come down to being my fault. I’m afraid that they will start pointing out all the things that I did wrong and where I was/am lacking as a mother and grandmother. I’m afraid that somewhere along the way I’ve hurt them. How can I ever fix that? How can I ever know that I didn’t do anything wrong? At least I don’t think I did. But I’ve always had to be true to my authentic self.

I have mentioned the poor mother/grandmother aspect before, but not so much about the holiday issue. I just kept telling myself that they all have the right to celebrate holidays as they see fit (and they do). I still love them no matter what. Maybe it’s only in my mind that there are issues.

This is something to work on during this season. I have to be gentle and loving with myself, as I am with others, and work on better understanding why I feel as I do. I thought I had this behind me, but evidently there’s more I need to resolve within myself.

The work goes on. I am Enough! I am getting better! I am a good, loving person!

  

Awesome Vacation Idea

New Hampshire, with their Rails-to-Trails systems has some incredible hiking and biking paths (among many other trail systems), but this state is not alone. When I visited Lake Okeechobee in Florida, I found the top of the dike around the lake was also a maintained trail which was part of a bigger trail system throughout that state. Then on this more recent trip to Wichita, I came across many hiking and biking trails, some that went for hundreds of miles.

Each time the thought crossed my mind what a wonderful family vacation this could be. I pictured families or couples out on these fairly level, easy trails. Not only would this type of vacation give them the opportunities to learn about the areas being visited, but it could make for really special times along with plenty of fresh air and exercise and getting away from electronics.

And each time I would think that if I was younger and in shape, this would be the kind of vacation I’d like to go on. Nights could be at hotels or campgrounds and daytrips could be spent out on the trails. There are many sites to visit and this type of vacation gives learning about the areas a totally different experience by getting the local flavor and seeing some amazing sights. I would definitely have taken my kids on these kinds of vacations had I been aware of them at the time.

Most every state nowadays probably has some sort of maintained trail systems. Presque Isle in Erie, Pa., has a wonderful set of paths around the island and Missouri/Illinois along the Mississippi River has a huge set of trails and some of this is on tops of the dikes. Imagine bicycling or hiking along the Mississippi? Imagine being able to ride a bike or walk across the Mississippi at a place where there is no vehicular traffic (Old Chain of Rocks Bridge). It seems like a big deal to me, especially when I couldn’t see the river while driving on the roads because of the height of the dikes. The trails are right on top! What views!

This is just a hint of what could be. The thing, too, it’s not just about hiking and biking. Often the trails connect with historical sites which offer amazing exhibits and experiences. Trail riding also is less expensive than other types of vacation. Most parking areas are free although some charge a nominal fee. Picnic lunches can be planned and packed. There may even be places to rent bikes if you can’t bring your own. Presque Isle, for instance, had a bike rental place.

I have been so amazed at what I’ve seen in the other states by driving through them. It would be fascinating to take a more leisurely trip and take the time to enjoy. I would envision a kind of lottery with my family. Put the names of states in a hat, draw a name and that would be the state to visit for a hiking/biking adventure for that year. Or, depending on how close the state, maybe there’d be time to do a few places.

So the next time you are planning a vacation, think about a more interactive family time away from home. Too often vacations are hurry there, see as much as you can see in the allotted time, and hurry home. A biking/hiking vacation is also a great way to really see America. 

A Year of Letting Go

I wanted to wait until year’s end before thinking about what 2015 meant and set goals for 2016 and now that it is New Year’s Eve, my mind is relatively blank. This is unusual after the gush of words this past week. Am I all worded out?

My plan this morning was to list my goals for the coming year, but I realize that I should close out 2015 first. What has 2015 meant for and to me? It certainly has been a highly emotional year.

The major highlights included the trip to Florida in late January-early February, the selling of the Bradford house in June, and the finding, purchase, and move to the house in Hillsboro in late August. The settling into the home the latter four months of the year have left me feeling shaken up, turned inside-out, and thrown down. My head is still spinning. The pieces haven’t settled (picture a snow globe). I struggle to get back on my feet.

2015 has certainly been a year of letting go. That letting go started on the trip south when plans changed. I had to let go of the preconceived goals and get into my usual ability to be spontaneous. Then on Mother’s Day, an unexpected turn of events led a buyer to the Bradford house. I wanted to move, but there was always the question of whether I’d pull it off. With a buyer showing up at my door out of the blue, I let the signs fall and grabbed the opportunity.

Then came the huge task of downsizing. Talk about letting go! There were years of accumulation – of mine, plus some of my mother’s stuff. What do I get rid of? How do I let it go? Thankfully, I had help, lots of help. I could never have done it on my own. Much was given away and thrown away. It was heartbreaking, but I had to do it. I had to close down and not allow myself to feel to get it done.

Finding a new home came down to the wire. I had to be out of Bradford by the end of August and I managed to pull it off (again with lots of help and support). It wasn’t my dream house. It wasn’t where I wanted to be. And again, I had to let go. I had let go of that dream of what my perfect house would be and change the plan to what I could live with.

I moved in with boxes packed just about floor to ceiling and spread out into the yard – far too many possessions which meant more stuff had to go. It was hard. Some things tore my heart strings to put out to the curb free for the taking. I watched possessions walk away or get thrown away. I could not keep everything. I had to let them go.

It took a few months, but I began feeling better about the entire experience. I started feeling settled in my smaller home. Then came Christmas; a time of year especially difficult for me. As I sat alone on Christmas Day, there came even more letting go as I realized that situations and beliefs that I’d held onto these past years were really not valid anymore and it was time to let those go. 

Wow! It feels like a lot of the old has washed away. I’m standing on the precipice of a new year and I’m not even sure where it will take me. This letting go process of 2015 has left me feeling more open and free. I face 2016 with excitement and butterflies in my stomach. After all this letting go, what will the coming year fill me with?

Looking for Some Kind of Forgiveness

This morning I get up feeling refreshed. All the deep emotional outpouring yesterday cleared something within. I pick up my colored pens (today I am using orange and brown pens) after doing my usual morning chores and settle into journaling.

I talk about my mother a lot – if not to other people, at least with myself. I spend a lot of time on self-reflection and I analyze my thoughts and feelings. I consider why I act in such ways and contemplate the reasons behind the life choices I make. And I think and think and think.

Two words always jump out – I know – because I do know, and even though I do know, I still go through all this soul-searching. It’s what I do. It helps me figure things out and helps me understand why I do what I do. It also helps me understand life in general; not just mine, but I can see why others do what they do. (That doesn’t mean I have to like and agree with what they do, but I can understand… or I have a bit of understanding.)

So I know. I know I don’t have to feel guilty for my decisions. I know I don’t have to have regrets. I know I don’t really have to explain myself, but I do it because it helps me; and sometimes what I go through may help someone else with understanding their own lives, plus we find we are not so all alone when we share. I know what I experience, others, too go through.

I know I am not looking for someone to tell me what to do. I know my “talking” is putting words to my feeling so I can “see” my life better. I know what I want from my life and I know who I am. 

I also know there are always questions and, for me, a hint of self doubt; those old self-loathing feelings sometime creeping out of the past. And even though I ask questions, a good part of the time I know the answers. Am I a good mother/grandmother? Was I a good daughter? What can I give others to return the kindness and love given me? I know who I am, so why do these questions keep coming up?

The holidays are often spent in this soul-searching, especially around the issue of family, and today it hits me – a topic I keep avoiding because, in reality, I know the answer. 

Forgiveness. 

Even though I know the answer, there is still part of me that… yearns… to know that I am forgiven. Yes, I know there is no need to ask. I know I am forgiven. But self-doubts tend to hover in the subconscious ready to jump out and nag. I know my mother forgives me for not being the daughter she wanted and I know she is proud of me and she loves me for who I am. I know my sons forgive me for not being the typical mother/grandmother. I know everyone forgives me for isolating myself. My kitty, Pele, of course, forgives me anything.

I also know I have to forgive myself. And because I keep doubting (well, on one hand I do and on the other, I don’t) does this mean I don’t really forgive myself for whatever it is I think I do or have done wrong? 

Forgiveness… is maybe one of the biggest words of all time; that, and love.

Is Anyone Ever Truly Happy?

Happy, as defined by Mirriam-Webster: “feeling pleasure and enjoyment because of your life situation, etc.; showing or causing feelings of pleasure and enjoyment; pleased or glad about a particular situation, event, etc.”

The question was asked of me yesterday as we talked about whether we thought our parents were happy. I’ve been thinking about my mom, as I do especially this time of year, and I wondered if she was a happy person on the inside. We had a unique relationship, she and I, but I wonder now how well I really knew her. My mother was never one to talk about her true feelings whereas I am blabbering all over the place. Oh, she let her displeasure show when she was totally unhappy. I know there were many times when she was happy. But do I see her as a happy person? No.

I look back now at her life. Oh, she was happy when others were around. She was happy doing particular things like playing games, bottle hunting, coin finding at the beach, and spending time with family. But deep inside, I don’t see her as a happy person. It was like she needed other people and things to make her happy. When she was alone, she was miserable… I think. But do I really know for sure?

“Dad wasn’t happy, either,” Don said. 

I think back about him. That’s true, too. I’d never thought of that. Is it just because we don’t look at our parents that way when we are young? My parents certainly did not talk about their feelings to us kids. My mom and I would talk when I was older, but she held back even then, I know she did. She held secrets. Dad must have held secrets. (After all, he talked less than Ma). Was it to protect us?

 “Can anyone ever be truly happy?” Don asked as we continued to talk about our lives.

“I’m happy!” was my immediate response. I took him by surprise. I don’t come across as being happy. “It’s not about a laughing and joking kind of happy,” I explained because that is not me. That is not my definition of happy. 

I consider myself a happy person on the inside. I make being happy a conscious choice. Yes, there are many times I am not happy. There is the grief and loneliness, the issues with self-exile as I live my solitary life to devote to writing and art, the frustrating life issues that need to be handled, and such. Inside I choose to be a mostly-happy person, but there are days when I am ornery and sometimes I just go with it and celebrate that orneriness. I use these times to explore the hows and whys and what makes my mind work the way it does. (This is an exciting journey in itself, like charting an unknown course. It’s almost like exploring the unhappy parts of my life makes me happy because it is giving me understanding of myself.) And, in spite of even this, I see myself as a happy-inside person.

I think about what makes me happy. Happy for me is not the party world. It’s not the adrenaline excitement experiences. Happy for me is an inner feeling of content. It’s living the life I want. (I don’t know if, when I was young, I could have made that statement because when you have to work jobs you don’t like to make ends meet… then again, happiness is a state of mind, an attitude. It took me a long time to understand this.)

Happy, for me, is seeing the beauty around me. (I adapted a Native American saying of “Walk in beauty every day.”)  Happiness is being able to look out the window at nature, birds, critters, etc. It’s having great conversations with family and friends. It’s being caught up in creativity or when ideas gush forth from a bubbling fountain and I try to write them all down – it’s like chasing butterflies and dragonflies to get them to stay still long enough to take pictures. 

Happiness is burying myself at home for a few days as I’m caught up in the latest writing endeavor (or book). It’s having the opportunity to travel, even if only a day trip, and visiting places and learning about the history of the area. It’s getting out a drawing board and supplies and putting shapes and pictures to a blank slate. 

Is happiness about a perfect life? No, there is no such thing as a perfect life. I say, “I’m perfect at being imperfect.” Happiness is a state of mind, an attitude, a choice. I choose to be happy! And on those days when things are not going so well I will try to find a way to make good from that.

We all make choices in how we live our lives. Our parents chose how to live their lives. I can’t live with any regret. There wasn’t anything I could have done that would have made a different. I am choosing to live a happy life. Yes, it has taken a lifetime to get here, but I am satisfied.

What makes you happy?

I AM Somebody Even When I’m Alone

This morning I was journaling about being alone on Christmas Day to play my mother’s favorite game. I set up three sets as if she, my aunt and her twin Margaret, and I are playing and I take turns playing for the three of us. This is my way of honoring them; especially my mother, and I’ve done this for the past years since her passing on Christmas Day 2011.

Yet, even though I look forward to doing this, there is still part of me that feels lonely about spending Christmas alone. I insist on doing it this way and I am stubborn about it! On this, I am not willing to give in. 

So, while writing about this in my journal, I also got into how Ma always seemed to need people around her to make her happy. Did this mean she was an unhappy person on the inside, that she needed others’ attention and company to make her feel worthwhile? Is this why I am so adamant about my solitude?

How unhappy was my mother? Was she? I know Don and I were her life, along with her twin and brother. And of course, this wasn’t anything she would ever discuss… these types of things were secrets, not to be talked about. (Again, is this one of the reasons why I spend so much time researching emotions and the whys behind them?) 

Did my mother only define herself by who was around her? Did she need us to make her feel like she was somebody? Did she feel useless when she was alone? Maybe this is why I feel the need to define myself and acknowledge that I am OK alone as well as when I am with others.

I may be sad and in tears while writing about this, but I also find it very interesting. Is there a part of me deep down that knows my mother was in those places of sadness when she was alone? Of course, as a child, I wouldn’t know that, but now… is that why it is so important to me to play “her” game and insist on my solitude? There is that part of me that feels I need to prove to others that I am OK being alone, that I need solitude – and I do – but it must be balanced with the company of family and good friends.

So, once more I get a bit of understanding, a little snigget of wisdom, in this journey of humanness. 

There’s something about the love of one’s mother… I miss her so much!

A New Christmas Season

The past three Christmas seasons have been very emotional as everything about the Bradford house reminded me of my mother. Yes, I miss her every day and some days I still cry. I have her picture placed so she is always with me. I miss her so much!

But moving to the new home has lessened some of the pain, the sad memories. I will still spend Christmas alone with her, playing her favorite game. I am actually looking forward to it. However, this new home has a different feel… or maybe I just feel more ready to continue moving on. 

Years ago I went a bit overboard with decorating. That became less so in later years, then after her passing, hardly anything as grief was too encompassing during the season (she had passed away on Christmas Day). In having to downsize to move here, I got rid of all of the decorations that had been saved throughout the years. Some went before I left Bradford, then another two full boxes after moving here. 

I did keep a wreath, my little, foot-tall, lighted, purple tree, and a couple of purple and pink ornaments. I realize I got rid of some of the items I meant to save as some of what I kept actually had prices on them from the estate sale.

Now that I have neighbors and can see nightly Christmas lights, I am feeling more inspired again. My little lighted tree isn’t enough and the blue balls hanging on the old wreath do not go with the red-trimmed house. 

I don’t know if I want to purchase new decorations after throwing away and giving away so much. However, I feel the need for color, for brightness, for happiness. I need to bring in happy.

I can’t feel guilty about what I discarded because what worked in other homes would not work here, so perhaps I do need to go new. And I don’t need a lot… never again too much.

It seems that not only a physical move has made a big change in my life, but I am moving in other ways, too, as even how I look at my art is evolving. It happens. So maybe if I run out today to pay my taxes, I can reward myself by stopping to purchase something Christmasy to further brighten my new home. What do you think?

Decorating for the Holidays

It’s the day after Thanksgiving and a time when many start putting up Christmas decorations. Years ago, I waited until the first of December, but I have to admit, it is nice to have pretty lights shining when the days darken early. The few times I am out after dark, those lights bring joy during the cold, dark winter.

Christmas changed throughout the years once the kids grew up and moved out. I used to go all out decorating, but when people stopped visiting, I lost interest. It didn’t seem worth the effort for Mum and me and by that time, she no longer cared either. Then her passing away on a Christmas Day totally destroyed any joy I had around the holiday. (Tears are falling even in the writing of these few lines. For me, my mother WAS Christmas! Four years later and the thought of Christmas without my mother is still unbearable.)

But I am healing. Last year I got back into sending cards. Christmas cards are time consuming because it is important to me to handwrite a personal message in almost every one and the bonus was that these were Christmas cards that I made from photographs I had taken. This is my gift, my giving.

The year 2015 brought more major life-change with the big move and downsize. Boxes of Christmas ornaments, fake trees, and decorations went in the dumpster or were put curbside, free for the taking. And there were boxes! At one time, I had almost an entire corner of the basement in Bradford full of Christmas supplies; some still in individual boxes, only used once. All are gone now except for a dozen small pieces.

And so, I sit in this new home, this home where I did not live with Ma (except I have her picture placed so she is looking at me most of the day). Yesterday, I pulled out the decorations that are left and last night I plugged in the little lighted purple Christmas tree and today I hung a wreath on the front door.

The few decorations I saved are two stuffed Christmas unicorns, three ceramic rocking horses (I’ve always loved horses), and a few purple and pink ornaments. Did I get rid of too much? I’ll have to see how December proceeds and how I feel.

My emotions, at the moment, are all over the place. Part of me wants a new beginning. Part of me still feels empty and lost. I think I need to find a new meaning for Christmas… new for me because the Christmases of the past are no longer, nor can they be. And for this year, I still choose to be alone.

Self Definition and Family

I get excited over my thought processes. Does that sound weird or what? But I do. It’s like my mind takes a topic and goes off on an adventure of exploration. The subject is turned upside down and looked at from various angles. Yes, it is all from my own mind, so there is the personal spin with my beliefs and how I view the world. I will also admit that, as much as I try to be nonjudgmental, I am human and cannot help how I feel about certain issues. But I still can see different sides and I do try to be objective and accepting.

One thought that always weighs on me is the fear of offending anyone. I would NEVER want to do that! My ramblings are, to use the popular term, “all about me.” My choice in how I live is mine and I accept that others make their own choices. I suspect I worry about what others think because of the need to be accepted. I may not see things the way you do or our beliefs may differ, but it’s important to allow those differences.

As I said, my thought processes are an adventure and just like when I go on a physical trip, I want to talk about and share what I discover on my mental journeys. The hardest part in writing about this is that my mind jumps all over the place and words flow much quicker than I can type. 

So today I got off on the subject of love, especially new love when you are soooooo in LOOOVE that you feel you feel like you are going to die if you don’t hear from so and so. I remember those feelings… and learned to hate them. There always seemed to be something wrong with totally giving up the self for someone else.

Well, that comment possibly opens a can of worms and it led to thinking about definitions. The topic of love is difficult because there are so many ways to love and how to love depending on who and what. I don’t believe love have to be the same for everyone. So, does it all come down to who we are as individuals as how we love? Perhaps it’s about self definition.

I also thought about gender roles. I grew up in a time when women were still expected to get married and raise a family. Oh, there were the “odd” women throughout the ages who chose not to, but it took incredible strength for them to buck the system. Early times had women who chose not to marry and have kids of their own taking care of parents or helping to raise siblings’ families; (which meant they still ended up taking care of children and still under a man’s rule). Other women became artists, writers, photographers, and such, which was a huge achievement in times that were so male-dominated. 

So, does it come down to self-definition? It took many years for me to figure out that I am one of those “oddball” women. I never felt I fit in, I never wanted the same things other girls/women wanted, and I felt there was something wrong with me for it. I didn’t know how to define myself. I didn’t know who I was because how I felt on the inside didn’t match the labels associated with me; labels and things that I felt I had to be to fit in.

The years and life experience allowed me to be more accepting of myself. When I was able to allow the self to be what I felt on the inside, a whole new world opened up. I finally knew who I was (am)… but it’s not always black and white and it changes… as life changes.

If you make a list of everything you are, what’s on top? Also, would that list change from one day to the next? My first thoughts about myself are: writer, photographer, artist and I am proud on one hand and happy to say that. However, on the other hand, I feel guilty. Shouldn’t I be putting my family first? What does that say about me if I don’t?

I love my life and I love my family, but when it comes to family, I feel I’ve let them down. Maybe it is the creative mentality; that artist within, that isolates me and makes me not want the same types of things other women want. I’m still trying to figure this out.

Maybe I have to talk about this because I want absolution from those I love. I want their forgiveness because I am unable to BE that normal mother/grandmother woman. And maybe the oddball/normal is only in my mind.

I definitely plan to explore this further as the topic expands and delves deeper. For instance, how well do we know our loved ones? Is how we see them really who they are? I hope to follow up on this tomorrow.

Good Person vs. Better Person

This morning as I was journaling about a Facebook comment, it came to mind how there are times I do not feel very supportive of others’ decision. Oh, I try to be. We all have the right to make our own choices and it’s not up to me to say who or what is right or wrong. I’ve certainly made choices these past few years that moved me in a totally different lifestyle than when I was younger and those choices have not always been understood by others. (I have to say, though, I consider myself a much happier person because of these decisions made the past eight years).

How can I expect others to accept my choices if I am not supportive of others’ decisions? Who am I to say this person is not making good choices for her well-being? Yes, I have life experience, but what I have seen of life really has no bearing on anyone else. My experiences are not necessarily a fair gauge. Just because I have never been totally happy in a love relationship does not mean others are not. I know plenty of people who are happily married and I commend them for it.

I admit I’m not being very rational with this situation. I also realize that while my mind tries to balance logic with emotion, more often than not, emotion wins out. I hear or read something and the emotional part of my being kicks in. Sometimes emotions are not rational.

I analyze why I feel the way I do. I try hard to be a good person, but it seems the older I get, the less… flexible (in body and mind)… I become. I am reminded of how old people can be seen as cantankerous and hidebound. Am I starting to fit into that category? And because I choose to isolate myself so much, does that make me more so?

What exactly does that mean to be a good person and how does my concept of a good person differ from everyone else’s ideas? Is my definition different than yours?

Definitions can be… funny. You can look up words in the dictionary, but in the long run, it is often how you feel when hearing a particular word or phrase. When I hear “good person,” I immediately think: loving, compassionate, self-less, unselfish, willing to give to others unconditionally, nonjudgmental, willing to give up wants for the wants and needs of others, kind, gentle, polite, considerate, helpful, etc.

As I write these words, I realize that maybe I am not so much a good person. I am in my heart, but I am also very aware of who I am and what I am willing and not willing to do. While there are many things on that list that I do believe of myself, there are some that are not me and never will be. Uh, oh, so what does this mean? 

Well, if “good person” means what I wrote above, and I am not willing to do/be all of those things, how will this change what I ask of myself? Yes, I am basically a good person. I mean well. I just don’t fit all the definition. Perhaps, as I say my gratitude prayers every night at bedtime, I can change asking to be a good person to being a better person. I can always be better and still be who I am. I still love. I am compassionate on many issues. I try awfully hard to be nonjudgmental. I am kind, polite, considerate, helpful… and I love you all. Have a happy day.

Thankfulness Every Day

The holiday season is upon us and after the tricks, treats, and wonderful costumes and fun of Halloween, the seriousness of Thanksgiving settles in before the big Christmas rush-around catches everyone. 

The newspaper is preparing its Thanksgiving edition and many of the writers are listing things for which they are thankful. It’s important. It’s important to remember we have a lot to be thankful for. However, what gets me is how many items on those lists are the same. I could copy and paste quite a bit of their lists into my own because, for the most part, we are all thankful for the same things (or types of things) in our lives.

I’ve always strived to be a different. Even as an artist, I don’t want to do the same thing everyone else is doing or I don’t want to do it exactly the same way. And so, in my thanks, I don’t want to list the same things that are prevalent on others’ lists. (Such as being thankful for this wonderful country, family, etc., which to me are givens.) Of course, we are thankful for these things and we cannot say thank you enough. 

Thanksgiving Day, the holiday, a time for family and get-togethers, changed dramatically for me in later years. My thoughts of Thanksgiving bring memories of family with Ma and Dad preparing dinner (which, along with Christmas dinner, was eaten around noon). The memory holds love, laughter, warmth, and the smell of good food and plenty of it. Later years, when I became an adult and the children were young, the holiday still had some of that feeling. 

Times changed. Choices were made. Lives came and went. The holiday within the family changed. The entire holiday season… fell apart for me. All those old memories were just that – memories. The feeling of the holidays changed and I made the decision to pull back and drop out. It was my choice and I did not do this to slight family, but to protect them from my… sadness. Maybe this just means that I was unwilling to change with the times. (Although the past couple of years I did come out of holiday isolation to go out to Thanksgiving dinner with my brother, his wife, her sister, and husband and it was good.)

There is more. Thanksgiving is not just a one-day-a-year event for me. I celebrate thankfulness every day. Every night I say gratitude prayers at bedtime. I snug down under the covers and have an entire litany of prayers and thanks that I run through before falling asleep. Goodness, there is so much to be grateful for that the list could go on and on. Sometimes I feel like a broken record repeating things. But I AM so grateful!

So, what can I add to my list that is not exactly the same as on other lists? What can I add to my list that is different from last year’s list? Oh, yes, I have a list. Stay tuned.

The Words Come

Poems come to me when I’m out and about. I always carry a notebook and pens, as I’ve said often. I write when I’m walking. Words flow when I’m driving, but I won’t stop then and usually I forget by the time I reach my destination. I tried doing the recorder while driving. It doesn’t work for me.

This is how my philosophy about the muse came about. When She (the words) come, I have to pay attention in that instant. If I don’t, She goes away. She demands immediate attention. When She gives attention to you, you’d better take the time to listen to her. Thankfully She doesn’t hold a grudge and will come back another time.

The notebook comes out when I’m in a restaurant waiting for a meal. Different atmospheres will sometimes evoke different feelings. Of course the current state of mind plays a role in what I write, too. Whatever comes out, I’m always amazed and pleased.

I knew a woman once who used to write these amazing, funny poems about food. My food poems tend to be how I try to use food to make me feel better when I’m down… and how it doesn’t work, ha ha. As much as I love certain foods and food can certainly be cheerful, it doesn’t help solve problems.

I wrote this poem in April of 2009 at my favorite restaurant, the Flying Goose Pub in New London. (I always like the words in the first two lines and have used them before and since). By this time, my mother’s health was really going downhill and it was hard to be away from her and I never knew what I’d find coming home. Would she be okay? Would she be miserable and awful to me because I’d been gone so long? (I’d usually try to bring her home something to eat to appease her.)

Don’t get me wrong. I loved her so very much! But it was hard. She’d try to be understanding when I went off. Sometimes when I got home, she’d be excited to hear about my adventures. Other times she’d be very angry and upset with me because I’d left her alone. So, I never knew which mom I’d come home to. I understood, too. It was hard for her.

Emotions Unreleased

My heart bleeds tears

my eyes will not shed

the knot in my gut 

will not allow release

It’s 1 p.m.

and I wonder 

if eating anything

will help

Driving for two hours

did not erase

the sadness

in my soul

The solitude

did not bring the comfort

usually found

while out and about

Maybe the weather

affects my mood

Maybe if it was warm and sunny

my mood would be also.

---SW

------

Friendships can ebb and flow. Sometimes words can sever a relationship. Sometimes boundaries are crossed. Sometimes ties need to be severed. It doesn’t have to be forever, though at the time, emotions are strong and the ego screams, “Never again!”

After some time, these words came to me. I don’t normally include little snide comments that my conscious mind can throw in, but in this case, I kept the comment.

Below are two poems written about broken friendship. Words spoken can easily be misconstrued or the hurt can cause such a spiraling down that it can take a long time to recover from. 

Friendship Betrayed

I thought by now

my heart would have healed

I thought by now

words would have lessened

the pain

But still I fear

What trust I had

has long gone

When will it return?

will I ever get it back?

(Maybe not where you’re concerned)

(originally written 04/23/09; edited and titled 09/26/15 – SW)

Did You Know

The chill in the air

matches that in my heart

Did you know your words

would cut my very soul?

Did you know I’d retreat

into a dark, damp abyss?

Did you know I would give up

everything I was building for myself?

You did not call

nor did I call you

Neither willing

to apologize

neither willing

to acknowledge wrong

I cannot face the distance

in your voice

nor the accusation

in your eyes

My loneliness 

eats at my joy

I will never

be the same

For now I will be alone

you cannot accept me

as I am

and I can’t be anything else

Did you know your words

caused me to change my entire life direction?

(originally written 04/23/09; edited 09/26/15 – SW) 

I’ve not talked much about this happening. I’ve not said what really happened to me or how I totally turned from a path I worked towards for many years. But I turned my back on all the training and the practices and focused on being only an artist and writer. I’ve never told anyone how it affected me; never said how I’m still affected.

I forgive other and self. Five years later I am happy to say the friendship rekindled. There are still scars. Someday I may talk about it fully. Not to place blame or find fault for there are at least two sides to every story. I played a part and I’m not blameless.

I would have been a great soul healer. It’s still in me. But the other path was chosen and I don’t have regrets. I love being an artist and writer!

Returning to a Childhood Home

I am saddened whenever I ride by the home(s) where I grew up. Though we didn’t have a lot of money, we had enough. Though there were unhappy times, as is wont in any life, for the most part, we had a great childhood. Don, my brother, and I often talk of it.

Life was simple. A lot of time was spent outside; especially wandering wooded trails, climbing trees, building tree forts, playing in brooks and fields, riding bikes, playing hop-scotch in the road, and erecting big snow forts with tunnels at the end of the driveway in the winter. (Things parents now-a-days would not allow their children to do.) We waited for the school bus without a parent present and sometimes we’d walk far down the street to wait with other kids.

We grew up, as kids do, and moved away from the childhood town. The years passed and eventually there were moves to the other side of the state. Going back to the old home area is seldom done, but when I do, there is always a sadness. We can never go back to childhood, to those simpler times…

I want to do more thinking and talking about this. It feel like it was a lifetime ago. It was. There are stories to tell, stories lost...

Home Town Return

The claws of unfamiliar

in a familiar place 

rip holes in my heart

Recognition brings sadness

the familiar

deteriorated or gone

With brightness glare

new sites 

dot the once-open fields

and woods where

we played hide ‘n seek

now filled 

with buildings and concrete

The many changes 

make the landscape

hardly recognizable

My stomach knots,

heart pounds

sadness permeates

I try to remember

yester year

it is but a faded memory

The wooded trails

I once walked

are no more

What was familiar

will no longer be…

even memory fades.

A Walk in the Past

Today in looking through that old notebook to record poems written there onto the computer, I reach the year 2007 and 2008. Here are writings of doctors’ appointments and long waits in waiting rooms. Here is some of the anguish as we dealt with my mother’s declining health (mental and physical) and my own declining mental well-being. I could not be the daughter she wanted me to be and that cut a hole in my heart.

Feeling Lost

Asking questions

I cannot answer

searching for truths

only she can find

I soothe the energies

reach invisible arms

of comfort

of listening

of understanding

I know the pain

I once walked

these very shores

crying my heart out

to the wind.

--SW

Nightmare

Tunnels and rock

square, hard, and dusty

the narrowing chokes

breath and mind

saps all strength

Nothing to feel

but fear and terror

filling my entire soul

I can’t go on

What was this

that happened

the other night?

What was this fear 

that had me trapped

in my own mind?

I fought my way

out of the dream

missing the message.

--SW

And, of course, there are words of past relationships:

But

I thought I was

but I was wrong

I thought he was

but he wasn’t

Was I wrong to trust?

I wonder

but I cannot be

anything else

but what I am. 

--SW

Betrayal

Words cut deep

a cold jagged knife

shreading my soul, 

leaving me questioning

my very being

Hurtful words ripped

through my heart

creating a bleeding gaping hole

filled with tears

my eyes cannot shed

I have become

an empty wasteland

in a body lost of joy

sorrow grows like mold

its seeping ugliness

spreads through my mind 

screaming obscenities

to the wind

What did I do wrong?

My cries echo

through the barren canyons

of my mind

until my tongue lies still

and eyes leak the pain

I cannot hide

For now

I am dead

there’s no hiding

from the grief

of shattered friendship

(From two poems originally written 09/12/08; edited 09/22/15 – SW)

Healing

To heal

I must let

time and nature

melt the pain

My soul

I must sink 

into the earth

where the womb

of the Great Mother

will bring me

back to life.

--SW 09/12/08

Obsessed with the book

I go to bed thinking about the book and wake up thinking about the book. There are periods during the day when I tear myself away to work on other needed projects or to have a few hours of downtime to watch TV in the evening. But, for the most part, focus is totally on the writing and the pictures.

 

Most of yesterday was spent on listing the photos recently edited, printing them on a sheet of regular paper for reference, and the working on the writing of days three and four. I was pleased with the amount of work accomplished, but at the end of the day, I had a meltdown.

 

I live alone, therefore travel alone, edit pictures alone, and write alone. These are my choices… for the majority of the time. However, there are times when I get so caught up with decisions that I crash; times when I just can’t decide. These are times when I miss my mother very much. Yes, she was very opinionated, and if I did something she didn’t like, she did not hid her displeasure and her negative criticism could be quite crushing.

 

But she was here. She was always here, and even if I didn’t take her advice, she was someone I could say to: “Do you like this one or is that one better?” AND, she would have been so proud of these books. “My Life Isn’t Flowers” in 2010 was probably the proudest she ever was of me. That I could do a book and have it come out so beautifully… that HER daughter could do this…

She would have been proud, too, of “Too Cold for Alligators.”

 

Now I am working on the next book and because I want it to be even better than “Too Cold for Alligators,” the pressure is greater. I took so many photographs because I not only want to tell the story of my travels, I want to show you. I want you to see how the highways would go on and on, how the scenery could be blah of color because of the season, or the beautiful farms and country sides.

 

But I realize, too, that all the pictures cannot fit in the book. One to three may make each chapter and I will also do a picture book, but even still, I can’t use all the pictures. Some will be left behind to never be seen. How do I decide which to use and the ones that will not be shared?

 

 

 

 

Thanksgiving Past and Present

This is the time of year that people pay attention to giving thanks. I give thanks every day, so to have a special day for it is no big deal. What Thanksgiving Day means to me is a great turkey dinner, family, friends, and camaraderie. All of which could be had any time of the year, but because of the “declared holiday,” there’s a specialness added in.  

However, because of circumstances and life choices, the thanksgivings of the past are just memories. Mom and Dad cooking the turkey, Dad making lumpy gravy, and then there were the side dishes. I loved the mashed potatoes and carrots, while Dad and my brother went for the onions and turnips… all you could eat. And that’s the crux… all you could eat. This is one particular day where there was always plenty. 

My mother and I tried to carry the family tradition as long as we could, but times changed and other family members chose to make their own family traditions. In the end, it was just Ma and I, and when she was gone, it was just me, and for the first couple of years, even though I received many invites, I chose to be alone.  

Last year, I took my brother’s offer to go out to Thanksgiving dinner with him, his wife, and Carol’s sister and brother-in-law. I was leery about being the fifth wheel, but they assured me they’d love my company. One big difference here was that we had always had Thanksgiving dinner around noon and they wanted to go in the evening (an added stress for me as I don’t like to drive at night). However, I went and had a really nice time and am going again this year. 

While the camaraderie is good, Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant is not the same as a home cooked meal. Over half of the plate was stuffing (and I don’t particularly care for stuffing) with a couple of thin (any thinner and it would be considered luncheon meat) over the top, a small scoop of mashed potato on the side, another of squash, and a spoonful of cranberry sauce. I guess the customers are supposed to fill up on bread. 

We can’t hold on to the past. It’s important to make new traditions and be open to change. I am looking forward to spending time with Don, Carol, Sue, and Bob. I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving Day.

 

 

Monday Morning Blues Blog

April 7 and the bird feeders are out. I only put them out when I am sitting here and can keep an eye on them. Just a week or so ago, I thought it would be May before all the snow melted, but a surprisingly amount has melted within a week. The majority of the field is now bare and half the back yard. The front yard is still buried because tall spruce trees block the morning sun.

It now really feels like spring and I remember my first spring here in Bradford in 2007. I’d never been a gardener, but when Ma and I bought this house with its little greenhouse on the side, I thought I’d start. I went out and bought wagons and gardening tools and by March of that year when the snow melted, I was outside in the gardens pulling away the past years of neglect and the winter debris. There were 10 sections of fence along what we called the Long Garden and as I had 10 grandchildren, I named each section after a grandchild.

As more snow melted, I cleaned more of the area until it the groundcover vinca was clear of old leaves and twigs. New shoots of… lilies, probably, as I wasn’t sure what else was in the garden. What a time of discovery waiting to see what would come up and blossom. I checked the guidebooks often and began making charts and drawings of each section and noting what plants grew there.

May came and Ma and I visited nurseries and bought flowering plants. She loved annuals and I preferred perennials. I lined the front walkway with pansies, gerbera daisies, and marigolds. I planted a variety of azaleas. The section around the deck outside Ma’s room and around a nearby tree, I made into gardens for her. Later in the year, I dug up excess day lilies and made other gardens around the property and for that year, Ma would walk around the yard and check on my progress. She, who once had fabulous flower gardens in the yard no longer wanted to do the work. However, she still always asked for lawn ornaments for birthdays and Christmas.

The next year, she sat on the deck or watched from the window while I worked. I’d put the rows of little feeders and lawn ornaments along the walkways and in areas where she still could see them. Her interest waned and I was finding I did not like gardening so much. I love flowers and plants and I love the excitement of spring when new shoots first start showing, but once it starts getting buggy and hot, I don’t like being outside. Plus, the type of work I do (art and writing) mostly keeps me inside.

Ma declined and my interest in doing any gardening dropped further. After her passing on Christmas Day 2011, I don’t even like going out in the yard any more. I go out long enough to put up a couple of bird feeders. I look around and see the fancy feeders and other lawn things she loved and that I never took care of and my eyes fill with tears. It breaks my heart to be out there because I look around seeing the things we bought together. I keep thinking that I will fix the things that are deteriorated or broken. They could still be useful. Yes, I feel guilty, but I just can’t…

And so, it is coming up to the anniversary of her birth and we are planning a memorial service. We will spread her ashes at her most favorite place, a place of her childhood, one she spoke of often. A final goodbye and I will return to this house that no longer holds joy for me.

I have to get away from this house! It’s time for me to move on, too.

The Ultimate Letting Go

Yesterday, as I was driving to drop off pictures, it hit me. Last year, I had visited my brother and his wife while they were camping at a place that had been the childhood home of my mother’s family. Should we have scattered Ma's and Margaret's ashes? I started to cry thinking about it and tears are flowing now as I write this. That would really be finally letting them go, letting my mother go. Can I do that?

Both my mother and her twin talked often of Butler’s Toothpick, a landmark on the river where they grew up. They had fond memories and as they got old, they’d often talk about their childhood saying they’d like to see the area one last time before they died. It never happened. I never found the time to take them. Margaret passed in 2010 and my mother on Christmas Day 2011.

They would be so happy to have that childhood area be their final resting place. I know they'd be pleased that we would do that for them?  But can I? Can I let her go?

I do have guilt because we never had a memorial service for my mother. My aunt had had her wish of a military service although I kept some of her ashes in a little urn in my mother’s room because she also wanted to be with her twin. My mother never wanted a wake or anything. I couldn't put one together although my son had planned a speech. Emotionally, I couldn't do it and I don't think my brother could have. I had told my sons we would do something in warmer weather, but of course, I never did. I couldn't. I couldn’t and not fall totally apart. So, she, too, is in a box on special shelf I set up.

Am I stupid for hanging on to them? Am I being selfish keeping them here? This place meant nothing to them whereas their hearts were in Salisbury where they grew up. My original plans had me planting them in the flower garden when I get a new “forever home,” but that's stupid, too, because that wouldn't be THEIR home. And then when something happens to me, then what? They would be stuck in some place that meant nothing to them. It's selfish of me to want that. I have memories and pictures. I don't need to keep their ashes and at this moment, it feels wrong to do so.

And what about my phenomenal cat Freyja, whom I lost this past summer? She was part of the lives of the three of us and she is also in a box on that special shelf unit in the back room. I think she is with them in spirit, so can I let her go physically with them?

So now, I am wondering if we should do this for them. Should we make their final resting place one which gave them wonderful memories? It would be most difficult for me, but I think it's selfish of me to be hanging onto them like this. I need to let them go.

BUT, this would be the ultimate of letting her go!

Sometimes doing the right thing hurts really bad. My heart bleeds…