So Far Away

 

So far away

Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?

It would be so fine to see your face at my door

Doesn't help to know

You're just time away

~ Carol King~

     I miss my children.  Plain and simple.  They each live long distances from their childhood home and though in years past I had adjusted to them not being within range of a family dinner or a day hike anywhere, these past few years have brought it forward how very much I miss them.  

     The Pandemic ceased to allow us to be together for what felt like eternity.  The physical presence and hug impossible.  What helped was the connection of a phone call followed by texting and or some version of social media that made it just as bearable as it could.  But the longing to be together was painful.  Sleepless nights of fear followed by wondering how and when our lives with other humans would begin.  Then the creation of the vaccine brought euphoric hope to most all of us.  We waited our turn sometimes anxiously and sometimes with trepidation.  My mind felt optimistic that the life I had would return to normal.  That traveling would begin again and most of all that being with loved ones in person, inside, with hugs would restore what all humans need and want....physical contact.  

     It has been 2 years and that hope of gathering has begun with its stops and starts.  We haven't resumed life truly as it was but for the most part we did all get together this past July.  Far too short a time but I took what time our children could give and appreciate each moment and hug that was shared.   We all shared some time this past Christmas but the holidays always feel rushed and scattered.  Time shared is fleeting and once over I realize how much more I want.  Their driving away to an airport to fly home or their long car journey back home leaves the house in a hushed silence that the only way I can cope is to start loads of laundry to fill the empty silence.   I slowly digest the days together as I lay in bed weary to sleep but that ability to fall asleep plays fickle.  

     So why am I feeling sad?   Why am I unable to accept that they live far from us and move on?  For some parents they seem to have constant busyness to occupy their empty nest.  As though they have been waiting for the empty nest.  Me?  I loved the full nest. 

Long ago, I reached for you and there you stood

Holding you again could only do me good

How I wish I could

But you're so far away

     Family has and always shall be the most important part of my living and breathing.  Thus adapting to not having them around puts me in a quandary.   Obviously having friends would make a difference in filling the space.  And there I have the next roadblock.  Dearest friend does not live near me.  I have poorly cultivated strong friendships nearby.  I realize I have always been a quiet one.  I'm not terribly outgoing and I'm an introvert.  I don't belong to any clubs (except my gym), I don't attend church, and with the years flying by I can count on one hand the friends I can say are true friends and are not family.  I have some endeavoring ahead of me.  

     I'm not sure I'll ever fully except my family not near me.  I treasured the times I had with family dinners, parties, and holidays with my parents and my in-laws.   The casual cup of tea with my mother-in-law where chatting came so easily and warmly.  Old neighborhoods with women of common age and children where we could relax and watch our kids play and for us to share mothering.  Those times nurtured me.  The age beyond motherhood years is a time I have found to be lonely and of less need.  I'm reflecting of articles I've read of the elder adult in present years, of not having purpose or being needed which equates to depression.   I have thought much about how our elders are cared for.  With the passing of our parents whom each had very different scenarios but thinking those years the need for assisted care or nursing homes seemed normal and expected at some point and time.  My heart tells me other.   

     My grandmother developed Alzheimer's when I was 18 and was placed in a Nursing Home.  It seemed a common act to medicate (drug) a wandering elder to keep them in place.  My Nan did try to escape once and a part of me applauds her act of defiance.  Thereafter she was never fully awake but in a state of sleep without her being able to do much of anything independently.   I would never wish this on anyone.  That was her life for the next 12 years and I mourn the loss of asking her about her life when I would have appreciated her stories.  

     Visiting her I met a few elderly ladies who enjoyed seeing my children when we came to visit Nan or as I called her to my children "Nana who is sleeping" because they never, ever saw her out of bed or talking.  What a loss!   But those little ladies who were in their rooms or sitting in the hall in a wheelchair lit up with loving smiles and could hardly wait to have me come close to see the children.  What a lonely place without the young to brighten ones spirits with hugs and laughter.  

     I understand these many years after my mom's passing why she never wanted to be in a nursing home.  Having to watch her mom those many years fade away would be heartbreaking.   Making the choice due to her safety, which at the time seemed the only option, could not have been easy to make.   Thus when my own mother developing what looked like FTD but in the end was Alzheimer's, it was made clear that she would stay in her home.  In my blog A Walk into Oblivion ~ A Daughter's Story (https://awalkintooblivionadaughtersstory.blogspot.com/)  I explain of the complicated time of her incompetence.  She died in her bed in her room as she wished.  With her personal world in place whether she knew it or not.  

     My dream would be to be near my children to stop by for a cup of tea at their home or ours.  To do the Sunday dinners my sweet mother-in-law did for the family to gather at the dining table.  Looking back those dinners brought us to her home so she could hug, snuggle with the grandchildren and see her own grown children mixing together.  I can almost taste her rotisserie chicken and for dessert her apple pie.  I would love to be able to do that!  I dream of going out to lunch together or plan a picnic on the weekend to lay under a tree and just let the flow of togetherness wash over me.  I dream of a grandchildren I could see so often that I would know exactly their favorite food, song and story because I would be a part of it.  That sleepovers would be easy, trips to the park would be easy, spontaneous.  I'm reaching but I can feel that way.  

    I will be grateful for all the time I share with my children and grandchildren even with them far away.  I will try to share about me in the ways I can and what they wish to knew.  We will try to visit them without overstaying that time together and fondly look forward to the together times we plan in the future.  I'll try to cultivate friendships near me.   

     

Quickening

      A new life is blossoming.  Our middle daughter is carrying our first grandchild!  Could my heart be more full?  

     Here I sit, creating a beginning of writing once more.  This step into my thoughts that I let go, gave up, felt I could not conceive of, here I sit.  Here I sit with fingers and mind letting forth my awakened thoughts....

     Quickening

Quicken:  transitive verb                                                                                                                                     1  a:  to make alive                                                                                                                                             2  b:  to cause to be enlivened  

      Perhaps I needed a muse to get my first nudge.  The new year.  Letting go of thoughts that were negative of what I could create.  Trust.  If I gave encouragement to others to be creative why did I doubt myself?  My first thoughts of doubt with writing were the passing of the elders in our families.  By 2020 each year from 2014 an elder has passed.  A generation of loved ones to never hear, never ask those questions that spring forth in my mind, never feel their loving arms and sweet kisses. I found myself in a darkness as though a candle had blown out and my eyes not yet adjusted.   I was not in fear, but in preparation of a new direction in my life.  

     It took the time it needed.  

     Quickening

         Quicken: intransitive verb                                                                                                                                   1 a: to come to life                                                                                                                                                b: to reach the stage of gestation at which fetal motion is felt                                                                          c: to shine more brightly

      

     A week ago my hands lay upon Erin's growing belly in hopes of feeling the littlest kick baby might indulge us with.  It had not been so long ago when she felt the first quickening.  We waited in silent pause.   A holy moment for me.  This woman my hands lay upon once was inside the cradle of my womb and now she is before with her child to be growing each passing day.   

                                                                   * * * * * *

     The first flutters of life with our first born felt like butterfly wings inside my womb.  Slightly ticklish sensations I blissfully pondered upon.  I wanted to share those flutters and instinctively I placed Tim's hand to my belly to feel our child move.  I thought if I felt it he would too.  Instead those early flutters were for me only.  

                                                                    * * * * * *

     Then I felt the smallest of movement against my hand.  Fleeting.  Erin and I waited with smiles upon our faces.  I wonder at who this little one shall look like.  I wonder what eye color and hair color they shall have.  I wonder at the first cry that shall come after birth and how my daughter will be immediately overcome with joy to hold her child and look upon him or her with instinctive love.   

     One more nudge for me to feel....my grandchild....hello little one....I love you.

                                                                   * * * * * * 

     New beginnings may happen at any time.  Patience and openness.   Awareness of the subtle nudge to let go of fear or the obstacles that may be thrown my way.   I'm allowing myself the time to grow and let go and have the pleasure of what comes as my fingers click upon the keyboard.  

     

Popcorn and Ice Cream

     Summer thoughts......

     It has been hot and with the heat my thoughts swept up a memory of my parents second home in Diablo.  A whim of a purchase but for those brief years they owned it, which was mere miles from our home, we shared quite frankly, the best of times together.

    My mom and Papa "let their hair down", so to speak.   They dressed casually, which for my mom was quite a feat!  Even her casual slacks and "t-shirts" were designer but there was less jewelry and though she didn't wear sandals she wore her Daniel Green slippers, gold or silver, without hose.  Papa somehow managed to have old worn pants.  Who knows how he was able to hold onto them without my mom throwing them in the trash.  Add a polo shirt, comfy slip on shoes and he puttered around the house tending the yard and pool.

    Yes they had a home with a pool and he habitually would fuss with the equipment or cleaning the pool of leaves.  Best yet was blowing up pool floats for the girls to play upon.  Of course the girls were excited, giggly, squabbling, loud, generally being kids at a pool, but this wasn't any old pool, it was their Nana and Papa's and nothing was better!  There was a float of a dolphin, a whale, a giraffe, a bear, rings big and small and the brightest colors of these toys she could find.  There were diving rings, diving sticks, and classic diving for coins as well as games of Marco Polo.  The pool wasn't huge by any means yet somehow toys, kids and parents fit just fine.

    My mom even donned a swimsuit from time to time which was a rare event.  No splashing as she waded in and waded out then off to a chair in the shade to watch over her family.  Papa would float lazily on his back from end to end of the pool, his belly floating above the pool level.

    When children swim and play they get hungry and Nana always had snacks.  But what stands out in my memory was the Jiffy Pop Popcorn she would faithfully bring out.  Not done in the microwave but the classic one in the aluminum pan that you would shake constantly across the burner of the stove and watch it balloon out till the popping stopped.

     That simple snack brought back memories of my own childhood!  We would all dig in like hungry vultures to the last kernels.  I'm not sure if popcorn is a typical pool snack but it was what we had along with Pepsi Cola, Root Beer or 7 Up to wash down the salty flavor.

     Papa bought an ice cream maker one year for a summer party they had.  I went out back to help him and learned a bit about making home made ice cream.  It was electric that you added the ice and salt while it churned and churned.  I've never had better ice cream than fresh made that day.  He and I brought the bucket into the kitchen once it was thick and creamy where my mom would busily scoop out the ice cream into smaller containers for the dessert later.  Papa and I  proceeded to scrap off the soft, creamy ice cream from the plastic blade with our fingers over the kitchen sink, making sure nothing was left and wanting more.
   
   

Birthday

Today is my birthday.

Another year has passed, another year of learning, another year of heartbreak, another year of joy, another 57 years in my life path.

Another year.....

I may not have the body of youth but this body is going pretty darn well.  Of course I do keep up on the maintenance but mostly I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, hopefully with a hop and skip thrown in for a smile and a laugh.

Do I feel older?  What does that mean?  Is it that I compare youth and aging?  No.  Let's face it, as the multitude of years fly by our bodies don't feel the lightness of childhood.  Then again children don't have the insight of wisdom and patience that comes with the passage of time.  I'm still working on both of those but feel them setting a natural course of living in my days.

Do I feel older?  I didn't answer that.   Hhhhmmm.   Shedding 25 pounds did not make me feel the lightness of youth but my feet are happier and smoother.  I guess weight causes a lot of stress on the soles of your feet.  I still can't jump as high as Tim but then maybe it's because he is over 6 feet and I'm just 5' 3".  I do get aches and pains from time to time and don't know how or why it happens.  A couple of days  ago I did something and my back decided to spasm and tighten up.  That makes me hurt but not feel old.  It also makes me appreciate life more when I don't have a backache.  But I know it will get better with time and perhaps a trip to the chiropractor.

All my limbs move quite well and I have the added bonus of a titanium plate and screws in the right wrist where I broke it years back.  That dang neck problem that lasted three long years has not caused me a bit of a problem after I decided that enough was enough.  I was tired of driving and paying $70 bucks a visit, and feeling I couldn't do anything without my neck going out.  I joined Kokofit (I know I just gave them free advertising) which put me on the road to wellness with cardio and strength training.  I changed my eating habits and gave up on some truly beloved foods which apparently loved me the wrong way that I didn't appreciate.

But do I feel older?  I feel the passing of time in the passing on of family members who had aged.  I never thought of them as old, maybe older, but not old.  Yet knowing that we can't live forever somehow helped me understand their passing and with that the warm memories of the times spent with them.  I miss them.  I can hear their voices as clear as a bell when I think of them.  I remember their stories and their laughter.

I regard the fact that now I am one of the elders since all my parents are gone.  Tim has his mom as well as an Aunt and Uncle in their golden years.  But for me their are no Grandparents alive and no parents.  For that I feel at odds.  I took for granted that passage of time where we all were well and going about life with gusto.  Gatherings, travel, jobs, pleasure were very much a part of those family members and then like a candle snuffed out, they are gone.  Yet even while they were living, their parents were passing or had passed, and I am sure these very thoughts traveled in their minds from time to time.

Youth has the gift of no worries of living.  They live for today with nary a thought of aging.  And they shouldn't.  So why should I?  And maybe when I do, I'm just thinking too much.  Tim does remind me that I do overthink and that never works out.  So true.  Then again I've accepted my overthinking as the way I work out my brain because if I didn't I might need to be in therapy to figure out why I overthink my life.  Crazy right?  So overthinking allows me to chew and spit out minutia that clogs up the joy in my everyday life.  Uh-huh.

Life has led me on some profound journeys.  Some planned and some unplanned.  The best journeys are surrounded by my Love as he has been with me so many incredible years.  From the teens, to early wedded years when I was a horrible cook, through parenting (and we did parent with kids in the house for over 33 years!), through awful manipulative years with my mom, and in the patient loving times of grief.  We've traveled near and far and many more journeys are in our bucket list.  I've been blessed with this man, my soul-mate.  My children, each as unique, loving, inquisitive, creative, and full of living that sprinkles on me like a fine shower as I continue to grow and continue to learn life's gifts on earth.

Living is about saying "yes".  It's not a time to hesitate.  Getting older is just two words.  What we do will say more than what we won't do.

I don't feel older.

It's my Birthday.  57 years ago my mom, age 25, gave birth to me in Roswell, New Mexico where we lived because my father was stationed at Walker Air Force Base.  Thank you Mom and Dad for bringing me into this amazing world.  Thank you for loving me as well as you could.  If you both could only see and be here with open hearts and arms how much life and love I have, with no regrets, no stone to be left unturned.  That what truly matters in life is to be open and honest to those closest to you and to love with all your heart, to tell those who matter how much they mean to you as often as you can.  To hold and hug tight and mean it.

Tender Heart

Definition:  Heart

1) A hollow muscular organ that pumps the blood through the circulatory system by rhythmic contraction and dilation.  

2)  The center of the total personality, especially with reference to intuition, feeling or emotion. 

3) The center of emotion, especially as contrasted to the head as the center of the intellect.  

4)  Capacity for sympathy or generosity; compassion, Love, affection


Grief's veil is falling over me once again.  I remember this feeling as it visited me not too long ago, not long enough to vanish or to forget as I would wish.  I feel it falling like the lightest of snow flakes on a darkened day, up to my ankles, up to my shins, up to my knees....I want to walk away but I can't.  I stand in the darkened daylight and look up as the flakes keep falling, softly and silently.

My father by marriage passed away just after Christmas.  He fell in November, broke the femur bone and required surgery.  I knew that at his age, 91, this was not good.  He was a tough old bird having already in his golden years had knee replacement surgery, and two heart valve replacements.  This fall was the undoing.  Rehab care seemed like he might get better but the decline came sudden and quick.

Grieving hurts.  My whole body hurts.  My heart hurts, more so for his grown children, his wife and my sister by marriage's children who spent so much time with their grandparents when they were young while their mom worked.  It must have felt like it was their second home.

Grief has no guidebook to help your journey along.  It takes you to places unexpected emotionally where as a comparison to survival you grasp your way out or where you think out is.  Grief can be selfish without intending to be.  Words said burn both to the one who strikes out and to the one the words are given.  Lack of words may do the same.  Some of us walk along without much dwelling of sad lingering thoughts and some of us slog through with uncertainty or questioning.  There is no right or wrong really as long as there is love.

It's the hurting that takes too much time, and I am still wondering where one grieving life became another grieving life as with regards to my mom and now my father by marriage.  My mother by marriage will not be going back home as she has been in assisted care for several years.  The home that was built by him and my husband and brother by marriage, shall be sold.   Saying goodbye to a home that many happy memories as well as sad memories happened in is a death in it's own way.  I know this all to well when the emptying of my parents home was done and that was a year ago.  A mere year ago.  A blip in a lifetime but a mark on my journey in life forever tattooed in remembrance on my heart.

While we heal from the loss of parents the rippling effect transpires to every member of the family. How was our individual relationship with our parents, our brother(s), our sister(s) and so forth?  This fully envelops our healing and grieving.  When my mom passed away and when my brother's family came for the memorial, we had time to be together, to share old times, and to walk through closets, drawers, and rooms.  Each of us felt awkward going through the personal spaces we had never gone.  Doing so was a bonding experience for me.  I hope it was for the rest of the family.  It certainly made it easier to decide what we each would bring back to our homes.

*Photography by Megan

It is never easy to say goodbye.  I know it gets better but really all we do is put our mother and father in a place we can reach out to from time to time, and hopefully the ache goes.  I don't really know if it does.  I'm still on that journey.  Losing my father by marriage, observing and being present for my Love, wondering how the rest of the family was doing, understanding and excepting that peace came for this ailing frail man, moving forward, is a daily wake up call of living.  How do I wish to live my days?

*Photography by Megan

What I do know is the bond between my Love and I is strong.  With each other we can journey through this unknown place.

My deepest wish is that my Love's family's journey stay strong, stay loving and forgiving, deepen, and to be patient with each other.  To be understanding of each ones grief, just as every snow flake that falls is unique and different.

Our hearts are tender...

Seeds of Uncertainty

un·cer·tain·ty

Uncertainty: The lack of certainty. A state of having limited knowledge where it is impossible to exactly describe the existing state, a future outcome, or more than one possible outcome.


I could say that all is well, that I'm brimming over with happy thoughts while preparing for the holidays.  I could say that but in honesty I would be fibbing.  For any of us who has faced loss of family, friends and pets, I won't even say of recent days, as any one of us can draw in a sharp breath when remembering that loved one regardless of the passage of time. 

Seems that a trigger started up for me.  Father-by-marriage broke his hip in November and while his surgery mended his hip it has worsened his mental capabilities which was bordering dementia.  Now he is considerably frailer physically and mentally.  Listening to my Love and his siblings having to make decisions of what to do brought up the anguish of the years my mom became unable to care for herself.  That ugly fear of not wanting to watch a parent fade who it seems just yesterday was out having a life of independence.  The letting go, of knowing that you can't stop time, you can't go in reverse, you can only be there fully, and do the best you can for them.  Some days will seem like you didn't help at all and other days you will feel like perhaps it is enough.  

My middle daughter's beloved kitty has entered into his next phase, dying.  He became ill but is not responding to new medication and all the loving attention given him.   He has always been the fun kitty.  Unusually looking (he is a Devon Rex), very playful, annoying, inquisitive, smart, and a kitty who stole our hearts from the first time we saw him.  Watching my daughter tend to him is just as heartbreaking as watching him fade.  She sleeps next to him at night, helping him when he tries to use the litter box, giving him fluids needed subcutaneously, dispensing his medications.  She carries him in a kitty bed out to be with us all in the kitchen.  Last night she was knitting, the kitty bed in her lap, Agador bundled up with a ball of yarn next to him.  Such a sight.  Him not attacking the yarn but instead watching her and dozing every so often.  Most unkitty like.  For those of us with pets, we can well remember as an adult getting our first pet.  We didn't have to ask our parents permission and the joy of raising the little bundle of energy taught us a lot about life, including the aging and then the passing to death that happens.  

I know that this is my personal discombobulation.  Most of the time I can talk and allow myself the extra TLC to move forward.  

It's hard to feel joy when the heart is heavy.  Some people seem to be able to do this with ease but there are those like me who under the smile feel blue.  

                                                  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Agador passed away last night.....tears fell as we bid him goodbye.  Peace is with him.....

Mass Transit ~ Life as one travels

10:30 PM
 
Our flight has landed and we are heading home.  Rather than pay long term parking at the airport we opt to take mass transit to and from.  Gliding down the escalator with suitcases in tow, we see the Bart train at the station.  We don't know if this is the train we should get on and we hope it stays till we can stand on firm ground.  I see a flash of a woman with a rolling carry-on bag boarding, then I see the door close, her arm and bag outside the door.  For the brief moment my mind assumes the door should open, that it would sense an obstruction, but no the arm and bag are caught.  Then her arm disappears and all that is there is the bag.  Magically the door opens and she is able to pull the bag in and we have time to find out where this train will go.

I'm drowsy with the subtle movement on the train, strange however, since it is a noisy ride with screeches, squeaking and other sounds that leave you to wonder if it is normal for the train to sound like this.  I hear a male voice near me and glance up.  There is a lady who has been sitting next to us since we got on being very calm while a man hovers over her talking.  They weren't together as he has come on after our third stop.  She is attractive with dark complexion and long, straight, dark hair, mid to late 30's, with her tablet in her lap and a large tote bag on the floor.  The man is wearing cream colored slacks, a white lizard skin belt, white shoes and a pumpkin colored turtleneck shirt.  He is maybe in his early 40's and African American with a neatly trimmed mustache.  He is speaking softly with a monotone voice and it is slightly hard for me to understand him with the noise of the train.  What I do hear is his flattery towards the woman.  "You are very beautiful", "You are lovely", "I haven't seen a woman like you" and so forth.  For every flattery sentence she calmly says "Thank you" just as monotone as his voice.  I'm not sure what to think.  Is she being harassed?  She seems quite calm through all the interaction.  "I would like you to go out with me" he says.  I don't hear her say anything.  "Sometime then we should go out".  Still nothing.  He walks away.  She sits as she has without response to my eye contact.  I close my eyes and drowse off once again.

As we get closer to the city center of San Francisco more people get on.  Young people in their late teens to twenties mostly.  A group are sitting and standing nearer the other exit, laughing and talking.  Two African American girls pass through our car chatting up a storm and checking out who is in our car before moving to the next car.  Both wear khaki colored pants with two orange, stiff, narrow ribbons hanging out their back right pockets.  One has the most lovely ringlets of strawberry blonde dyed hair that goes down the middle of her back.  Within five minutes they pass through again.  I wonder what the ribbons are from.

A young woman four rows back wearing earphones plays music so loud it is as though she has no earphones on.  She will regret this when she is old and can't hear anymore.

We're almost to our stop and I text our house-sitter who will come and take us home.  I look up and see a young muslim woman wearing a hijab.  She sits down next to another young woman with long light brown hair.  They look very similar in age yet such contrast.  The light brown haired women is relaxed while the young women in the hijab is stressed.  As she sits down she clearly has asked to borrow the other woman's cell phone.  I see that she has come with a backpack that is full, heaping even, with a folded up blanket at the top.  She also has a small rolling suitcase.  She is talking on the cell phone and her face seems so pained in expression.  She looks near tears and it breaks my heart to see this in such a public place with no one with her.  The light brown haired women sits quietly and I wonder her thoughts.  The young woman with hijab passes the phone back and her face reads such turmoil.  You can see her mind is overwhelmed.  Our stop comes and we depart along with the light brown haired women.  I wonder where the young woman with the hijab is going.  I hope all will be well.

Grace

 

My step-grandmother Grace was a strange one.  I didn't know how to place her in my family at age five. We didn't see her often as she lived in another town not nearby.  At home I had my Nan whom lived with us.  All warmth and love.  Grace, well she was a bit stand-offish as well as having a brooding way about her.

One visit she came with a cassette player and while I can't remember how it came to be of me listening to her talk on the tape she played, it had a lasting impact in my memory.  She was convinced that she had been reincarnated as well as being involved in channeling her previous lives.  I must have been near 10 years of age by this time and listening to the cassette of whom she had been had me terribly confused.  I wasn't brought up to believe in reincarnation but I'm pretty sure this was the first time this concept had been tossed at me.  Grace seemed a bit self-centered without regards to how her words and thoughts might have an effect on a child.  

What did I think?  What did my parents think?  It seemed like they were all polite in listening to her speak of this and to listen to the cassette, but they didn't react either.  More politeness.  I'm sure my Nan was holed up in her room crocheting or some other handwork. I don't think they hit it off those too and this surely didn't bond them.  

For me it opened up a kettle of worms in my brain.  It confused me as then I wondered if I too had lived before.  What other time might I have come from?  I began having vivid nightmares of people dying, especially of my Nan dying.  I would wake up and sit outside my parents bedroom door, rocking myself quietly.  Why I didn't knock to be let in or why I didn't go to my Nan's room I don't know but perhaps leaving my room, listening to the quiet of the house knowing they were in their beds and alive settled me enough to climb back in my bed with a light on and fall back to sleep.  

By the time I was near fourteen I was fascinated with the idea of reincarnation and how that would mean to me, that I would not die but return in some other form.  Certainly far from my Presbyterian church upbringing.  I was still having the death nightmares occasionally and slept with my radio on to go to sleep,  often leaving my light on at night after a disturbing dream.  Death, such a mystery, that I felt I needed some explanation to settle me into knowing my loved ones would be okay and not in some creepy, spooky, graveyard.  The thought that they and I could come back and somehow channel ones memory into the future life, well, that sounded more comforting to me than the line that I would go to hell if I didn't read the bible everyday or if I didn't follow the Christian rules.  

My parents divorced shortly after and I never saw Grace or my step-father again.  If the idea of reincarnation was a comfort to her, I hope she found what she was seeking.  

The Scarf

           I've been cleaning computer files, updating, moving items around and found this in my "document" files.  A story I wrote for my dearest niece upon her 40th Birthday.  I'm so glad I found it and could share this....she is one very special young woman.  

                             

 She gazed out to the farthest point to sea as the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon.  She was middle in the cup of the bay, with the craggy steep cliffs to her left and right.  Her eyes closed softly and her ears opened to the laughter below on the beach.  She thought she might have heard her sons voices amidst those of the other children playing on the beach or in the gentle methodical waves. 

   She listened intently upon the waves that almost mimicked her heart at that moment.  The pause as a wave gathers offshore. That quiet, yet momentous moment before it spills over and rushes to the shore.  She sees in her mind as the sea devours the sand and lashes out to bare toes, then feet, then ankles, then calves and knows the little scream one makes because of the chill the water brings.  A smile forms and she opens her eyes. 

     Her scarf flutters over her eyes shielding the view that she wants to see of what she was thinking.  She wants to see what she hears of the children.  Was she not a carefree child not more than it takes for a wave to melt a sand castle?  She pulls back the scarf the color of indigo blue and sand.  It was as light and wispy as a lazy kite in the sky. 

     She inhales and the acrid smell of seaweed lying on the beach hits her nose.  The smell brings up memories of dragging large seaweed ropes along the sand.  Or the time when they all pretended it was a large slithering snake and how her children jumped away as she ran after them with the bulbous end that might “bite” them.  She laughs slightly to herself of those times.  This is a place of joy, a place of memory making.

     The sun slips down closer to the sea almost to the point where it will be ablaze in shades of red, orange and yellow.  She knows that her family will want her there with them as the sunset begins and hits the surface then dissolves into the deep blue sea.  It was voted upon to stay at the beach till the first star twinkled in the sky.  What that really meant was till the sky was filled with stars.  They would all lie on the big quilt looking upward to count the stars and find the constellations.  Times like this made magic because of her husband.  Stories would abound as he talked.  She knew he would reach for her to cuddle close and she would listen as the boys discovered the Milky Way. 

     She begins the walk down the rocky cliff trail careful not to slip.  Her scarf is wild in the breeze that blows up to the cliffs from the beach.  She wraps it once then twice and finishes it by making a soft over under slip as though she was tying her shoelaces.  She recites to herself as she sinks her toes in the cooling sand that squishes and squashes beneath her.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

 i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

(Poem i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

               by E. E. Cummings) 

And so it goes......

My dining room is beginning to reappear.  It's been missing for the past nine months.  Removing the last personal effects from my mom's home, stuffing it wherever I could find a table, under beds, closets, and sadly even the floors when there were no other options, just getting it out of her home and closing the door forever.  Bit by bit I'm reclaiming my home and the dust that lies beneath all those boxes and table tops.  Dear daughter's bedroom....that will take some time to deal with.

What does one do with a framed honorary degree when my mom didn't go to the college but was generous in giving to the school?  I can't even begin to say how many plaques I threw out.  What would I do with them?!  If I deemed it worthy of saving for some historical family pass down, then I saved it.  Clearly my parents were movers and shakers in their social time, yet to hold on to these framed, engraved, and even a statue, I had to draw the line.  I'm proud of all the honors bestowed upon them, I just can't have it become needing of it's own trophy room.  

With months going by and my wandering in the room occasionally, I have had the chance to think about whether to keep the tall, single, glass, candle holder.  Today I decided to let it go.  It is lovely but doesn't go in our home.  Still it has taken me nine months to make the decision.  I wish I had kept the decorative asian brasier I sold because I didn't know where to put it in our home.  She would put orchids in it but wouldn't it have been entertaining to have used it the way it was meant to?  No I kept the stupid tall glass candle holder.  Those rapid fire decisions we had to make when her home sold with a 30 day closing still haunt me every once in awhile.  Then I sweep the thoughts away knowing they were just material items without any family heirloom title of how they came to be in her home.  

With Thanksgiving mere months away,  I'm determined to get the dining room emptied and cleaned.  Polish the silver that has been slowly turning blue-grey.  That will take some serious time to bring back to a sparkling clean.  Speaking of silver, what does one do with unwanted silver?  I have too many large trays.  I mean LARGE!  Who buys this stuff anymore?  Who uses this if they have it?!  The silver will be the next project of what I will keep and what will be sold.  Then E. will have her room back.  I laugh about this as I still label my children's rooms even though they don't live here.  I should say, we will have a guest room back that one won't trip over the multitude of boxes under the bed and around the room.  The closet will be another project if I don't forget what is in there.  I sort of have.....

I thought I should check the boxes on one side of the bed and low and behold I found a box full to the brim with table linens.  I thought I had absorbed it all with my linens.  Clearly not.  I put the lid back on and pushed the box under the bed.  It can wait.  I brought two more  boxes, filled with wine goblets, that I placed side by side with the other boxes with the last available space.  My conclusion being that wine glasses always seem to break and I can just replace as needed with these.  

The Asian clock is keeping me busy.  It doesn't like to stop.  If it stops and I rewind it, it gets goofy by being off by 15 minutes.  Even without fiddling with the pendulum.   I correct the hands, making sure the hour chime is right, only moving the minute hand, and it still will be off.  It takes me multiple times of correcting and finally changing the pendulum to have it working perfectly.  I had no idea it would be so fussy.  No matter, I do have a fondness for it and the quirkiness of it is probably why.  A couple of weeks ago the hour hand had come loose and was just swinging if touched instead of being firmly attached to the small square piece that it and the minute hand are attached to.  I sort of panicked, fearing I might break it if I pushed it back on.  I let it sit a day and then decided that I'm in charge of this clock and I will fix it.  I can do this!  Carefully I pushed it slowing and tentatively back in place.  It held!    Bless my mom's housekeeper for keeping that clocking working all the years it was in her home. 

And so it goes on this beautiful Indian summer day.  Trying to empty out a room and resting off and on to hopefully get rid of a lingering virus.  

To Dance Amongst Words

I'm trying to find the magic time to write when my mind is open and the house is quiet.  One would think with only two in the house that it is quiet.  It just seems that I have been doing the humdrum home care as well as enjoying the time while my middle daughter E. was visiting us.  One's children fly home and that is the time to savor with them.  My time will come.....

I've been reading blogs of others I've neglected.  I use to be able to read them with my morning coffee and then the past year swept that time and my heart away.  Sort of like listening to the radio in the car and singing with gusto.  I'm still enjoying the quiet of sitting in the car.  I find this odd but I'm going with it.  It's sort of comforting to drive along hearing the subtle sounds my car makes which isn't a lot as it is a hybrid.   I still sing at times, but I'm getting annoyed with the radio stations when they start playing the same songs that I hear a bit too much of.  Yes,  I could bring the iPod.

What thoughts transpire these days.....

I am amazed with the fact that my son is so far away.  Yes, I of course!  He is in college!  It's just such an odd feeling, me the mother of four,  the last one gone and I am just swirling this around and around in my head of how this affects me. 

I wonder if he misses us.

Does he think about us?

What does he miss most of all?

When I left home I was ready and packed as soon as I had a place to go.  But I had a Dr. Jeckll and Mr. Hyde mom that on one hand could be loving and dear and then be all over me over absolutely nothing.  So yes, I was ready to get out of the house.  I choose to go to a nearby college and since my Papa was a Developer and his business was also managing apartments that they owned, I moved into one of his apartments when I graduated from high school.  Quite the big step and we picked out furniture for the apartment from a recent closing of Model Homes that his company had built.  One special piece of furniture did not come from there.  My Love, my boyfriend all those years ago, had made me a lovely round oak table with claw feet.  

I knew nothing of cooking.  Thank goodness for my Love and his mom who had us over for dinner many a night.  That and the many afternoons I would go to her house, have tea and have the best woman to woman talks.  I cooked strange combinations of food.  Certainly not balanced.  My parents would take me out as well from time to time.  I had a lot to learn of being on my own.

My Love and I had a love nest.  It was wonderful to be with him in the evening, sort of like I imagined married life might be.  I would do my homework and he would be reading in bed.  Then I would turn out the lights and snuggle with him, night after night after night.....

My time away from home is far different than my son and that is fine by me.  

The writing....I want to dance with my thoughts!  Like having a waltz playing and my fingers and thoughts are like a dancer's feet, they tap and are ready.  Who will take my hand?  Out on the floor I will step and be caught up in the motion that will sweep me along.


Like the song "To Be Surprised", that I will be....whatever flows will flow.

Very soon we will be back East, exactly where we were two years ago to the date of our daughter K. and her hubby B.'s wedding!

I'm looking forward to walking in the field they were married in.  To see the changing colors just as we did and let my mind fill with the sweet memories of that whole wedding trip. 

I Choose Love

Without children living at home, the new title of empty nester still quite new, my thoughts swoop to places uncharted.  Only fifteen days without R. in the nest and fifteen days of being a "just the two of us" with five of those at a family wedding.  Stop counting Ellen.  That is me, the one who logs down emotions and thoughts, calculations of living.  I can't help it. 

So what one may ask, is transpiring in those thoughts?  A lot.  Given that it has been a year of extreme lows and extreme highs I can't help but think these thoughts belong on a trapeze.  Swinging back and forth, being caught (God I love my husband for holding me tight), swinging out freely on my own (God I'm grateful for my self-stability and trust in myself), then from lofty heights I fall into a soft net of my loving family.

After watching my mom lose herself from Alzheimer's, with urgency I wish to live more fully.  I want to do it all.  I want to go everywhere, NOW.  Not later, now.  I want to smell every flower, touch the softness of every petal and hold it's delicate blossom knowing soon it will fade.  It's not that I am thinking of my own demise, though those thoughts certainly have come up when you lose your parents and wonder "what now?".    Rather than take that step to that door, I choose life and that other door called living.  

Sometimes my thoughts travel back to when Papa died and that turning point where I knew my mom was dying, figuratively, because she gave up on ever being truly happy again.  Fourteen years of living but not wanting to be living.  Then the last three + years where her brain became emptied unvoluntarily.  I've wondered if her ability to love was only for him.  What might cause one to abandon the essence of loving?   One can give and give your love to someone who has given up on love and in doing so you can become weakened and can find yourself hurt, angry, and in the end with my mom I became empathetic.  Deep inside I knew there was nothing left that I could do to help her.  

I'm blessed to be married to this man, my Love.  He has loved me through every stage of my life and I to him.  We both yearn to see the world and to be with our family whenever we can.  I'm ready to allow myself to be silly, something that has been lost to me for quite some time.  Laugh at myself, love myself, discover who I am and whom I shall continue to learn about.  

Time is precious.  Neither of us want to waste a moment to live in happiness.  We can't avoid the days that surely will come of grief or sadness.  Slump days will happen, illness will happen, days of utter delight will happen.  Balance.  Karma.  Yin-Yang.  

What I'm observing in myself since R. has left is the renewal of the amazing relationship I have with my Love.  It's sort of like dating all over again.  And that is pretty darn fun.  I'm learning to listen with intent and not with "uh-huh" half heartedly.  When you are in a relationship that spans as long as we have you can sometimes not listen with both ears.  I've done this and he has too.  I'm ready to woo and be wooed.  So what that we have been married for 37 years?  Let's begin again and again.....

 I choose Love.  

Going. Be Brave.

It's Sunday, the day before we leave to take R. to college.  He is packed, the earliest I've ever seen him pack up to go anywhere.  I showed him how to fold a dress shirt and gave him a lesson of how my mom would pack her clothes.  Lay the garment button side down, take some tissue doubled and lay it flat on top of the garment, fold to about 2 inches to the neck down the body of the shirt, folding sleeves carefully in the body on top of the previous fold, fold again in half.  My mom for extra measure to prevent wrinkles would add extra tissue before the fold.  Sometimes she would then lay the garment inside a dry cleaners bag before putting in a suitcase.  It worked.  Prevented some serious wrinkles.  R. won't be doing this but the pearls of wisdom must be shared if only for me to talk out loud with motherly advice.

My Love is wandering around, bringing items to R.'s room.  Something he normally does not do.  He took a long bike ride and a short nap but then he was looking for what he could do to help.  Clearly R. needs no help from us.  We have passed this on over the years leading up to this day.

And I, what do I do?  I was great this morning.  Happy and cheerful.  I went to my gym and all was well until the folding advice.  Then it started, the thoughts of him being away and my tears that run down my cheeks, come and go.  I have a hard time with goodbyes.  Even when I know that I will see a loved one again.  It's the goodbye.  I washed the last few items he was going to pack and laid them on his crumpled bedsheets.   When R. was little I taught him how to make his bed and explained that it was a chore that he was responsible for.  And he did make that bed every day except Friday when it was sheet changing day.  He has always been responsible.

Then he became a teen and the bed chore sort of passed.  Having had the three girls before him and all the difficulties of what to push with teenagers, I chose to let that go.  Pick your battles.  A bed not made is not a big deal.  I don't sleep in it and it is out of my view.  The one day of the week I make it is sheet washing day.  I did it lovingly because I knew there would be a day he would not be here and this room would languish in a slumber that empty rooms do till someone needs that bed.  

His room use to back up to ours from birth till near 4th grade when we moved him back to one of his sister's former rooms.  We got a queen bed instead of moving the twin knowing that he would be growing.  That queen bed gave him the ability to sleep diagonal which I never could understand.  It gave him the ability to make the duvet go sideways and the sheets pushed to the foot of the bed unused.  Pillows all over the place but always on the bed.  Frankly I couldn't sleep that way but for his teenage rest it was heaven.  He does like that bed and now he will have to resort to Twin XL.  From four pillows to two.  From mom changing sheets to him doing it all.

Quiet day, heavy in the air of departure.  Lost parents not knowing which way to go.  Not knowing what to say to each other because any possible thought could send us both into an emotional trigger of tears.  "Be brave", my mommy mantra of the day that is said calmly in my head and heart.

Who Knows Where the Time Goes

Across the evening sky, all the birds are leaving
Oh but then you know, it was time for them to go
By the winter fire, I will still be dreaming
I do not count the time
for who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?
Sad, deserted shore
your fickle friends are leaving
oh, but then you know it was time for them to go
But I will still be here
I have no thought of leaving
I do not count the time
for who knows where the time goes?
I know I'm not alone
while my love is near me
I know that its so until its time to go
All the storms in Winter and the birds in Spring again
I do not count the time
For who knows where the time goes?
who knows where the time goes?
who knows where the time goes? 

Last time I posted this song it was on my other blog A Walk into Oblivion and it sang to me of my mom and Papa being gone.  It was sung by Sandy Denny who sang it with a longing of past days that were no longer.   My heart ached knowing my parents would not be around for all the happy times ahead or even the times of sadness that inevitability come.

When I heard this version it felt different.   Not full of melancholy, but of life moving forward.  We can't escape times past yet ever we move forward with fond, dear memories.  With R. leaving a lot of emotions well up in my heart.  He is leaving home earlier than originally as he is joining a Fraternity and they move in a full eighteen days earlier than the dorm he was to go.  Oh me, the mother in me counting the days till my fledgling leaves the nest.  My excitement for him is full indeed but let's be real.  We all remember when we first left home.  Coming back to mom and dad's home was different because we were different.  We separated and begin our own life, our own story that was just beginning.  So many new adventures, new faces, new places, new struggles but through each new beginning the home we remember living in was fading.  The child, now grown, takes flight with wings and eyes wide open.  

It's busy in my head with lists of items to get when we arrive in his new city to live for the next four years.  What will he need in the fraternity house different from the dorm?  Won't know till we see the room and that is fine.  I could order items at Bed, Bath and Beyond in a registry and they will have it ready for me when we get to Washington but in the real world for me right now is we don't have time to go wandering in a big store for useful and needed items when we leave in such a short time.  If truth be known, if there is a closet, a small dresser then he will be fine.  I'm making a list of what I know will be handy.  I'm good at making lists.

 I hope he will take it his guitar.  I've noticed he isn't playing as much as he use to which was constantly, but to imagine him without a guitar I just don't know.  I don't know if I could wander into his room and see all the guitars left behind, idle, and collecting dust and going out of tune.  I just don't know.  And what of the calluses he has from years of playing?  Or the length of his nails that he has grown for playing his acoustic guitar?  Will he cut them?  Most times his nails look far nicer than mine.  I'm encouraging him to bring it and his sister has as well.  We shall see.   When I hear him play my heart swells with joy.  This I know that music will always be with him and if he doesn't bring the guitar now then maybe at his Thanksgiving break.  Maybe he'll ask me to mail it up to him and I will.  Oh I will!  

I'll leave this post on a high / happy note.  A song that from the moment I heard it reminded me of R. and his future days....

I had a dream so big and loud
I jumped so high I touched the clouds
Whoa-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh (Whoa-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh)

I stretched my hands out to the sky
We danced with monsters through the night
Whoa-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh (Whoa-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh)

I'm never gonna look back, Whoa-Oh
Never gonna give it up, No-Oh
Please don't wake me now

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)
This is gonna be the best day of my life
(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh) My li-i-i-i-i-i-ife

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)
This is gonna be the best day of my life
(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh) My li-i-i-i-i-i-ife

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh) Whoo
(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)

I howled at the moon with friends
And then the sun came crashing in
Whoa-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh (Whoa-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh)

But all the possibilities
No limits just epiphanies
Whoa-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh (Whoa-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh)

I'm never gonna look back, Whoa-Oh
Never gonna give it up, No-Oh
Just don't wake me now

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)
This is gonna be the best day of my life
(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh) My li-i-i-i-i-i-ife

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)
This is gonna be the best day of my life
(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh) My li-i-i-i-i-i-ife

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)
(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)

I hear it calling
Outside my window
I feel it in my soul (Soul)

The stars were burning so bright
The sun was out 'till midnight
I say we lose control (Control)

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)
This is gonna be the best day of my life
(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh) My li-i-i-i-i-i-ife

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)
This is gonna be the best day of my life
(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh) My li-i-i-i-i-i-ife

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh) This is gonna be, this is gonna be
This is gonna be, the best day of my life (Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)
Everything is looking up, everybody up now

(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh)
This is gonna be the best day of my liife
(Ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh) My li-i-i-i-i-ife

 

Letting go

There have been many thoughts going through my mind these many weeks since we came back from vacation.  It's now August, almost a year since my mom passed away.  That is one deep abyss of confusion still of her the mom and the woman.  

Then there is the coming time when my son, my heartbeat these past 18 years, will leave our little nest to begin his life separate from us, his mom and dad.  We may have had four kids, but with R. it has felt like we had an only child since the girls have been out of the nest for quite some time.

It has been bliss.  Truly.  Amazingly.  Bliss.  

A paradox in my life right now of the year anniversary for mom and the beginnings for R. but also for my Love and I too.  Beginnings can be quite unsettling.  How to feel?   I go from weepy eyes and choked up throat to excitement (alone with my Love for the first time since 1980! WOC ~ without children!), pride (so very proud of my R for being the honest, kind, intelligent young man he is), scared (letting go of R...I knew this day was coming but how to let go of my sweet boy?)  

I will.  I'll let go.  

I remember all the walks R. and had I with his little hand in mine.  Soft childish puffy little palm in mine.  I can remember tracing in my mind that a day would come when he would not want me to hold his hand.  Big boy.  Me do it myself time.  And you have to let it happen.  Parents have to let go so often that it begins to blur when and why, only that you do and the child is learning to be their own person, separate from you.

Guest blogging ~ Tim ~ Thoughts on Robin Williams

       My hubby has some thoughts he wished to share of his time working on Mrs. Doubtfire as an extra.  For two weeks he was at our local restaurant Bridges which was completely shut down, fenced off and even tented in some areas to make it look like nighttime while filming.  Tim worked the oddest of hours.  When they said to show up he did.  It could be in the middle of the night, early in the morning, late afternoon, etc.  Robin Williams makeup took hours to put on.  He sat at a table adjacent to the family table and heard and saw it all.  Truly a memorable experience.  Here are some thoughts he had with the death of Robin.......                     

                                   The Power of Observation

    We all have known people we've had constant contact with family, friends, school mates.  They have opinions on all subjects and influence us through those opinions.  What about those who influence us whom we have never met?  How much can they shape your thoughts?  Some of those people are in the news and media.

     I had the great pleasure of being an extra on the filming of Mrs. Doubtfire in 1993 at Bridges Restaurant in our hometown of Danville, California.  This was to be 15 minutes of the film and take 2 weeks to film.  Robin Williams was of course the one to watch.  Sally Fields and Pierce Bronson were also there acting and observing Robin in action.  This part of the film was unscripted dialogue, therefor many takes were stopped because of their attempt to keep the movie from being an R rating. Also because  the uncontrollable laughter by the whole crew would ruin a take.  The extras were under strict orders to keep quiet, which we did. 

     Watching Robin was a unique experience, and my time there felt like it was a private performance rather than filming of a movie.  Bouncing from one sketch to another occurred constantly.  His death reminded me of his genius as well as his vulnerability.  Robin, who was married to his new second wife at the time,  showed his vulnerable personal side for all to witness.  The crew did not like her being there.  He needed her, and we could see his personal side.  His off camera self was not aloof just very human.

    Robin gave me pleasure in Mrs. Doubtfire and through all his performances, but I could see then, and more recently in his now cancelled TV show, an underlying cloud in his persona.  This troubled side was becoming more visible. Something was lurking off camera, that was now in this new show, affecting him on camera. The comic genius wasn't even funny. Something was up. Now we know.

     So what did I learn from Robin Williams life?  He was publicly upbeat, but privately dealing with demons.  Don't we all have a bit of depression in us? Demons of our own? Haven't we all medicated ourselves with the available alcohol and drugs?  Haven't we also used humor as a way of coping?  Burying ourselves in work, exercise, etc?

     We must be sensitive to those around us and the depth of their needs.  There are limits to our abilities and powers to help others with  issues, or for that matter even notice them. On the other side, allowing others into our private world to help us is also an obstacle. We show vulnerability that we are trained not to show.  Apparently he did and still didn't make it.  Robin however, still gave us laughter as a great way of both escaping and coping in a healthy way. Lets all laugh more! That at least, is a start.