What Do You Want Of Me, God?

I got a call today from my priest telling me of a woman who needed friendship and comfort.  She was a person of diminished capacity, had breast cancer, was totally alone and needed company; someone to reach out to her.  I was told she was at a behavioral treatment center but didn't know much more than that.   I decided to go visit but felt awkward and edgy.  I really didn't know what to expect.  What I found was something I would have never thought of.  I arrived to find myself visiting a secured and locked down facility.  She was a very broken human being.

 

Some people just don't seem to get any breaks in life.  A dead brother.  Another brother not in her life.  An invalid mother.  A disappeared father.  Two children.  One grandchild.  Beatings. Alcohol and drugs. Mental health issues.  A desperately rough life crossing the generations.  She is an intelligent woman with much suffering in her life.  Following the threads of a conversation was easy.

A few minutes into our visit we learned the Fr.  . . . .  had arrived.  That is when I remembered that he had said he would try to get over there but I had forgotten all about that possibility.  We talked about getting a phone number to her that she needed and had lost.  We talked about follow-up visits and seeing her at the hospital after her surgery.  I don't know how easy that will but I'll try.

Meeting a person like her is an object reminder of how blessed I am in my life.  Writing this will  serve as a remind to me that when God spoke through the Holy Spirit, I managed to actually be paying attention, listen and act.  Thank you, God.  What next?

Alone

I've been alone for a week. Don left for Indianapolis last Sunday, a week ago, helping Quanah with his move there. He's in Missouri now visiting with friends as he makes his way home.

The first week I was alone, Krista made sure I had plenty of company. And my brother, very unexpectedly, stayed in touch to a great degree. I was there. He was here. Dinner at Las Consuelos last night, with him and Yolanda, was a hit.

This first week, I kept a list of what I had accomplished. I had great plans and I actually accomplished some of it though not nearly enough. This week will be a little different though.

Since Krista has let us know she is moving back home (the house she is living in is being sold), I'm now faced with surrendering "my" room for it to become her room again. This is going to be a "beach" of a week as I move some of the furniture back to the front room and go through everything yet again and see what else I can get rid of.

Kris is attending an international conference this week and even though it's local, liability issues prohibit participants from leaving campus. It's very strange to know that she is still in town (at the university staying in the dorms) and that I will not see her. I'm experiencing a feeling of isolation at the moment and it doesn't feel comfortable. Okay. Call it what it is - Lonely.

This week underscores how little contact I have with people. Elaine moved. Marie going out of town. Kris in town and not around. Don three time zones away. Most of my day to day possibilities actually happen right here and I love it.  But, face to face reality is in short supply.  I started asking myself  what I could do to bring more people into my life and a question sincerely asked, got an answer.

Last year I joined an organization called Matthew's Ministry, an organization at a parish level that serve those in need.  You will find us serving at funerals, visiting shut-ins, bringing them Holy Communion and company, and praying daily at 6 p.m. for healing of the sick.  The group got off to a slow start but we are organized now and I've met some very nice people, many of them much older than I and living very active lives. 

They are becoming inspirations for me and a bit of a family.  They all have large families - children, grandchildren, and great-grands.  For one such as myself who has a very small family, this gives me a very good feeling and an expanded sense of belonging.

One of the things I've done this week is make bookmarks from my Instagrams.  Their shape for this sort of project is perfect.  Stack four of them together.  Follow a theme.  Hello bookmark.  Hope you enjoy.

Just getting a little something off my chest.

We are living in terrible times and I feel like I have been hearing/saying that my entire life.  Age gives us the perspective of time, the ability to look back and be appalled. It's worse today than it ever was because there is the  w.w.w. now and social networking, and blogging, and . . . and . . . and - the list is endless.

It used to be that art imitated life. Now it's life imitating "art". With communication making the world (for us any) an impossibly small place, it's not surprising that our society is devolving. There is a term in psychoanalysis - the pleasure principle - that among other things speaks to our human impulse to seek instant gratification. I think in our society today we are reaching a breaking point and the pursuit of common sense, discipline, and personal responsibility along with avoidance of self-indulgence and an "if it feels good, do it" mentality needs to swing back and find a sensible and balance middle ground.

Musings and Ducks

Interesting how in the past three months I feel as though I have gone completely quiet within. I don't have any of the big questions challenging me anymore. In fact, I seemed to have found avenues to inner peace.



I am digging seriously and deeply into the study of my faith. I crochet each night. When I'm not crocheting, I'm working crossword puzzles, perusing the premium channels for unseen movies, and enjoy Tanner's antics and Gus' disdain of said antics.

To the left is a project I finished recently - hand warmers. After completing four of these in various yarn weights, I'm now looking around for a lacy, delicate pattern. If you know of any such out there, I'd love to be pointed in the right direction.

I write when the spirit moves me and find inspiration all around me. Even my approach to blogging has changed. The quieter I feel within myself, the less I need to post unless the mood strikes me. I still read and visit around daily. I treasure the friends I've made here. But now it seems that SFASMT has become as quiet as I'm feeling these days. Perhaps it's simply winter but whatever it is, I am very much enjoying the feeling. I'm very grateful for the serenity that has found me - or perhaps more precisely, the serenity which I have found.

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

So - that was last night. This is this morning and one of the great reasons why I feel so good much of the time. The ducks around the lake at work are so many and varied, so full of humor and antics that reflect human nature. A day doesn't go by when I don't hugely enjoy these creatures going about the business of building and maintaining their community hierarchy.

Writers' Island - Over the Horizon (behind me)

Poinsettias, Petunias, and a morning surprise

Every Christmas when poinsettias explode into glorious color, I remember my father and his green thumb, a gift he received from HIS father. Thinking of my grandfather reminds me of his vegetable garden filled to overflowing with beans and tomatoes and onions and carrots and cucumber and, and, and . . . But most of all, I remember the petunias.



Gram and gramps lived in a huge, two story bungalow style house with a full basement and a full attic. At the top of the driveway, to the left, was a double garage with its own walk-in door set into the garage door. I remember being fascinated by the door in a door. In some ways, I still am as I've never seen its like since that house.

Farther up to the very end of the driveway was another garage that stood separate from the house. It was big enough to hold one small car. The doors swung open, outward from the center. It was between these two garages that the flower bed - more precisely - a petunia bed - sprawled in all of its pink and purple and red and white glory. The colors collided together like northern lights in the highest latitudes. Gram and gramps tended that garden every year, nurturing it to brilliant life. I would pick petunias when they got leggy, managing to keep them fresh for about a day. Then I would go out for more as they faded. There was no danger of running out of petunias.

It wasn't until I was much older that I remembered this gift that dad had received from his father. Reflecting on this gift, I brought home five poinsettia plants left over from our annual Carolfest at school. I was reminded of the poinsettias dad planted on the side of our home in San Diego way back in the 60's. Thereafter, until they moved, the brilliant red plants would bloom every season. Looking back on it, I wonder how my dad did it. Dad wasn't a fussy gardener and he didn't coddle his gardens. Yet every year, without any fuss or special techniques, they would come back providing a blast of red from the edge of our property.

How hard could this really be? For years the "care of this plant" directions intimidated me. You know the one I'm talking about - cover them; maintain darkness and a limited temperature range for x number of weeks; and voila - red leaves will emerge. My big question was "Where was this magic supposed to happen?" And more then that - "Who had the time?"

Over the past few years, I learned that following the rules isn't necessarily the best way to go when one is thinking about creativity. So pursuing this idea, I decided to put the rescued poinsettias against the back fence. More precisely, I would have the yard guys put them in. Of course, it rained that weekend so no yard guys. But, Tuesday morning I awoke to the nicest surprise. Don put the plants in, God bless him. Yard work isn't DH's thing but he, I've concluded, is a secret designer. He's done so many little things over the years. Some worked, some didn't, but recently his efforts have been successful. So, keeping that in mind, I'll make sure the poinsettias are watered and get the occasional feed, but that's it. It will be interesting to see if breaking the rules of gardening will bear me the same success as my father and his father before him.

Thoughts on Turning Sixty - Part II

I ended Part I several days ago thinking about discerning need. Since then I've started to revise my thoughts on seeking daily opportunities, giving to large charities, and what is actually beneficial giving.

Frida and Biene have both shown me two ways, too very different but compatible paths to follow. Sometimes the way to accomplish good can seem so complicated even when one starts from the basic message of Christianity - Love one another. So many conflicting messages and needs and directions on how to accomplish this simple act. So many who take this simple message and twist it into something ugly. Whether it's emails from Nigeria, phone calls, legitimate looking mail, or panhandlers - there is a lot out there to twist and corrupt simple acts of charity.

For a while now, I've turned my back on organized charities with their huge overhead. I asked myself - how much of what I give actually accomplishes its goal. Certainly, I know that charitable acts on a global scale do need the infrastructure to make it happen. But there is a part of me that responds most strongly to direct action. Simply put, I like the action of

Point A (me) -----> Point B (the need)

Frida talked to me recently about development and the need for sustainable resources and creating foundations for people to eventually sustain themselves. What I learned is often this means showing that simple respect between men and women plus education for boys and girls, is all that is needed for people to build their own strong communities. But what I've also learned is that this simple truism isn't so simple to teach or to learn. If it were, well - how different our world would be.

So, what can I do on a larger scale? What can I do on a small scale? The ways are filled with possibilities but there is one thing, on a small scale, that I won't feel badly about saying no to anymore and here is where Biene's words came into play.

We were talking over lunch recently and I recounted the story of being out with a group of women last month when two young men approached us. There were five of us seated around and outdoor cafe table and my back was turned so I did not see their approach. When this guy spoke, it startled me then it clicked what was happening. Here we were being hit up be two young men who definitely were capable of doing more with their lives than begging and in a flash I was just plain pissed. While everyone else was quiet and motionless, I just felt that anger come to life and I basically told them - No, God bless you, and get lost.

They left and I instantly felt guilty. You know the old adage about angels knocking and there might be Jesus? It didn't help either that I got teased about what I had done. So it was very on my mind. Biene's feedback was concise and to the point. Thank God for this hardheaded and wise woman. Her input was simply this -

Think of stewardship.

You are given gifts that are yours to do with as you chose.

You are responsible for discerning how to best spend those gifts.

Our gifts are infinite in number but so are the people out there who need. Some needs - many needs - are real and true. Many more are not. It is up to us to discern genuine need and in doing so we will more truly be able to love one another and more accurately recognize when angels are knocking at our doors.

And so, I have some answers now that make sense.

1. If you want to help globally, work with the big organizations.

2. If you want to work within your own community, find a group of like-minded people.

3. If you want to satisfy the desire for direct action - well, keep your eyes and ears open.

4. And always. ALWAYS, remember that our gifts are ours to spend as we choose.

Paying it forward with gratitude

Found this today. In light of the Christmas season, I wanted to set this as a reminder of all that we have. I am grateful but I also feel responsible. Pay it forward whenever you can.

We Gather Together

This weekend when we drove to Oregon for George's funeral, we also happened to be driving into what would be the worst storm to hit the Pacific Northwest in many years. While the coast was experiencing hurricane force winds, loss of electricity, communications, and tremendous flooding, we were experiencing rain, snow, and wind gusts that knocked our car around. It made driving a real challenge on our return home drive.

Saturday we woke to snow flurries. I had not seen snow in at least 15 years and these little motes of sparkling dust fascinated me. The snow remained light and wet, staying on the ground through the day. Erin said snow this time of year was unusual so of course, the snow was a gift from George.


If funeral attendance is a measure of one's impact in life, then George's impact was GREAT. Family, friends, and co-workers numbered in the low hundreds, perhaps 350 or more. Mass was short one communion minister so I had the unexpected privilege of offering communion. I had not anticipated how emotional it would be. Each person, as they came forward, wore a face etched with sadness as they struggled for control.



I was moved by George's mother's personal strength as she spoke of him at Mass's conclusion. It was gratifying to hear of George's own words to her of his readiness to move on. And most of all, I was comforted for his family that he had found a mission, that he fully expected to wield a great sword - to be a force against evil much like his namesake, St. George.



Erin's family home overlooks the rolling hills of a rural farming community. The still active cemetery was established in 1887. Unlike the clean and orderly lines of modern cemetery, George has been laid to rest in a place that is one with the roll of the earth and the elements.


The seasons sharply mark the life cycle of the area and echo in the cemetery itself. Winter snow covered rhododendrons, weathered headstones, and leafless trees. Barns and greenhouses hug its boundaries, present life rubbing up against past life.

We eventually left, each of us wrapped in our private thoughts. I loved the triplets, as I called the three winter barren trees, guardian soldiers of this resting place. But now, five days later, I see more than three trees. I see a Trinity - a gathering of the protective strength of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost and I know that George is safe, preparing to wield his sword.

GATHERING

Gathering.
Young and old
to honor one gone
too young.

Young widow
surrounded.
Parents
surrounded.
Yet still three very alone people.

Shock still lives here, but -
Each ebbing of the sun
moving shock's cold reach
farther off.

Pain and anger.
Acceptance and reconciliation.
Each arrives in its turn
doing its work as
new life begins again.

Some Thoughts on Turning 60 - Part I

I wrote a poem earlier this month, a poem I should keep foremost in my mind - a sort of anthem if you will, to act as a reminder of why I am actually happy to be 60.

Yes, I find it strange and actually A LOT weird. I don't feel 60. Perhaps I won't feel 90 when I get there either. I wonder if true age is a state of mind? I've known young people who seem so old. They even dress old. But it seems that the older I get the younger I feel. And, as I age, I realize that the greatest gift age has given me is the gift of

Wisdom

A few things are truly important to me and how they fit into my life comes from experience and the wisdom I've gained along the way.

Wisdom has taught me a lot about friendship. Thoughts of friendship and its place in one's life has been on my mind for several months now. Friendship has so many faces - long-term, short-term, new, cyber, real world. What more is friendship than a connection we make with another person? What is the glue that binds this connection and determines its strength?

Long-term friendship holds with strong glue - but - does it really? Since friendship is a connection between people and people often find themselves in seasons of change, it stands to reason that the glue needs to be changed too. Friendship is a structure that requires maintenance. Without it, a friendship can flounder.

The sad thing about change is that while it is happening, it can lead to confusion for others. I've noticed that few people show patience when unusual or unexpected personality flashes occur. Few people step back and ask what is going on. Close family members might but people are, for the most part, reactive. Once I noticed this, I started becoming more watchful of the people in my life.

But changes, when they do occur, are living creatures. They demand a lot of us and the roads they lead us to sometimes aren't pretty and nor well-paved. So sometimes we find ourselves saying good-bye most unexpectedly to a friendship, a relationship. Perhaps we feel a sense of relief but I think more often we must feel a sense of regret, a sense of loss.

Along with friendship, the making and/or losing of connections, I also find myself traveling a faith road. This road has taken an unexpected u-turn and turned me back to my past. I've written previously about my dismay with the Church today and especially the state of worship. A month after returning to the Latin Mass, I find that I have rediscovered the reverence in worship that had all but disappeared for me. Some might think that I have returned to something that isn't relevant in the 21st century and certainly no one born around or after 1962 would have a memory of the Latin Mass and how meaningful it truly is. For me, it has become a matter of not knowing what you had until you lost it.

I find now that the reverence of worship I experience each Sunday actually fills me with a light that carries me through to a closer awareness of my daily life. And, since my daily life is firmly rooted in the 21st century, I am more aware of the moment to moment needs of others. Considering the level of global communication we share now, how could I not?

This aspect of my character has always been active but the weekly immersion in reverence of worship has actually acted as a sort of weekly booster shot to be more immediately responsive to need. This immersion is also teaching me to be more discerning of need, to understand that angels are not necessarily knocking when the need presents itself. Thoughts of angels causes me a lot of concern and after a bit I will be pursue this train of thought in Part II of my thoughts on turning 60.

Writer's Island - The Dream

I have yearned for most of my life to live by the ocean. I lived in San Diego in my teens so have wonderful memories of the beach. Of course, this was over 40 years ago and much has changed in San Diego and it definitely would not be the place to which I would return to live. However, the dream of a home near water hasn't changed.

This week's prompt at Writers' Island is The Dream. This prompt fit quite neatly into a beautiful series of aboriginal words recently posted at Annie's "Bimbimbie" blog. Annie is in Australia. Please click here and here for some background.

As I looked over the words (second click), admiring their magical and lyrical sound and images, it came to me that all the words worked together to create a perfect poem of my dream place. I share it with you here and wish you all many blessings on this Thanksgiving Day.

Weeona emoh ruo
Mirri-Mirri illalangi

Karribi givinganna
Oodlawirri, Wambiri
[Merge]
Aroona and Bultaroo
[Brother & Sister]
Elanda

[Peace in]
Weeona emoh ruo.

The shelter

High up home on hill

Headland lookout

Hill and tree country, seacoast

Merge

Running Water and North Wind

Brother & Sister

Home by the sea

Peace in

The shelter.

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And for one of the nicest and most heart-felt Thanksgiving Day thanks I've ever read, please click here and say hello to my dear friend, Biene.

Remembering George and so thankful that he has this day with his family.

Writer's Island - The Stranger

This past year an unknown person rose up and saluted me. She looked around - casual and relaxed. The chain that held her back had snapped. It wasn't the only chain holding her back but what she learned from working with the binding links taught her the lessons she needed to deal with the remaining chains.

The stranger who emerged wasn't entirely unknown. Many of her aspects were familiar and not unwelcome. But beneath the padded exterior, the stranger reared up and demanded admittance to the light, whispering words shouting, "Listen to me. Hear me." The stranger revealed her hidden sides - poet, artist, dreamer, gatherer.

The stranger appeared seven months ago. In that time layers of fear and doubt have eroded and dissolved. Protective padding has slipped away. harping voices have come, gone, come and gone again and always the stranger gained strength.

She looked through my eyes and examined the world in a newer way. The gentle prodding and urging of the stranger helped to release, to let go of the chains of material possessions. The stranger's mission - to show what is important, what to keep and what to say good-bye to. But most importantly, what to say hello to and welcome.

The Journey Home - Part I

October 18th

I haven't done much posting or reading of blogs recently and I've noticed that many of you are semi-hibernating too. I've managed a few bits here but not much in the way of poetry has been emerging. It is definitely the Fall seasons and as things slow down, I find myself traveling inward again. But while my fingers here may be slowing down, my mind has been going lickityslip. I've been blogging now for 19 months and I am discovering that writing has its own rhythm just as the seasons do. I've noticed less traffic to my blog but then I have not been visiting as regularly either. My thoughts and activities have been quieter.

I wonder if this quiet has come over me because of my mother's death? Next Monday the 22nd will be the one year anniversary of her passing. October this year has visited us with the news of George's returned melanoma and now Quanah and Erin's decision to pick up their lives and return prematurely to Oregon where Erin can be near her brother and family for the time he may have left. These three things weigh heavily on my heart and all I can do is pray for a good conclusion for all concerned. I pray for healing, new teachers for Bishop Loers School and jobs for Erin and Q.

I am also praying for a peaceful good-bye to my mom from Krista and also for Krista's return to Mass if not necessarily the Sacraments right now. She's like her father in that way. Perhaps if she has a lifetime in her future with Chad, that will change. Don certainly has become more able to articulate his deepest thoughts over these last 29 years. I'm still surprised though when he opens up in a big way. So - back to Kris - I pray she finds some closure and peace with her grandmother's death. I know she has been avoiding thoughts of her passing and the pain she felt. Coming six years after my dad's death, it has been a lot for her to digest. Add to that the death of a high school from by suicide and the death of Aaron, the son of our closest family friend, it has not been easy. All of this happening during her teen years to early young adult years has been a lot to deal with. I never had to endure this sort of pain in my youth.

Interestingly, my mother DID and so now has Kris. Did it skip a generation, this suffering, confusion, and sadness? So it would seem. But for me, my fate seems to be the requirement to be strong for others. I gladly accept that and hope that with maturity, Kris will have the strength and wisdom to eventually do the same when life calls on her to be strong again.

And speaking of deepest thoughts and Don, this turn of season has me reflecting on faith, reverence, and devotion again. Like this seasons, this comes in a cycle for me too and each turn I feel I come a bit closer to being centered and at peace.

I have had two things on my mind lately

1. The Sacrament of Reconciliation and
2. The altar free-for-all that plagues the Church these days.

I am a Catholic of a certain age and can clearly remember the Latin Mass. We lost the Latin Mass in 1962 just as I was entering high school so I an recall the change back to its beginning. Forty-five years later, what seemed like a good idea has actually become a divisive and great disappointment.

October 18th

I remember

The scent of incense

Burning candles reflecting

red and lights embrace.

The hush before Mass

reverence that is missing

Yearning for return.

I remember

Bowed heads, hats removed

Black mantilla covering hair

Modesty, good sense

Faces were well-known

Even those without a name

All met with greetings.

We shared something

in common -

The Mass

I remember

Seasonal vestments

Colors that changed with the

Church calendar.

Or, with mourning

Celebrations, and

Holy Days.

I remember

Confession on Wednesdays and Saturdays

When we had more priest,

Enough priests,

A surplus of priests.

Peace On Our Little Piece of Earth

Over at (Lefthanded Trees), Delia (my new from Bloglandia friend) wrote a piece about autumn and the energized feeling she gets as summer gives way to Fall. The moment I read this, I realized that I too felt more energized with the approach of Fall.

I love the passing of the hot times to the cooler.
I love the rise again of a light breeze against my skin.
I love the cooler early morning air as it fills my lungs,
sometimes touched with the smoky tang of
an early morning fireplace.

I love the unpredictable weather. The forecast may say rain in the northern valley, but, where you are in the northern valley more often than not controls the amount of rain we actually get.

I love rain and I am always hopeful that the storm coming in from the coast will actually make it through the delta and move south to my part of the northern valley. Rain comes up from the south and down from the north with geography playing a big role in whether or not we get much rain. We often seem to be on the outer edge of whatever front is passing our way. Of course, this doesn't mean we don't get a lot of rain. We have had some memorable seasons.

I'll never forget a January a few years ago. It rained non-stop for 30 days. Eleven more and we would have broken the Biblical record. It got pretty soggy that month and even for a rain person like myself, it got to be a bit much.

We lost a lot of trees around campus that month. When I say trees, I'm speaking of mature cedars, pines, and redwoods. That was the January I was in my office and jumped out of my skin as an almighty CRACK!! exploded through the building. I ran out the back door to find five trees down. One went and then took four more with it on its way down.

We were very lucky that day. Classes were already in session for that hour so there were no students on an otherwise busy walkway. A little earlier or a bit later and it could have been a very different story. It took a week to clear the debris.

But, where way I? Oh yes, Fall and feeling energized. Come Fall, I feel like taking walks, sitting on my front porch, delving back into long-term projects. I even feel a bit of interest in cooking and baking. God knows, I have no great culinary gifts but once in a while I feel the big push to follow a recipe, to face off with myself on a creative food challenge, so to speak. I'm sure it has something to do with holidays, birthdays, and all the visual stimulation of the season.

Yesterday was busy for a while. I had to tackle the garage. I'm a hoarder and DH's special escape place was overrun with my stuff. This wasn't so bad when he was working but now he is retired and he wants his shop back. I am forced to at last sort, store and toss. This will bring peace to our little piece of earth and we both get what we both most need - he gets his space back and I get more decluttered and get the remainder out of sight. Along the way I found old comic books that I discovered I had no attachment to anymore. eBay may bring me a windfall. I'll keep my fingers crossed about that.

Clearing out this stuff was good on so many levels.

1. Don's shop is now his space again;
2. A cabinet has been emptied (and refilled);
3. I have less stuff;
4. I have room now to box up loose stuff;
5. And best of all - I have the rest of Fall to concentrate on studying T. S. Elliot, Samuel Coleridge and poetic forms.
6. I don't feel so defeated by the work still ahead of me - yes, DH, I acknowledge that there is more work to be done;
7. I may get more painting accomplished in the kitchen, and;
8. The on-going photo project will get started up again.

Fall is like a season of rebirth for me. Of course that is no doubt directly related to my birthday being in mid-November. Fall is the only time of the year when I like the color orange in all of its varied hues, not just apricot or melon.

I like Fall/Winter gardens. They require so little work, not that I do lots of heavy gardening to begin with. But, in Fall/Winter I don't feel any guilt about neglecting the garden. The garden goes to sleep just as I am waking up from an energy-sapping summer. And this wake-up call is a siren call for me to go to winter beaches - cold, quiet, uninhabited. But that is another story.

I am not compelled . . .

I realized something today. I have not posted since Monday and I have not fretted about it one little bit. There has been a small voice inside my head, for a long time, driving me to write and post for the sake of posting. It didn't matter if I had anything to say or not, just write. I suppose this could be considered a good thing, but not in this case. It felt compulsive, unsatisfying, and I had let other creative activities suffer while I fretted about not writing.


Then I started the poetry workshop. Finally and at last I had made a choice to do something to push myself forward in my creative development; something that was formal and structured, not just me, on my own, working independently. Somewhere along the way I've discovered the value of going to the mountain and kneeling at the feet of a master. I had no idea that the formal structure of a class would not only improve my skills but it would relax me and release me from feeling uncertain about my own skills.

It has been sneaking up on me that I need to acknowledge my gifts and not hold any false modesty; not be embarrassed by compliments. Self-confidence is a vital ingredient for creative growth and maturity and I've stymied myself for too long, not believing in myself.

So, here I am, five days later, posting again and feeling good about it, not compelled. And the week has been a good one. I've been working on poetry exercises and I picked up my knitting needles. I had no idea what I was making when I started out but eventually I found myself making a wall hanging. It's not finished yet but stay tuned.

Reflection Awards

Carmen and Rethabile have both nominated me for a Reflection Award. Thank you so much. The weird thing is that I saw Carmen's nomination back on the 16th and I KNOW I posted a reply. Well, I know I THINK I did anyway because now I can't find it for love or money. It's almost like I started it, went to draft, and then got rid of it before posting. Very, very strange.

Anyway, I am very appreciative, you two, and all MY nominees need to do is click kCarmen's or Ret's names for a very thorough descriptions of how to pass it on. I know, I know. I'm being lazy but the hair is wet and work in calling. Drum roll please for the following reflective writers:

Corey - who requires no explanation and unless I completely miss it, has not been gifted with this award yet;

Frida - ditto on no explanation need here either. Her regular readers understand and new ones will.

Miss Robyn - who over the past year has grown into a remarkable and strong woman. I like where you have been going Miss R and following your journey has been a real pleasure.

Autrice - whose pithy observations of the world always elicit a laugh.

and last but not least, Darlene - whose continuing strength, even in her weakest moments, is an example for all of us.

Weaving the Threads - Part Three

Creating a Space of My Own

Years ago when life was more complicated (i.e. still raising children) Julie Cameron's book, The Artist's Way, showed me how to find a personal space and how to eventually zero in on what I love most - writing and photography. Like everything else in my life, these interests emerged and grew in fits and starts. I'm like many creative women, fascinated by and trying out everything but not focusing on any one thing. I'm sure this is the primary reason why I am now surrounded by clutter and unfinished projects and an endless list of "try that's". But with time, what really spoke to me started to take shape. I started visualizing what I wanted my at home personal space to look like.

Amazingly, I have had an entire space for years that I can call my own. Granted the shared computer is in that room but really, other than that - AN ENTIRE ROOM. Haw many women who do so much with only a corner would LOVE to have this space. But did I immediately make it my own? Well, of course not. Remember fits and starts? It became a dumping zone for possibilities and the detritus of ideas explored and tossed aside turned that room into a sort of ephemeric graveyard. Sometime along the line the vision started shaping up. What did I want in the room?

It turned out to be very simple:

• my camera


• my journals and writing materials


• my books


• magazines for inspiration


• sewing machine and all my accumulated tools


• and, not least of all, my photo archives

The continual vision of my simple, no frills, sewing machine refused to be dismissed. I collect fabric and buttons. Nothing fancy but there is a voice that says "do this". In the evenings I crochet, keeping my hands busy. This craft has found a permanent and meaningful place in my life.

So, now along with thoughts of retirement and the plan to prepare, I find myself focused enough to create my true personal space for - writing, photography, archiving family history, sewing small art pieces, crocheting and most important - a place to store my library of magazines. I may not do the projects within but they are the visual inspiration that keeps me moving in the right direction.

Epilogue

You get to a point in the reflection process where enough thinking has happened. Thinking too long (for me at any rate) becomes daydreaming. Nothing wrong with daydreaming especially at the start of a reflection. But in the past, reflection often turned back to daydreaming and the dream would go nowhere.

I've learned (and am still learning) to push through to the active stage, the doing stage of my daydreaming. My room is finally turning into an actual space. There is much to do but the easy part has turned out to be the tossing of "stuff". So the plan is:

• Continue tossing


• Set up workstations


• Continue to store and organize what remains


• AND most important - PLAY

Once I start playing, I will know that I have truly made a space of my own.

Weaving the Threads - Part Two

Unpacking My Past . . .

. . . is as much a metaphor for reconciling myself to past choices as it is a literal unpacking of boxes and freshening the things I love but keep packed away. I've been doing a lot of the first recently and it changed me enormously. The core of who I am is still there but the expression has changed. It isn't easy making these changes and some I have not handled well but learning the new rules of behavior as one banishes past ghosts can be a messy process.

The literal unpacking is my process for unearthing old family treasures - to photograph them, tell their story, and display them. I learned what these things were from my mother but preserving their stories in a more permanent way is left to me. Oral tradition stopped with me but I'm picking up the stories again and with technology, preserve them for our family.

I was at Orchard Supply and Hardware (OSH) yesterday and for the umpteenth time looked at a tall storage cabinet - four bottom drawers (one deep) and enclosed shelves on top. The first time I looked at this cabinet was two years ago. It was $189.00. Now it's $219.00. Nothing about the cabinet has changed except the price which has increased by $30.00. But this cabinet, I'm convinced, will be an effective problem solver for the enormous collection of family photos I have and need to sort through.

Right now they are all in a jumble of boxes. By getting this cabinet, I accomplish two things - I organize better thereby making the sorting more do-able; and emptying boxes frees them to store other items that need a temporary home. I can start putting order to chaos again. I've done this before but never finished the job. I don't expect to finish it either any time soon but my need to bring some order to it all pretty much has reached critical mass (again). Add to that the unpacking and exposing of my treasures and I will be forced to rid myself of more of the clutter that takes up too much space in my life.

Part of what defeats me (or at least slows me down) is the sheer quantity of "stuff" to deal with. I've tossed so much, Goodwilled so much, and there is still so MUCH. I'm not a start-a-project and work-to-the-end sort of person. So what takes one person a week to ruthlessly accomplish (hummm, would that be my DH?), takes me literally years! Just ask him. But, when I get into writing fits like this I generally make some progress to add to my long-haul style of putting order to things.

So, Saturday I continued to tackle the decluttering and determining of what is really important to keep. Yesterday I found a treasure trove of items from my mother's past. They require some sprucing up and freshening so first stop today is the grocery store to purchase of some sort of gentle soap and two 100% clean, never used pans for hand washing and hand rinsing. Then the gentle dry and iron. These items are all scheduled to become art-piece memory displays. Photos to follow, I promise.

Coming Soon - Weaving the Threads - Part Three

Creating My Personal Space

Weaving the Threads - Part One

Suddenly I find myself surrounded by people going through major life changes. If we are very lucky, we travel through many years of child rearing, navigating the sometimes deep and treacherous waters, waters that can make the Columbia/Pacific Bar look tame, with grace and dignity. Then, at the end of the journey, good fortune still holding, we turn out a fine and well-prepared adult version of the children they will always remain as in our heart. That done, I find myself surrounded by change:

• Retirement and its excitement;
• Potential for serious health issues;
• Acknowledgement of the hopelessness of the condition of one's spouse;
• Guilt and recriminations;
• Marriage and the nurturing of a new life joined;
• Fussy battling that has become the norm for communication;
• Clues about what I might do to prepare for my own retirement;
• Listening to others' stories;

These bullets have all visited me this month and I am reminded of how grateful I am for the companion I have in this life.

Do we scrap? YES

Do we get over it? YES

Are we joined at the root of our own basic selves? Does this keep us joined in purpose and goals? Does the future look good? ALL YES

Could I be happier? YES

Would I change anything? NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

I think about retirement now and I realize that I like my demanding job but I won't miss it at all when the time comes to navigate this big change. Until recently I could hardly wait. The two years seemed to drag in my mind. The next two years loomed as a monumental waste of time. It was only time marked for financial reasons - the getting of our money ducks all in a row. But then I read MaryEllen's recent post and reflected on Don's recent passage into the world of retirement. MaryEllen and Don and two things in common:

• They prepared ahead of time, and;
• They are busier than ever.

Over the course of several months we followed MaryEllen as she streamlined her possessions, moved to a new place, and feathered her very downsized but totally charming nest. She is tackling major health issues and paying it all forward by bringing activity and companionship to an elderly neighbor.

Don retired and life exploded into a fireworks display of change for us. He decompressed, started to smile more, took out his self-produced Honey-Do list and went to work again. Along the way he's made progress in his genealogy searches at a pace that didn't exist before.

And then there was the wedding, the vacation after, the surprises that ensued, the problems we encountered with the water pump on the car and the easy switch to a Plan B while the water pump was being replaced.

For a not terribly social sort of man, he has done more visiting in the past two months than I think he has done in the past two years and much of it HE planned. So my question is "Who ARE you and what have you done with the Don I knew?" Not that I'm complaining, of course.

So what does this all say to me? I have two years and a bit before the big passage is on me. I can use the present to prepare for the future or I can sit back, work, and do nothing except think about it a lot. The second choice holds no appeal and doesn't fit with my new intention of being in control of my life. So, prepare I must but what will that involve? Three things have been speaking to me recently:

• Unpacking my past;
• Create a personal space that works;
• Heal myself physically and spiritually.

Doing these three things will clear my path to retirement so that when I arrive, I will be ready. I hope, as I travel this road, that I also find the greater purpose I have been seeking.

End of Part One

VOICES

A shared sorrow beyond words yet we reach out with words despite that.

We lost one of our own, we lost many. We lost sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, friends, husbands, wives.

The same thread that separated loved ones from us too soon now draws us all closer together in a shared sorrow beyond words.

Ryan
happy, optimistic, made time for everyone

Emily
filled with optimism, just starting out

Reema
an artist and dancer who lit out the stage

Caitlin
made you smile on your best day or your worst, she gave hope like a gift

Ross
wanted to be a doctor, a healer

Mary
delicate and soft-spoken, she shared what she had and remembered to honor others.

Maxine
happy and filled with optimism for the future

Dan
blended engineering and music, creating a full and balanced life

G. V. Loganathan
husband, father, beloved teacher, who understood the big picture

Matthew
quiet and shy but extremely forceful; you knew he would have made a difference in the world

Jeremy
Outgoing, happy, and giving

Rachel
Curious, avid learner, an inspiration to all around her

Erin
Just unfolding and growing into a beautiful flower

Jarrett
He did so much and did it all so well; you would wonder when he had time to sleep

Henry
Full of life and up for anything; life was a series of happenings

Juan Ramon
Husband, teacher, smart, sweet, amiable

Lauren
Her deep commitment to Jesus Christ gave her inner peace

Nicole
Smart, loving; she went out of her way to help others

Julie
She always had a smile and thoroughly enjoyed life

Brian
It was all about sports, teaching, and enjoying people

Austin
A talented young woman, athlete, loved children; so young, a life unrealized

Leslie
“I know it may seem kind of silly, but I think that all the small things and little joys in life make it worth living.”

Christopher
Husband, teacher, multilingual artist and favorite of students

Liviu
A Holocaust Survivor – he saved 15 lives that day before losing his own.

Kevin
Husband and father who brought an almost child-like enthusiasm to his work

Michael
A big man, the LaCross team enforcer with a soft side that he was not afraid to show

Jocelyn
Wife, mother, teacher – there was always a sparkle in her eye

Daniel
Athletic and good humored, he was always looking ahead to the future

For all those victimized by the recent violence
at Virginia Tech University
that they be surrounded by God’s comfort and consolation
in the care offered by others.

May a spirit of strength pervade the
Virginia Tech community as a witness
to the power of forgiveness, hope, and reconciling love –
I pray to the Lord

Downtime is a good thing

Four days into my five days off and I'm feeling much more rested. I've needed to just decompress from work and I don't mind saying that until I started writing this post today, I had not thought about work once.

I've also been able to do a lot of writing, reflecting, and met with my spiritual director, Fr. Silva, yesterday. I really poured out some stuff to him and it's amazing how helpful a totally objective and insightful person can be. So, even though I still have much thinking and interior work to do, I have already passed one test and I'm pleased with how I managed things.

There are lots of micro-sized things to work on but the big picture item is now being without any responsibility to aging parents or growing children. I have complete freedom to pursue who I am. I know that is a way over-used phrase but that is exactly what is going on. I am learning how to be true to and secure about myself, understand myself, and I'm starting to zero in on the most true expression of the creative side of myself.

I'm discovering that the areas I felt I was lacking in and that I viewed as a weakness (focus, authority, discipline, and structure - FADS) were actually expressions of my more introverted and reflective personality. I show a very different face to the world so I'm often mistaken as being a gregarious and outgoing person. Surprise, surprise - I'm not really the extrovert I thought I was. Yes, I'm not shy; yes, I'm open and friendly to people, but I find it much easier to be on my own or close to just my immediately family and long-time friends, then pursuing day in and day out social friendships. Basically, I'm accepting that I am very comfortable in my own skin and I should not view the lack of a large social network as a failure on my part. I guess a good way to put this is, where friendships/family relationships are concerned quality will always win out over quantity.

Mom's death has freed me to stand on my own; has freed me to move forward to a discovery of my real strengths and along the way, I'm discovering that FADS are really my friends, not the negatives that I have come to view them as. I can tell FOCUS that it is alright if I daydream. Daydreams are what bring me to my poetry and vision of the world around me. I can tell AUTHORITY that even though I might consult with others, in the end, it is my opinion, my feelings that count. I can tell DISCIPLINE that it is perfectly alright if I don't go from point A to point B with no sidetrips inbetween. If I finish something fast, fine. If it takes me years, fine. And I can tell STRUCTURE that I'm not a youth anymore. I don't need the structures and rules of childhood to clutter my adult thinking. I don't need to have my adult mind intruded upon by voices that sound like lecturing scolds.

Coming to grips with the adult person that I am isn't easy. Even though I feel I have been a successful adult - strong marriage, adult children that are managing life well, a job I feel a lot of loyalty to and responsibilty for - there are still those lessons to learn when you are on your own and cut loose from whatever it is that ties you to the idea of putting others first.

The two things that I would like to change and improve on are weight and writing.

Weight is a complicated issue for nearly all women and I have no intention of exploring my weight issues here. However, I did make a decision today to try again to get healthy. After mentioning bi-pass surgery to Don, I discovered that he was not keen on the idea at all. He asked me why I couldn't try again with something that I have tried with some success in the past. Since I know that the 3 week or 3 month mark tend to be my downfall times, I'm going to go into this time with a counselor and tackle those tough times as they approach and ask for help getting through them. Also, Don is being really supportive and agreed to go with me to the Jenny Craig offices tomorrow. I've known people who have had great success with this program and the on-line site was very helpful in my making this decision. I have learned very clearly that I cannot do this on my own.

Writing is the area I want to explore. I love poetry but I have never real delved into the discipline (there's that word again) of poetry. I've never taken a literature class that concentrates on poetry as a writing style. I have loved the writing I do here whether it be reflections, poetry, or reports of the day. But now I think it is time to take a class or join a writing group and immerse myself in the methods of poetry writing and essay writing. I include essay here because I have learned that the short form in writing, like the miniature form in my visual arts is what is most successful for me.

I might not have ever gotten to this place had I not started blogging. Before I started blogging, I was all over the creative map, trying many things and not exploring any of them deeply. I like the work I've done and for the most part, the work is a reflection of my writing style - to use as few words as possible to convey a large message or idea. I admire the artwork of many of the women I have met here but I found that the real pull was for writing.

This week I started cleaning out my studio. It is overrun with art supplies and ephemera. I will keep some of it but I decided today to get rid of most of it, especially the paper and fiber, beads and charms. I'm not quite sure what to do with it all but now that the idea is out there, I'm sure there is an answer right around the corner. Oddly enough, once I decided to do this, it became a lot easier for me to zero in on the direction of my resurrecting studio. I hope by the time it is finished that I will have identified areas for my sewing machine, a writing and art journal area, and storage for family photos going back to the 19th century. I have lots of archiving to do.

I have all of you to thank for this. Being welcomed into your creative worlds has helped me to finally discover what it is I want to do and grow in those efforts in a more structured way. But this time is will a structure that I build. Thoughts and input accepted and desired but in the end I will finally have the creative house and healthy body that Annie built.