You are not responsible for everything. Be accountable. Strive to be self-aware. Know that there is so much more at work than you could ever carry on your own, so don’t even try.
Note to self.
Category: aging
Monday Mood: Waterlogged
I was just doing the final walkthrough before an Open House (we’re selling our house) when I noticed the Art Room floor was wet. Looking up at the sagging ceiling tile, I hollered for help . Ric came to the rescue, removing the tile and letting the rush of water free.
At our age, we do not move fast, and given the fact we both require use of the chair lift, the clean up was even slower. We did the best we could given the timeline and quit as Real Estate arrived.
“Tell them the plumber has been called”, Ric offered, anticipating people would come.
Exhausted we headed out with dog on board to vacate the house for 2 hours. The rain was pouring down with no relief in sight.
As I type this, the plumber is hunting down the problem. The rain continues. I am feeling waterlogged.
Aftershock
Emotional economy
in state of collapse
What fallacy is this;
what trigger shook me?
Horror-filled insomnia
possesses my psyche
It’s been 50 year since the fall –
why process now?
(Image my own)
The Moment is Now
Evening light casts a hopeful glow
A gentle summer breeze harmonizes
shadows fascinate, stretching into mystery
My breathing, shallow, betrays the mood
Uncertainty an unforgiving foe –
soul whispers a prayer of longing
A swarm of winged insects dance
where walnut branches part
undaunted by ensuing dark
My wings, folded in doubt’s wake,
weigh heavily on anticipation –
a learned habit of mine
Sun lingers in this season
of emerald charm, and I am reminded
that time evokes change, and I too
Am but a part of nature’s cycle
and what worry robs me of now
will not find its rhythm in Winter’s chill.
(Image my own)
Three Gifts
The decision has been made – it is time for us to move on to the next stage of life.
The house will be sold and we shall look for a smaller, rental apartment. It hasn’t been easy coming to this conclusion, and it won’t be easy making the transition, but excitement is part of the equation.
We will be moving back to the city, closer to family, and doctors, and all conveniences.
Now the purge and pack begins.
Acceptance, wisdom, and openness are at my side: three gifts to guide me.
Monday Mood: blessed
Celebrated 68 years (on this earth) this past weekend with visits from friends and family. Pictured is my husband with our youngest granddaughter. Young and old enjoyed delicious food, laughter, and those precious one-on-one interactions.
On Silence
“When you sit in silence long enough, you learn that silence has a motion. It glides like water. Its colour is silver. And silence has a sound you hear only after hours of wading inside it. The sound is soft, like flute notes rising up, like the words of glass speaking. Then there comes a point when you must shatter the blindness of its words the blindness of its light.”
Growing up fifth of six kids, I learned that life was chaos and noise. It was where I thrived. Always shared a room, and later, an apartment, and marriage, and my own children, and when finally silence found me, it was shattering. It took a long while for me to appreciate the gift in silence, and like anything in life, I had to learn not to rest there too long.
Balance and moderation. That’s what I seek.
But, oh, I do love silence.
Strive (a quotation)
I love this quotation. I feel as if ‘cynicism’ has long been a companion of mine. She creeps into my writing and undermines my sleep. She is overridden, however, by my desire to make a difference.
As a teacher, I had plenty of opportunities to offer hope and substance to my students, but that has changed now. Age and illness have greatly reduced my contact with others. The striving is harder, and yet, just as applicable.
A teacher of mine once said that we are like tuning forks – our vibration, our energy, our attitude influencing those around us.
I keep these words close to mind. A worthy goal for living each day.
More Hole Than Whole
The woman in the mirror is flawed
age spots where freckles once sprouted,
streaks of white, peppering former auburn,
inner scars marking discontent.
How then is she expected
to know wholeness?
In days when mind was sharp
self-confidence wobbled;
where spirituality was planted,
self-judgment undermined.
The path to wholeness
pitted with potholes.
How often emotion overrode
common sense, and choices
led her astray, how thick
the mud of guilt she mired in.
Repulsed at her own reflection
she was anything but whole.
Less self-defacing these days
she examines the worn bits
with wry acceptance –
acknowledges the toil.
If wholeness is perfection,
she’s ready to let go.
(Image my own. AI enhanced)
Nature is Like That
A wren showed up the other day,
heard him before I saw him,
took over the Chickadee nest,
killed the babies and settled in.
Nature is like that.
I witness with horror and awe
the chickadees move on –
reproduction is industry –
I watch the wren couple now
build their nest and sing aloud
Goldfinches love the chase,
yellow darts of joy;
I shoo away the Grackles
bully birds from my angle
but they know I mean no harm
Only the Cooper’s hawk
commands silence
birds scattering in cover of green,
fierce eyes scour the yard –
I cannot look away
Someone’s been digging
in the flower bed,
hibiscus tops disappearing
the gardener outsmarted,
and delighted, at every turn
A bobcat showed up at dusk
prowling the perimeter
the lush offerings tempting
despite the proximity of a house.
Coyote has braved it too
Heat confines me indoors,
sun twinkling off swaying leaves,
humid the breeze that compels them.
Later they’re calling for storms
a tumultuous reprieve
Sunrise and we’ll begin again
routines and surprises
birdsong and animal antics;
me in my chair, mesmerized.
Nature is like that.
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 