A Precious Reward

Setting the table for four on Christmas Day, I decided to use my parent's dishes, mine now since they are gone. Growing up, my family ate every Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner on these "good" dishes.

I got four plates down and started setting the table.  Holding that sweet 1960s plate, I was transported back, back to the sounds of the table, smells, my father's voice, the bowls including that canned cranberry, mother's sweet tea, back through a tunnel of time to my mother's house. When I realized I was in 2012 preparing a meal alone, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for those memories, for that childhood, for this day.

It occurred to me what progress that way. A corner turned.

It was a moment of reward for the last year and a half processing the fact that I have no family of origin. A few cousins I rarely hear from. A nephew, a relationship young for him to know me long. Processing that no one knows me before the age of 14. Feeling alone. Feeling pitiful. But on Christmas day 2012, I felt grateful for what I had. And still have, those precious times I can float back to...

Lake Alone Four

Spencer was restless all night. He never stays up. He loves going to bed. He had
a fresh blanket and everything. But instead something was harassing him in the
dark. He barked though the night. So unlike him. I thought it must be a deer or
raccoon.

By mid morning of day three he had treed the offensive beast, having never seen
it myself I feel it must have been a feral cat. He strutted around satisfied that
he had shown the beast who was boss. That's right Spencer, you can enjoy your
bed tonight...

It was windy, Oklahoma again. I chose to bead and watch another movie on the
iPad. Once. Oh so good. So very good. Watch it.

Now I sit in my beloved rocker, having some water and recounting here by
writing. It's 11:15 and I have to leave the cabin by 2:30.

These indulgent quiet days have brought my mother close to me.

I keep seeing
images of her and hearing her voice.

It's difficult to live without her. Such an interesting time in my life as my
own daughter makes her way. It is necessary for her to stop hearing my voice and
hear her own, or at least make her own louder than mine. And I miss her. And I
want her to need me. And I want her not to need me. And I need to live my own
life and not hear my mother's voice above my own.

It's a wonderful time of freedom in my life. The problem is that this freedom comes
only through loss. Maybe that's the way freedom always comes.

 

My story must
continue. It can no longer be defined by my mother or the love and service for
my daughter. There is an buoyancy to these days, and also a dizzying untethered
fear.

So I rest and keep busy and rest again. Order will come. For Allie too as she
treads in the days of her own life. And mother, wherever her soul is. Whenever
and whatever that looks like.

And I type. And listen to the leaves and see Spencer beside me and my future in
front of me.

 

Lake Alone Three

I slept until 8:30. The sun streams straight in and I awaken under the covers to 
Spencer's head flopping on the bed to get me up, ready for his morning routine.

Make the bed. I always make the bed. I can't get into an unmade bed. I take 
pleasure in a made bed.

Coffee on the porch. It's is clear and lovely. That fall crisp in the air. Early 
for that. It ought to be 103 today but it is only supposed to be 90. Oh to hold 
on to this.  Spencer poking around. Birds making the best of the tilted broken 
feeder. Hummingbird fighting for the nectar and nobody winning. 

This feels like heaven. It does. I am in love with my lucky life. 

Also it smells so good.

Ate fruit loops with soy milk. 

Thoughts on soy milk. First, I am looking for the phytoestrogens. Second, I am 
reducing my dependence on cows. I am  not a vegetarian. Did that for six years. 
Had a hamburger, life was transformed. I never loved meat and I will only eat 
meat I love and enjoy. I try not to be wasteful of animal products. 

Therefore soy milk.

I went for a walk. A short one, just over 2 miles but it was fast and involved a 
hill. We call this a mountain in Oklahoma but I will ever to it as a hill for 
the purposes of not being offensive to readers in a altitude or attitude higher 
than that of mine in Oklahoma.

Spent a little time on a float on the water.

Spencer kept an eye on that dog in the water. 

I changed  and made lunch. It was an attempt to replicate the vegetarian Mexican 
Gumbo at Qdoba. It's one of the best fast food things you can buy. Also they 
serve China Mist jasmine iced tea. I have this meal at Qdoba once a week. Mine 
was transcendent. Lots of cilantro. I am sorry if you don't like cilantro. I am 
to understand certain people find it tastes soapy. I am so glad I am not once of 
those people. It is citrus to me and I cannot consume enough of it. 

Cleared up the kitchen and thought in lieu if beading I might nap. But then I 
didn't sleep. Not sure why, loaded up on black beans and guacamole as I was. 
Watched the Sex in the City shows on involving Jack Burger. I didn't like 
that season. SJP played a caricature of Carrie Bradshaw. I don't find her to be 
a good actress anyway but she was awful then. I had another cupcake then passed out. 

When I awakened it was nearly six. This nap I felt guilty about. Sleeping until 
dinner time feels wrong.

Penance was two hours of beading while I watched The Visioners. Odd. Slow but 
made a great point about the homogenizing of society and the loss of creative 
vision.

Spencer needed a cart ride and it was nearly sundown. We went to the gate at the 
pasture. And this is what I love about God. I can stand in the same place and 
take the same picture of the same sun over and over again. And over and over 
again my breath is taken away. And I whisperer the prayer "thank you."

All in order again, it was dinner, reading, sleep.

Thank you...a whispered prayer.

Lake Alone Two

Day One continued.

 

An hour. I slept an hour. After about 5 sleepless nights I refuse to feel
guilty. I got (mostly) over the shame of the nap while grieving for my mother.
Grief is a cold trek over a mountain alone only to find another mountain.
It's exhausting. Now I seem to just nap for the pleasure of lying down and
drifting away to wake up and find more day left.

Started another bracelet. My goal is to have three done for the late October
Glitter Market. I only do one show a year now. These bead woven bracelets take
about 9 hours to complete. There is a pleasant repetition in the work. I had a
bead situation this morning though and had to drive into town to get more options.
Thank you Walmart. They have quite a few cute things now. Upping their game. It
must be difficult to compete with the fresh forward buyers of Target. I feel no
sorrow for them of course.

Beading and watching that delicious Michele Williams in My Week With Marilyn.
She is such a good actress. I feel in love with her in Broke Back Mountain. I hope
she sticks with it. I think she will have an epic career given the right
opportunities. An Oscar might help.

Then Bowtie pesto pasta with artichokes. I poured myself a glass of wine. It had
gone bad . Poured it out. Oh well. Dinner on the porch. The birds were coming
around. But so did the squirrels and a naughty one broke one of the feeders.

To my favorite spot at the farm gate. Sunset across the pasture. I have taken
this picture hundreds of times. I can never edit it down to one. I am greedy
with sunsets.

Knitting. TV. Bed. Slept all the night...

Lake Alone One

I indulge myself in very prolonged daydreams. For example, when I can't sleep, 

I'll ask myself a question then settle in to a detailed answer.  Or, while 
working on a long project with my hands I will happily settle in to a story of my own making.

This also explains why I like redundant and tedious hand tasks like needlepoint 
or knitting. A long drive, oh a long drive, especially on the motorcycle when I can't talk,

I will work it all out in my head. Often I will describe a perfect weekend 

spent with the old gang of girlfriends. I might plan the perfect visit to 
a place I have been before and know well enough to work out the story. I will 
daydream about all the things I would do with a week alone.

And now I have 3 days alone. Between caring for my family and the start of the 
next job I have 4 months off. And a lake cabin. I had never been there alone in the 8 
years we've had it. I needed to spend that time with my family. Once Allie was 
on a week long vacation this month and with the threat of selling it I decided 
to come alone. I slept so well. I beaded. I journaled.  I only did half of 
what I thought I would accomplish.

This post will be an indulgent log of my days alone. Rather than working it 
all out in my head I get live it.

I sit here on the porch, in my rugged rocking chair, a beloved valentine gift 
many years ago from Husband, iPad in my lap, Spencer at foot. It is not windy, 
rare, rare in Oklahoma. Cicadas pulse in the trees. It's warm but not as it 
ought to be for August. The lake is smooth, a powdery blue that nearly matches the 
sky.

I left home this morning for the two hour drive, coffee finished, Spencer in the back 
and my soy chocolate milk that feels like such indulgence. Does that make 
me sound healthy, worthy? Not to worry,  once I got here I ate half a cupcake while waiting 
for leftover pizza to warm...

On the way I made a stop at Quilt Barn Antiques. I haven't stopped there in 
about 7 or 8 years. Last time I bought an Oklahoma tablecloth which is displayed 
here at the cabin. This time they wouldn't take a credit card and I didn't have a 
checkbook so I was limited to the $18 in cash I was carrying. Thirteen dollars 
later I had these linens and bandage box. Such beauty. I laid them out once I 
got there and sat my iPad temporarily there. An odd and intriguing mix.

I unloaded groceries, started a load of laundry. To me, it's home when laundry is going.

I am always ready to start the day with the washer and dryer at work. 

I filled the bird feeders, a task I stopped during the high heat of summer. There
was enough for the birds to eat and I just am tired of my sweaty, menopausal back dripping. 

This visit I feel like being outside enjoying the porch and 
watching the waves of birds come by. Also I was feeling bad about 

 
the hummingbirds coming 'round all summer with faith that I had filled 
their feeder. I did this time. Come on little birds. 

And within minutes a ruby 
throated hummingbird hovers in and I whisper the prayer "thank you."

Inside now to the couch to read a chapter of the Tibetan motherhood story Across 
Many Mountains and drift off to sleep. 

Hippie Soul

If you could see the trajectory of my life from childhood to now, it would look tradtional and very conservative. Fourth child of two depression-era parents, hard working, sober, Christians in a ranch style home with a yard. Dad, an ex-WWII POW, hand pulled the weeds in his American lawn, was disarmed for transport to the hospital when he had a heart attack in that same front yard on his last day. Mother, small town girl, raised four kids and managed the house and meals for decades.

Today I am an educated mother of one, mother to three overall, married to my second husband, a hard working, Kansas born, self-made man. I manage our decorated home, do laundry, make dinner, exercise and have painted toenails.

But turn up the volume, step in closer and see three siblings, the suicidal addicted sister, a brother, the former marine, dead by suicide, another brother, severely afflicted with mental retardation. But before all that, a little tow-headed girl adored them all, contemplated Abbey Road, listened to Ike AND Tina on LP, smelled incense, had love beads who remains, at heart, a hippie today.

My soul wears moccasins, smells flowers and responds to most things with

"neat,"

"right on,"

or  "beautiful, man..."

My reality is I use essential oils, listen to humpback whale calls and Born Free tattooed my life. My dream since childhood is to visit Africa. Long walks are my church. I have an animal totem. Or two...

I went on a rehabilitation slash restoration trip recently to Southern Utah. I packed hiking shoes, wool socks, hiking shorts and four Life's Good tees, all brand new, a journal and my camera going to walk and reflect.

I thought I would journal and nap, walk leisurely and

let go of grief on mother's first Deathday....

Yeah...

My first hike on the first day included a near 2000 feet ascent. I nearly died of respiratory distress. Seriously, I showed up, looked around at my hike-mates and thought "oh yeah, I can do this, I can take any of them." Roughly 85 vertical feet later and I was bent over sucking air, unsuccessfully.

After an ugly, puffy, red time, I made it to the peak, wheezed "I kick ass" and walked the remaining four miles in the freaking sand.

I was too terrified to show up for the hike the next day, opting instead for a leisurely walk to look at 7000 year old peteroglyphs with Boma Johnson, an archaeologist, geologist and former Federal government liaison for Native Americans, whom he referred to as Indians. It was a rousing lecture in the 90 degree heat.

The third day I fearfully took another hike in Snow Canyon State Park with a group, sure I would be the last one, heckled with "come on, lets go, hurry up..." I was at the end of the line but mainly because I wanted to stop now and then to look up, not only down at the trail. By the time we climbed into Scout's Canyon, I was kicking ass and taking names. Feeling more confident. Feeling good.

Feeling whooped. No journaling, not even energy to write my gratitudes at night before bed. I did however take a nap in a hammock as bees fed on fragrant bushes, lush, noisy, living the fecund life.

I had no time to think about grief or my dying mother or my dead mother or my good-as-dead sister, both of whom I saw for the last time on the same day one year earlier. Somehow my story, my own little tired story really didn't matter. All that mattered was vermilion vistas and moving my feet, even if it was to find a spot to lie down.

On my last morning the alarm sounded at 6 am, shit, this is a vacation, I am exhausted, I won't go...later that morning I had crawled up this rock, at 3800 feet. I buzzed aorund that red rock saying "I feel great, seriously, I feel high" with my arms outstretched overhead, leaping at times.

Who is that girl?  The hippie in the center, at peace via exhilaration.

I found my thing. 

I found my rehab. 

I found my center.

The final act was the Medicine Wheel walk with a Shaman. Later, alone, I walked the labyrinth in a true meditative bliss grateful for the lessons and struggles yet to come...

I think the soundtrack to it involved Led Zeppelin.

I coud smell a little sage.

I offered Holy Water to the Earth.

Now do I tell any of this to you?

Or just go ahead and make a video of my favorite beauty products for April?

Right on...

30 Day Photo Challenge: Gratitude I

The first month of the new year. Inhale...

I really enjoyed the daily challenge provided by Hope's journaling prompts for December 2011. I am finishing that up now. I used pictures very often to express myself as I have done since I got my first camera, an Instamatic in the 1970s. When I saw this challenge by PositivelyPresent on Pinterest I hoped it would be a great way to start the year and fend off the cold January dark thoughts...

One-One-One Two:  Favorite Food

Yep, its peanut butter. It is the first food I remember crawling on the old Formica counter top to reach. It got me through grade school, college, PA school, rotations, years of work and now, days at home, stretches of ennui. I am always seeking protein, and here it is. I prefer Peter Pan just soes you know...

Team Trish

The Oklahoma City Race for the Cure happened on a beautiful, sunny, windless day. There were lots of us in our Team Trish gear in Bricktown. Trish, just coming off her last chemo before her surgery, walked the entire 5K with her husband, two young sons, mother, siblings, friends and coworkers. It was moving.

She has done the deal. Kept her head down and took it like a girl, the chemo, the illness and kept working, kept being a mother. She told me cancer was just not going to become who she is, but an illness she has for a year. At the end of the walk, the survivors gathered on the ball field. She held back waiting for the line to clear. Her mother offered to walk over with her. She reached the end of the long line. It was a few seconds later that the ladies turned around to see her sweet peach fuzz and say "I was there a year ago," "five years ago," "ten," and "you can walk with us." Trish was enveloped by a sea of pink. She was one of them. It was too much for her mother. For all of us. So comforting. Such hope.

She has had her big surgery and of course texted pictures of herself in that hospital bed beaming that it was over.

I want to thank the wonderful friends who supported Trish with their words of comfort, cheering her on. I want to thank those who donated to my fundraising effort for the Cure which got me to $325! Thank you Marla, Alisa, Maija, Penny, Linda, Stefanie, Charlene and Julie. A thousand thank yous.

I didn't really hear from Jemellia all that weekend until she asked to bring this by. She made this quilt for Trish. I really don't have words for this. I delivered it to Trish in her hospital room. We didn't have words either. Trish read the center block, whispering "fight like a girl." We shed tears and ran our hands across this labor of a love, this symbol for what women can do...

What we do.

Thank you Jemellia. I am so moved by what we as women do for one another.