"Afterthought"

One of the many reasons I like to drive with myself is because I can be assured that my time behind the wheel will be virtually uninterrupted by another’s invasion of my bubble…

You can admit to me, that occasionally, you live in your bubble too.  We all do although “bubble” might not be a good fit for you.  How about “space” or “frame of mind” or “in my grill”?  It’s the immeasurable area you conduct your life within.  Different for everyone.  Introverts would have cavernous secluded spaces, extroverts…not so much.

My bubble extends to your border (or if I am driving) to the inside of the passenger door of the car and all the way to the rear window.  It was in this very private space that I had a moment’s glimpse of a peacock, accompanied by three peahens.  Not unusual at all, if I had been passing a zoo or in a middle-class neighborhood in Thailand (where they are kept as security because of their very vocal alerts).  This grouping was in parade behind a large Episcopalian church on The Gulf of Mexico which provides the southern coastline of this city.

The church, resplendent in its own right, neighbors a small boatyard and shanty.

The occupant of this shanty was enjoying their company and from what I could view, was providing them a late afternoon’s meal.

Hens scattered ahead while the male followed behind. I don’t know the dynamics of such a grouping of exotic fowl, I have rarely seen both hen and cock together.  Assuming that these birds were meant to be there, kept by someone, or rescued by someone, I was curious…why THERE? No trees, but plenty of sea oats and freshwater, fountains and tiered balconies and bell tower for them to roost.

I enjoyed the unexpected parade.  I was happy to have had a moment to appreciate them. But I wondered…

Does the peacock ever see his reflection?  Does he gaze at his own magnificence? Is he jealous of other peacocks, not realizing that his uniqueness and splendor is unmatched by another?

And then I thought…”ah-ha this is another message…a not so subtle one”.

At a time when my people my age (the post-baby boom, generation “x”) are experiencing myriad midlife crisis’, a renewed lack of self-esteem is encroaching on our collective been there, done that crowd.

My collection of been there done that, have the tee-shirt drawer cannot close with- out encouragement.  And yet, why am I still unfulfilled?  What’s missing? Am I not a bird of a different feather?

I am self-sufficient, educated, well-traveled, open-minded and clueless as to what comes next.  My external self is constantly under renovation, not for your approval, but for mine.  My internal self is on a quest, a journey.  The kind of journey which does not call for a multilingual guide, with pennant in hand, stating that the next exhibit is just around the corner.

What do I have to compare with the unequaled beauty of a peacock’s feather?

I have burgeoning creativity to share.  I have thought-provoking solutions to global problems that are birthed by nothing more than common sense.  My brain never shuts off or closes to possibilities.  It does, however, deflect the negative energies which are seemingly predominant in the news today.

The racing of my pulse is the impetus that signals approaching opportunities.

Maybe here, maybe not here but somewhere new or the places of my youth revisited because unfinished business waits for my return.

There is a reason why the peacock’s tail feathers were bestowed upon him as the focal point of his existence.  When engaged in the dance of life, his survival depends on them.  There was a reason, an evolutionary reason, that his plumage was not an afterthought.

He reminded me that my gifts are for sharing.  He reminded me that life is a parade and the attraction of the casual observer should be welcomed.  My journey is solitary, but should not be exclusive; for completeness is not achieved in solitude but rather when joined by another….

And destiny is the joining of one unexpected moment to another.

Blue bird

Mom succumbed to cancer in 1988 and passed January of that year.  She wasn't able to attend my wedding, but had the pleasure of planning the details in the few months prior.  I had a whirlwind romance and had hoped to marry before she left, but was not meant to be.

During her last weeks of hospice care in the family home, she would recover from her semi- comatose state long enough to be in the present moment and we would just carry on conversation as if time were not urgent.  I had always belonged to the nickname "Tootie".  Many stories about how that came about, but my favorite was the one where the adoption had been finalized and our first meeting (me at 6 days old) had me filling my diapers..."Tootie" just seemed appropriate.

Bringing you forward, 32 years...She decided in one of our last bed side conversations to call me "Blue bird".  That came out of nowhere.  She had collected elephants, loved the color blue, but "Blue bird?"

Jumping forward...

Was married in April of 1988.  .. into the military...moved from my girlhood home of Colorado to Texas.  Had a rough time of it., Husband and I had business/pleasure trip to San Diego, California.  The day spent at the zoo was awesome. just what I needed to lift my spirits. Walking through the vast parking lot, chatting away as newlyweds do, I was "buzzed" by a blue bird.  Just once and then it disappeared.

Navy moved us to Japan where we welcomed our daughter in February of 1991.  Talk about depressed...post- partum blues hit hard.  Husband always on a mission and hardly ever home.  Lived among the Japanese in a very traditional neighborhood and nothing “Americanized” except for what was in the house.  By this time, my dad had remarried and I tried to connect over the long distance phone line with my step mother, but she didn't quite get it.  She was very pragmatic and had raised her children as independent thinking persons at a very early age, probably around the age of 4.

Well, another episode of depression...brought my husband's CO and wife to my aide and several visits to the base psychiatrist and happy pills and the whole 9 yards.

Sitting in my very Americanized Japanese house, in a fit of tears, with a new babe in arms, and wanting Wonder Bread, I heard a song bird.  No big deal, I thought, Japan has birds...duh!

But THIS bird kept singing.  She sat in a branch in MY yard.  She interrupted my state of being long enough for me to FIND her...a Blue bird.  At the exact moment I saw her, the singing stopped and she flew.  I was so excited, that I ran across the street to explain to my neighbor that I had seen a blue bird.  She stated emphatically that no such species lived on the island of Japan or in the Nation of Japan.  What?

Pregnant again and moving to Washington state, my life seemed more complicated than ever. Our son was born in 1992 and at the age of 1 plus, was rushed by ambulance to Seattle (a 2 hour drive) with a life threatening head injury.  He fell from my shoulders onto a concrete floor at a local McDonald's restaurant.  I was trying to hold onto him, and my daughter and balance a tray full of favorite happy meal items to a table....

By the time I got to the hospital after making frantic phone calls to my husband's squadron (he was clear across the nation, in Florida on some damn exercise), and placing my daughter in the arms of a neighbor, our baby was in surgery and the surgeon came out long enough to say he didn't think our child would survive.

You wouldn't know my pain, I can't explain my pain.  I ran from the surgery waiting room still in the clothes where my child had vomited all over them.  I ended up on the steps at the front of Children's hospital in an inconsolable state.  People passed wide eyed and some tried to help.  I wanted to die.

The Blue bird came and landed along the walkway in a barren tree, as it was just beginning to bud.  She sang for me and then flew.  My husband appeared from a taxi cab. We embraced and ran back inside where our boy had just entered the recovery room.  The next 48 hours he was baptized and moved to ICU where his continued recovery allowed for us to bring him home after two weeks. Our "zipper head" (his new nickname because the incision began at the base of his left ear and proceeded to the midpoint of the crown), was seemingly healthy.  His hematoma had blown to the size of an orange.  He was in surgery for 3 hours. We celebrated by going to the zoo.  

My dad died several years ago and I had to leave him in a hospital bed in Colorado and fly back here. I gave him a last birthday card (86th year), kissed him and walked out of his room. Hospice and an ambulance were coming...he passed 4 days later. Anyway, as I walked from the hospital and listened to the chimes of the bell tower in the chapel, I saw her. She did not sing, I was expecting to see her. She was waiting for him

I expect to see my Blue bird, but she doesn't come. It's been a very long time.  I see other species of blue birds...jays, finches, humming birds, etc., buy SHE hasn't come.

Two years ago, I sought out an intuitive (psychic) upon recommendation of a close friend.  Must truthfully tell you that I was skeptical.  I have 3 recordings of sessions and I'll share that messages have come and that I have changed from a close minded, non-religious woman into a spiritual being.  Call it whatever you wish.  I have asked my intuitive about animal spirits.  She said "Do you mean the Blue bird? She comes to bring messages that you have reached a fork in the road and your path is joyful and purposeful and that you are not alone."

The last session, this past January, the message came "You can find me in Heaven".  Funny, because I don't understand the concept of Heaven...but if it is where Blue birds fly, then my heart will join her there.

Do I believe my mother is guiding me? Absolutely.

I wish you the same : ) - Laura

Permission to Fire Myself

This should be interesting. I’m sure that I’ve never done this.  Had it done for me, yes, (several times) but never in the first person kind of way.  Wonder if it’s akin to the “Father, Son AND Holy Ghost” thought process.  I am about to find out.

Just hours ago, I was introduced to myself. My psychic advisor had one message: “It’s time to play”.

Huh? I mean, what?”…At MY age?

My one hour with her revealed my hidden agenda. Only I didn’t realize that I had a hidden agenda.  It’s been the same routine with the same outcome for more than 50 years.  I have lived within the restraints of family dynamics.  That’s what I was meant to do.  But I am about to convene my committee of one for a job review which promises to be unlike any in my life.

I have been a “yes man” to multiple generations within my family tree. I have been dutiful, helpful, reliable and trustworthy.  Never garnered a badge acknowledging such accomplishments (not a girl scout), but within my family, and various social circles, I was always sought out because I had those endearing qualities:  “I could”, “I can”, “I will” and NOW apparently, “I did”.

I have entered the twilight zone of my present day self. I am about to commit change. Yeah, I know, living in a rut; a good rut, a rut of complete authority over my domain.  I like it up here. I scrapped and fought my way to the top and I can’t imagine leaving. My Capricornian nature will resist this overthrow. Me versus myself. Is it a win-win?

Further revealed in this pleasant one sided conversation were glimpses of lost childhood.  Never taking the time to mourn the loss, never considered that we- me, myself and I (my own personal trilogy) were separated at such a tender age.  We were delegated into roles of parallel existence.  Daughter, grand-daughter and sister coexisted until the physical deaths of parents and grandparent. Further division was necessary to accommodate wife and mother in ensuing years.

In this job review, I’ve been extraordinarily busy and exceptionally astute within the limitations of each duty. Played a role, I was informed.

Never introduced to the play write, so I guess I made it up as I went along. For some reason, my part(s) in the performances were born of necessity-someone else’s necessity.

Why now? Am I not needed now? Surely not. So here goes:

I AM FIRED. I am no longer responsible for the outcomes of others.  I may continue to acknowledge their struggles and successes, but I am no longer in charge.

I have acres of toys, games and puzzles to go through.  I have silly songs to sing and sidewalks, decorated with chalked hopscotch, to meander down. I have bubbles to blow and rainbows to count.  I have starry nights to discover and bedtime stories to read.

The sign on the door does not read “gone fishing”.  Rather- “Hide and Seek-Tag, You’re It”!

The Connection

The Right Place and Time

Oprah and Dr. Phil were guests in my living room this past Sunday afternoon.  I was an involuntary audience member to one of her series: “Life Lessons”.  Sounded interesting, so I stayed tuned in and had an “ah-ha” moment…

B.A.I.T.E.R.: an acronym having to do with the personality characteristics of bad people.  Backstabbers, Abusers, Imposters, Takers, Exploiters and/or Reckless people.

I admit to relationships with every one of the above. You’d think that some were more prevalent in the male of the species.  Not so…Evil is not gender-specific.

Without going into detail, I just wanted to say that “I’m large and in charge”. That’s it. I am in your face without apology or begging forgiveness.  Don’t even go there and assume that you have entitlement to MY life. 

I am not an angry woman, I don’t require the services of clergy, psychologist or radio talk show host with oh so soothing voice.  I am decided (and it’s a unanimous effort in collaboration with my committee-those souls who guide my everyday encounters) that my choices are entirely mine.

My legacy is in progress. The goodness, charity and inner beauty I share is my gift.

It is available to everyone who journeys alongside.

My creative energies are joyful and well-meaning.  I offer them with no expectations.  My extended hand is not seeking refuge from the storm.  It is there for you to grasp. Hold tightly if you must, for I am strong.

I am in a new and wonderful place. I am free from definition; limitless in my abilities, as if the child within me has awakened from sleep.

The dream is beckoning and I am saying yes. I am more than my existence and perhaps greater than another’s perception. I have looked within and found it was there from my beginning.  Through the journeys and evolutions of my soul, the definitive “me” has been perfected.

I inhale all that is mine.  When I release my final breath, my gifts will carry on in the hearts of those who shared that which was mine to give.

The Sibling Predicament

This story is aptly titled for it is the dynamics of said relationship which is today’s theme.

As one evolves soul and self through the decades, the improvements weigh in on the familial relationships as well.  Lessons taught and learned as children don’t always carry forward into adult hood.  Sharing, secret telling and role playing (to name a few), aren’t appropriate once the age of majority defines us.

Who were we to realize (way back then) that we would develop our own sensibilities regarding choices? When did our mind become our own?  When did the voices which had guided and mold us fade from conscience? Somewhere in the tween years would be my guess.

Those first successful rebellions define us as formidable beings.  The fact that our actions could muster such adversity really set the tone for growing up.  Now that I am parent and have almost graduated from advisor pro tem, I understand the process.  I appreciate the battles for I know that the war is still on the horizon and my children will be equipped and well prepared.

I dwell in the ever changing dynamics of marriage, parenthood and sisterhood.  I am no longer anyone’s daughter or granddaughter.  I have let loose of any relationship with relatives other than my brother.  Neither one of us is immersed in the coming and goings of each other, but if either needed assistance (whether material means or emotional fortitude), no force on earth could stand in our way.

“People, people who need people…” that’s a nice thought from a nice movie sung by one of the premiere vocalists in my lifetime. But the catch phrase presents a personal dichotomy.  Which people shall I choose: those who are related or those who join my journey inadvertently? 

I am not who I was. I am not the final me either. The persons placed in my evolution as a child and adolescent are not familiar with my present self. The phrase “My, how you’ve changed” can’t begin to encompass the truth.

Did I get here with help?  Yes, certainly.  Did I ask for the help?  Perhaps I did. Let’s assume that I am who I know me to be and I am who you perceive me to be because you will never really know me.  I will share fragments with you.  My piece may fit into your unfinished puzzle at least for a while.

Now siblings are a dynamic born out of necessity.  Being born period was not a necessity, divine or otherwise.  It was a choice; one made by the adults in my family.  Not so the other relationship. I can’t imagine that my opinion was ever solicited. My brother just arrived and invaded my space and played with my toys and ate my share of dessert.

We mimicked other children and their siblings and learned good and bad habits.

My mother was an only child still attached to her mother and clueless.  My father was one of 4, but far more independent and didn’t really care about his adult brother and sisters. Family reunions were never addressed and when I was introduced to extended family, I didn’t really sense any importance in establishing or maintaining a “relationship”.

You may find me cynical.  Ask me if I care. I know many people who celebrate family and where they came from and find great self -importance once they have been duly defined as belonging to so and so’s family tree.

Well if you are entangled in a family member’s life, so be it.  It was your choice to remain there.  You may have re-invented your purpose and find great comfort in the belonging to another. Your own wisdom and way of doing things may be the light bulb moment in the life of a relation.  Your destiny and your soul’s journey may be to guide. 

For me, there’s no reward in heaven.  I am just being me and so far the trip has been fabulous.

Approaching Full Circle

Another day at the Laundromat…until recently, it had the reputation as a pick-up joint.  Perhaps, I just have that kind of animal magnetism when surrounded by piles of personal laundry.  Anyway, today was different for two reasons.

First, it was DAYLIGHT.  Second, the only other customer was a lady of my life experience, with streaked rainbow-colored hair, wearing a sweatshirt with a large blue-eyed white tiger…well, that’s enough right there to begin a conversation…which I did.

Walked right over and introduced myself with the pointed question: “Do you like all animals or just white tigers”?  She replied “All.  I have sugar gliders, prairie dogs, a bearded dragon and several barnyard varieties.”

I also found out that the ’60s are far from dead.  She is 30 years married into military life but has nothing whatsoever to do with her husband’s point of view.

No wonder she’s still married. There’s enough spice in that relationship to keep them going until the next millennium.

We narrowed our topic of conversation to her very active participation in all things related to “free the animals”.  No zoos, no medical animal experimental research facilities…no Sea World…you know the kind.  I’m sure if I’d have given her cause, we’d still be in debate.  My response was…if you are focused on releasing animals bred in captivity back into their natural habitat…make sure they will survive. Have a back-up plan kind of thing…Wouldn’t you know it, she hadn’t considered it past breaking and entering and releasing the creatures and maybe sending a letter of apology to the editor of the local newspaper and cc to her congressman.

Eventually, we veered off that course and engaged in the topic of mortality; our mortality and our final options. 

I thought I knew what I wanted.  I wanted nothing…no service, no burial, no life celebration…nothing. Just send the former embodiment of my soul to the parts department. (medical school or cadaver research lab).  I know, I watch too much CSI crap on TV.  But today’s conversation with Rae has given me a great deal to consider.

There is a company right here in these United States who will plant a tree using my ashes as fertilizer.  Of course, it would be a very small tree, for I’m not that large and it’s mostly water weight.  Maybe a communal effort…

I get to choose the specimen of tree.  I choose Aspen.  The brilliant gold of Autumn, in the mountains of Colorado.

That got me to thinking how lovely to have that discretionary connection to all living things. Of course, the reality of it is ashes to ashes, dust to dust...

Life is eternal, atoms are finite, change is survival.  We are seeing that now.  My children are witness to dramatic changes in the life cycle here on planet Earth.

My horoscope and recent intuitive reading have not indicated that my time is imminent. But just in case, I have recently updated my life insurance policy.  I’d like to share the amazing news…this new policy will remain in effect until the age of 121.  So I’ve got time.

But back to my life as a tree.  I will have rings instead of wrinkles.  I will have branches instead of stray whiskers about my brow and chin.  I will have leaves, copious leaves, to wear as my garment which will turn brilliant shades of magenta and gold for 3 short weeks each year. You will find me at timberline, where the air is thin. I will share my final resting place with the alpine flowers and moss which survive the highest elevations.

And whence we reunite, you will know it is me, for the first of my leaves to fall will be carried by a gentle breeze to land at your feet.  Home at last…

Around The Corner

It’s a pity that we are so driven and singularly focused on getting through our day that we miss the hidden joys tucked carefully into the corners of our paths.

Why is the most direct route always the predictor of success?  Why can’t we fumble and loose our way (intentionally) and still accomplish all that we desire?  Don’t know, but I am going to try.

I am going to try to find alternate hidden directions to my life.  I am setting a new course never before attempted and see what I’ve been missing.

The suddenness of this decision is a result of a 30 minute walk this afternoon.  I have reached a crisis in my health and I am learning how to live better, make choices better, and to generally avail myself to the possibilities of a longer, healthier lifestyle.  I am making an effort to participate in my life rather than remain a bystander looking on.

My walk today was along a nature trail at a river’s edge about 40 minutes from my front door.  I discovered it years ago when picnicking with my children.  I hadn’t been back in nearly a decade since dining al fresco with teens is so not cool.

This is my second walk along the boardwalk in 10 days or so and I really needed to air out and take a vacation from my daily routine.  I was eager to get there and knew once I had arrived, I could “pump” my way to renewal.

Off I went, right foot and then left, in a “hup, two, three, four” kind of a rhythm when ahead of me my focus changed to a small group of grey and white haired folks with easels and paints.

The first grouping maybe numbered 4, both men and women in solitude with brushes to pallet in a deliberate collaborative motion of creativity.  It took my breath away.  I yelled “awesome, beautiful, amazing, well done” and marched past the stunned grouping.  I heard a giggle far behind me as I continued down the winding well-worn walkway. 

Minutes later, a solitary artist appeared in view.  I decided not to verbalize and marched right by.  I was smiling which is hard to do when concentrating on “in through the nose and out through the mouth” breathing technique.  Now I was really enjoying myself.  I wanted to know how many more people were painting there.  I kept going and where the boardwalk forks to the left, and I usually go straight, I turned left.

More artists, more smiling! They were so in tuned with their craft, that my purposeful steps on the wooden boards didn’t bother their concentration in the least.  I think one waved me by, but I didn’t pause to return the gesture.  When I got to the turnaround point, I was genuinely joyous.

I was alone surrounded by the sound of rushing water and songs from the last of the migratory summer birds. 

With a deep inhaled breath I started on my way back hoping to slow down just enough to be able to take in the creativity so lovingly applied by brush to paper, but they were packing up and heading in the same direction. The last holdouts, busy admiring each other’s efforts welcomed my last comments: “Thank you for sharing, much appreciated”.  One responded “thank you for your compliments”. 

We gathered in the parking lot the same strangers who had arrived just hours earlier, but we were appreciative of the gifts received today. Silent smiles were exchanged and we understood the unexpected beauty and joy to be found around life’s corners.

Holy Art Class

Just sat and grumbled at the canvas

which did not look like the reference I had selected.  It was just some horizontal mixing of colors with no form.  Could have sold the damn thing as is and titled it “Your guess is as good as mine”.

Now WHAT set me off? “Jesus in my art class” is what.

I agree with separation of church and state.  I agree with keeping religion Title reminds me of a television “Batman” rerun…something Boy Wonder would have said.  He would have been well within his script parameters had he been a student in my Prime Time for seniors art class.

It all started out well at the first meeting last week.  We have a small class and I am glad to have a low teacher/student ratio.  It’s a beginning acrylics class and some of us are truly beginners; this was painfully apparent when the subject of a color wheel was the topic of choice. Guess I am past beginning theory, but definitely a novice in the category of paint to canvas. Introductory round robin took the first 10 minutes of class and we soon settled into our roles of teacher and student.

I answered most of the questions correctly. Actually, I was the only other participant in the conversation with our instructor. Once the primary, secondary and tertiary colors had been identified and our color wheel completed, we all learned about the different brushes; practiced strokes with each one and then learned how to wash with color.  Each of us completed a small painting of fir trees at water’s edge on a clear blue day.  We were introduced to the technique of “Snowing” on the canvas by using thumb, index finger and toothbrush.  Some of us got more snow on our glasses than on the canvas….

Soon class was over with the homework of finding a sunset reference for next class. Everybody was to paint a sunset; should be fun, 10 different sunsets.  Class dismissed with 15 minutes to dump our water, wash our brushes, gather our recently purchased $100.00 inventory of just the necessities and clear out.

During the week, I practiced once for an hour or so at home and arrived with a smile and that “Look what I did” glow for lesson number two. Well, let’s be fair and state that part of that hour or so was just unpacking the paints and brushes and organizing the recently converted overnight bag into a recognizable artists tote.

The three rows of drop clothed tables welcomed us back and we set up in the same familiar spots. Not having to reintroduce ourselves was a good thing and easels and canvases, brushes and reference pictures were set out and we anxiously awaited the attention of our teacher to turn from more supply shopping to the topic today: sunsets.

I thought my practice sunset would eliminate a do over, but no such luck.  Good attempt, I was told…wonderful likeness…but I want you to USE the reference and not let the reference USE YOU she said.  What?

Next to me sits a woman from Nashville and she brought personal photos of our coastal sunset. I recognized the pier and prominent sago palm in the foreground.

She was considering which photo to select and took the opportunity to ask me my opinion. I agreed with her first choice and turned back to listen to the teacher, but Ms. Nashville had a second agenda.  “Look at this picture, what do you see there in the clouds”? I said “Oh, it could be the silhouette of a man, how interesting”.  She said that the photo had been the subject of another man who happened to be taking pictures at the same spot and she asked him for a copy. 

“It’s Christ with the crown of thorns. Can’t YOU SEE that? Look closely…see, sEE SEE???”  I replied, “Oooh, that gives me the hee bee jee bees”. She didn’t say another word.

Back to art class…learning to use a solid color wash (must be the dominant color), then white dressmakers chalk to trace the horizon and highlight the outlines of nature in the foreground.  Then, learn to paint over in layer upon layer until the final rendering appears to have a three dimensional quality.

During this process, which became frustrating because I lost the guidelines of the chalk under succeeding layers, the woman to my left kept saying “PrAZE be…lordy, lordy”.

I just lost it, threw in the proverbial towel, and took a self- imposed time out.  out of the public schools.  Recently, I have become aware of the things that go bump in the night and they have nothing to do with religion.

I don’t want you to bless my canvas, sprinkle my paint with holy water or offer last rights to my perceived masterpiece.  I don’t welcome your invasion of religious bigotry in my space.

You may not have the confidence to venture on your own artistic endeavors and may need tethering to a higher power.  For me, I am complete and confident and have guidance that does not require the relinquishment of power to another entity.  I am in this class for self-improvement not as testimony that I must ingratiate myself for becoming who I am.

Leave your inadequacies at home and join your soul with mine for we are capable of artistic impression. It is in our DNA. Period.

Lunch With Mon Ami

Setting:  Favorite out of town eatery, late lunch on a nothing special Saturday afternoon.

Company:  Favorite daughter (I have only one).

Details:  Please follow along J

I live my life with a fairly open schedule.  This allows me time for moments of inspiration and impromptu encounters with the unexpected. I’m trying to be open to the ebb and flow of the universe.  It’s a learned skill and not easy to accomplish, but I’m trying.

People tied to schedules are giving their power away.  Why? What’s the benefit? Not understanding this philosophy is fine with me.  Not participating in this restrictive and burdensome life style allows me to be myself.  Who else could handle the job requirements so effortlessly with such grace and “Joie de vie”?

So, the two of us were off to lunch.  It was a last minute invite.  It’s always a last minute invite…if I’m doing the inviting.  More fun that way and the anticipation builds at such a high speed that there’s really no time to second guess myself.

I bet if I had a current passport, the excitement would be uncontrollable!  But for now, it’s better to stay within a half days drive from my own front door.

My daughter is my best traveling buddy.  We share our moments together in the typical mother daughter way, sharing dreams and secrets, giggles and gasps of “are you kidding me”?  I’m really getting to know her and she’s constantly amused to learn of my own travels as a single woman way back when.

On this Saturday, the on the way in the car chatter was about her last semester as an undergraduate college student and her cyber world and her art and her planned book and sequels.  She’s so busy with her creative self, that she exudes joy and hope and is forever my inspiration. The journey through the same neighborhoods and cities and bridges didn’t take the usual hour of our lives.  Seemed we just left the driveway and we were pulling in to the street parking around the corner from our restaurant.

We noticed a neighboring café with canine patrons and both smiled because we advocate for dog friendly businesses.  Seems natural to us that our “best” friends be allowed to join us on our outings.  We’d take them if we could, but at present our pets outnumber the people and we don’t want to be considered discriminatory with regards to which ones to leave behind.

The restaurant we like is housed in a former residence in the old part of town.  Most of the refurbished former houses are now offices, restaurants and boutiques.  The outsides are wooden siding and all have porches and outdoor ceiling fans.  The color palette gives homage to days gone by and ours was a beautiful soft pink.  Patrons have a choice of seating, both inside and out.  We elected an end table (for two) on the raised porch. Dining al fresco is much preferred on the warm afternoons of June.  We arrived at an in between time, but were in good company with other guests who chose to dine in and others who preferred the street side tables under colorful umbrellas. Everyone was engaged in intimate conversation and enjoying the food and each other.

The menu was small but in no way limited.  Course selections included seafood, sandwiches, pasta, salads and desserts on a simple black and white menu. Chef’s name is just under the restaurant name. The daily specials were on a second freshly typed page.  Prices just listed as dollars.  Tables were highly polished wood and chairs were of a wrought iron variety, but not too heavy or cumbersome…simple, tasteful and inviting.

She chose a salad variety and me, a burger garnished with Aioli and a side of penne pasta.  This new mayonnaise dressing is fast becoming a favorite.  I will have to investigate further.

In the minutes of anticipation before we were served, we kept vigil on a carpenter ant which was keeping vigil over our table and railing.  Not easily discouraged from its predestined course, I moved the table further from the railing and the uninvited guest lost interest and disappeared into the shrub on the other side from us.

Conversation changed to something else and soon our hostess appeared with lunch and a big smile and questions regarding hot sauces or other requested condiments.

“No, thank you” we said in unison and began to enjoy our meal.

Not long after we started eating, a small brownish bird joined us.  Just hopped up on the white painted railing alongside the table and invited itself to lunch.  He was a him because of the vibrancy of his color; all brown, but beautifully patterned throughout wing and tail feathers. My girl identified him as a chickadee.  I don’t know the difference so we’ll go with her description. His beak remained opened and he darted from side to side in a purposeful dance to engage our participation.

My potato bread became his preferred tidbit and I was happy to share.  The waitress returned for a moment and I said “we have a visitor”.  She backed away from the table and asked for more details.  Perhaps she thought it was another less welcomed creature, but I said…no, a bird.  She sighed and said, “oh, yes. They are very friendly and very well fed.”

He came back repeatedly, and we smiled to notice bread crumbs about his beak.

He must have noticed our stare and flew to the birdbath to rinse off and regain his dapper appearance.

I decided to hand feed him, but soon regretted my decision as he left me a little prick to remember him by.

Lunch continued and the little fellow emboldened by a life- long relationship with other lunch and dinner guests, hopped down to the table and came up to my plate.

Not wanting him to actually dine from my plate, I broke off a too big piece of bread and placed on the rail behind me to encourage his leaving the table. ..which he did, but then reappeared with a female on the sign hanging on the corner post just behind my left side.  This made my daughter laugh and comment “now you’ve done it”!

I don’t know why he didn’t return to the table or railing, but for the rest of our time there, he busied himself with her in the bushes on the other side of us.  Happy, I guess, with his efforts, stomach full and his mate pleased with his abilities to provide well.

We have pictures to commemorate the lunch.  I may christen a painting in his honor, but will have to engage the use of a bird reference book to get his markings just right.  The photos don’t do him justice. 

I tried to think of a name for him.  I don’t like dining with strangers, but couldn’t come up with one. I suppose I’ll think of one once I consider his personality.  In the meantime, “Mon Ami” will do.  It is with unspoken affection that I will remember our brief but heartfelt encounter.  And I am thankful.

Meditation

A single word reply to my sharing a daily horoscope with my friend came by text:  “Meditate”.  Huh?  Well, okay, I’ll try.

I’ve never been very successful in attempting to quiet my soul and singularly focus on homework, unfinished craft projects or messages from the universe. My several selves have always been adept at multi-tasking. And as my life was joined by husband and children, I have always encouraged their abilities to be just as flexible.  I think it is way more entertaining that way.  Why miss an opportunity to juggle responsibilities with just plain fun? My motto is not “why” but rather “why not”.

I’m reading a book these days…at least trying to read a book.  It’s hard for me to concentrate.  The author touched on recent diagnosis’ such as ADD and ADHD…nothing really to do with her main topic, but it sparked my interest. Yes, I may be one of those who would benefit from therapy.  I won’t dwell on it as my dance card is already full.  Well, it was in trying to read that book, late yesterday afternoon when my eyes glanced away from the page to see what my charge (a toy poodle) was doing.  She had left my lap and wandered into hidden areas of her patio.  That tactic usually means she had found a loose fence board and was negotiating a new pathway to the elevated boardwalk and its unexplored areas underneath.

I found her trailing a lizard on her side of the fence and returned my attention to the page…almost.  In a momentary shift in focus from where she was, I looked up and noticed a small grouping (much smaller than a flock) of birds atop the tall reeds and grasses which formed a barrier between this house and the next block north.

My first observance left me wondering how they managed to “sit” there.  The grasses were all vertical and to my mind, nothing horizontal to support their weight.

“Tightrope” adaptation…clever birds.  The breeze provided encouragement and the pairing of bird to tall grass swayed and returned.  No singing or chirping, just resting in unison.  After several minutes, a single chirp and they left my view.  Not to worry, others appeared from lower destinations in the same grasses and my new group performed the same dance.  Just rest and upon command, fly away.

As I followed the last few into the horizon, I began to notice other birds.  Pigeons flew close en route to a favorite balcony of a neighboring townhome.  I could see their pinkness.  The solitary heron graced my overhead sky right on cue.  She kisses the approaching dusk every evening at the same time.  Yesterday, I purposely watched her; I stood up and backed toward the fence line and wished her a safe journey home.  She’ll be back tomorrow and will be present the next time I pet sit here.

The dog’s concentration was broken by a pairing of father and son, approaching.  As I scooped her up (to keep her from barking), the sky welcomed a large flight of brown pelicans…probably close to 30 in number.  I wanted to share my excitement and invited the pair to join me in watching this perfect drama unfold.  The father thanked me and lifted the child to his shoulders.  We stood together, separately, and well…meditated.

I filled with peace, that kind which is given to those who step out of themselves long enough to realize that we’re in this together.  To think otherwise would be devoid of reality.  And not to appreciate these momentary gifts would be a great loss to ones understanding of identity and purpose.

I look forward to today’s encounters and will stop and listen to the truth. I encourage you to do the same.

My Last Day

Today, I woke up wondering about the finality of it all. This all started last night while viewing the city fireworks over the water.  My town sponsors an annual traditional family friendly day-long event to commemorate our Independence Day. It’s probably very similar to every other town, complete with parades and fun bouncy castles and vendors who sell red, white and blue battery powered everything to help light up the evening on the lawn of the waterfront park.  The Gazebo is open for grabs to the earliest of guests and if you bring your own blankets, chairs, coolers and flags, you can stake a claim to a spot on the freshly mown grass and enjoy a pre show picnic.

Everybody comes. Even those who aren’t comfortable in crowded spaces, are welcome to share benches in other smaller public parks west of this town’s favorite meeting place. The fireworks, sent from a barge strategically parked midstream, allow for viewing in all directions.  If you’re a fireworks connoisseur, the skies in neighboring towns continue the tradition way past midnight.

My daughter and I arrived late because I was inspired to leave last minute and our first strategy was to find that perfect parking spot. I just followed the long line of other cars circling the several blocks of designated parking.

Too bad my car is a midsize, because I spotted several possibilities along the route.  We gave up once we spotted a $5.00 lot and went around the block just one more time to make sure.  Plenty of parking there and relatively close walking distance to the park.  The attendant made sure that we knew our car would be locked behind the gated entrance after 10 P. M.

Well it was that in between time, I think some would call it “dusk” when we left the car to join the other pedestrians headed south.  Some came fully prepared, even at this late hour.  Mamas had coordinated the outfits for dads and children, grandparents were tasked to carry the coolers, blankets and chairs. Toddlers headed for the cotton candy and popcorn man and if that didn’t work, were just as happy convincing mom or dad to buy flashing wristbands, headbands and other hand carried torches, sparklers or patriotic water guns.  Those with strollers maneuvered their very little ones over the heads of those already seated.  Trees provided the adventurous and not too heavy guests to claim the lower branches for optimum gazing location.

The children’s play area was full of chatter and laughter and lined with parents hopeful the extra wiggles would remain behind.

We were in our own appropriate holiday wear and came totally unprepared for a comfortable hours sit on the lawn.  As a matter of fact, we weren’t assured of any unclaimed area for two as we tried to find a pathway from the street to sidewalk at water’s edge. But we did, and I remembered to ask permission from the lady who had a blanket ready for additional guests.  We squeezed just in front of her and to the left of an already seated couple.  The husband was very gracious and moved his chair even closer to his wife’s to allow for our standing to sitting transformation on the grass.

So there we were, settled into our part of the huge lawn between families and dogs, folding chairs, blankets and curious children, temporarily out of view from their perspective parents.  More people trying to remember where they left their people on a return trip from vendor or bathroom found a pathway between us and the roped off area just to my left.  I smiled to study the bungee cord laced around the flags.  That group knew that theirs was VIP seating.

In the 45 or so minutes before the show, we listened to a local band; definitely not sing along.  Some mix of blues and Sousa…although Sousa just didn’t sound the same coming from a keyboard.  Oh well.

We were all in high spirits and shared anticipation.  The announcer began the countdown from 10 and the crowd chimed in. 

Perfect timing! The first rounds were lit and we all watched the tail of the largest rocket soar almost too high and then the beauty of the evening’s culminating display burst over head in a continuous 22 minute celebration.

I saw new fireworks…gold and cascading.  I saw old favorites and sonic booms which made me squeal out loud.  I belonged to this moment in time, it was mine to experience in a very passionate and personal manner.

As the music changed to tunes which I could remember, I sang along.

I teared up just a little remembering nights like this when I was a child.

They were exactly the same, but different.

But last night my girl and I were together in this place, sharing this memory and knowing that someday, way in the future, we will rely on this shared experience to validate that she was on the verge of her own life’s quest and I was headed uncomfortably towards later middle age.

Later middle age will ease into beginning old age and then eventually, time will no longer be my friend. So I’m planning my exit now while I’m in the presence of mind to be at my creative peak.

After the earth to earth and dust to dust parts have been resolved and my ashes mixed with soil and my Aspen tree planted, I want fireworks.  An expensive and amazing aerial display somewhere…in my honor.  I want all invited guests to light sparklers and hold them in a unison arch and watch the brightness give breath to the evening sky.  If you can’t get a permit to accomplish this celebration legally, do it anyway.  Do it because you remember that I didn’t always follow the rules.

I will be there - forever a part of the universe.  The noise and vivid colors will announce my soul’s continuous journey. It will be a one of a kind remembrance…kinda like me.

Quiet Turbulence

I am there and it was confirmed today while watching the following event through the front picture window of my friend’s living room.

Very dark horizon, dotted with lightning and thunder. More than 2 dozen vultures circling the sky; endless circling: an omen.

The vultures guard the radio tower which borders the neighborhood.  They are there every day I am there, which is sporadic, as I pet sit, on call, whenever my friends need to leave town.

Anyway, back to the visual…The birds flew in a clockwise direction and didn’t alight the tower again until the rain had come and washed the horizon, leaving puddles of debris

in the lawns, driveways and swimming pools of the nearby houses.

The name, Edgar Allen Poe, came to my mind and stayed.  The dark stillness of the moment stayed and I found it familiar, comfortable.  But why?

Transition, (that which facilitates change), has taken root in my soul. I have felt it coming for several months; almost a calendar year. Day by day, unbearable, inexplicable evolution makes me uncomfortable in my own skin. I am changing, the familiar is gone and I’m left with- out direction or focus. 

 I have always been closed to what’s possible because I have always been the practical solution, the one to give resolve, the one to shoulder the responsibility.

The dark never bothered me before, because the light followed.  But the dark and the movement of the shadows within are preparing me for a leap of faith.  I am not godly,

I am not worldly, I am somewhere in between.  In flux; in that quiet turbulence which will create and define me from today forward.

I trust in the universe.  Let the evolution continue...for my purpose is not my own.

Toad At My Door

For the last several evenings there has been a visitor at the threshold of my kitchen door. He stays all night as if waiting for something or someone. 

I don’t know if toads sleep sitting up, haven’t had cause to study them. The last time I saw one all stretched out was in my high school biology class.

Actually, it may have been its first cousin, but who could tell the difference?

My several dogs come in and go out through the kitchen door.  It’s not the only door providing an exit, but they are forbidden to go out my front entryway unescorted and the garage has lost its appeal except for those few days that I enter the kitchen with bags of groceries.

Toads have an agenda that I do not understand.  They are territorial perhaps?

But if that is the case, where has this one been?  I only remember seeing it just recently.  Did it live its formative years in the woods behind the fence?  Was it carried in my yard in on a recent wave of unending rain? I didn’t get the memo. Regardless of how it got here, he is staying put.

But wait, I used to have a front door variety. Last year, I remember my walkway was under the vigil of a toad.  It was smaller. Perhaps the morph corn snake made its acquaintance.

Maybe it’s a messenger.  I believe in animal messengers. My mother sends messages via blue birds. Just before her passing in 1988, she began to call me “Bluebird”.

What a curiosity! She was not particularly fond of anything feathered, as a matter of record, her passion was elephants.  I inherited more than 700 of them…

The connection between mother and me has survived her physical death and I absolutely depend on her spirit in times of turmoil.  The bluebird, in its infinite varieties, has appeared and her sweet song has calmed my anxiousness during the crisis of my own struggles with marriage, motherhood and the tremendous personal loss of my father.

What is this connection? I know I may be over analyzing the perceived relationship that we are having, but there’s a reason for his presence.

He is always facing the door.  Recently, he has been carefully poised on the raised threshold, and when the door is open, he could hop right in, but he remains motionless.  My dogs each stop and greet him, nudge at him, cajole him and wait for him to engage in some form of play, but he is not interested.

He waits for me.   As dawn is just breaking, I remove the outside water dish and bring it inside for a thorough wash and refill, he stays.

He can’t be found during the daylight.  That’s his well- earned time of repose after the long night’s vigil. I suppose he moves to the patio’s edge and disappears into the lushness of the overgrown jasmine or perhaps into the once manicured center planting of azaleas and southern pine.  I used to have a back yard that looked like a back yard, but now it’s a dog version of the Talladega racetrack. 

I gave up and gave in. 

The Native American Animal totem honors the frog (close enough).  It’s symbolic of the cleansing.  Sprit of water, you may call upon it for emotional release.  It may require you to renew your perspective or vision. It is associated with “rebirth” and transformation. Being active at night, it is a favorite animal of the arts of the dark and witchcraft. By extension, the totem animal is connected to the mysteries and familiarity of the unknown.  THANK YOU INTERNET.

Wow, that’s a little too much information…

But it fits my current circumstances for I am in flux and wide open to possibilities beyond the realm of the realm.

While I mull this over, re chew it, spit it out and observe, I will leave you with another possibility.

Remember the fairytale about the Frog Prince?  It’s a leap of faith, but I’ll freshen my lipstick just in case…

Unexpected Self Portrait

I have a new favorite eatery in the coastal town where I have resided since 1999. It’s small and quaint; the parking spaces equal the number of available tables inside. A solitary window extends the entire width of the entry including the glass front door.

Daylight is also welcomed through the opened back doors which enclose the kitchen and prep areas.

Décor is a little bit country, I think, mixed with hand painted meditations, Christmas ornaments, antiques, cookbooks, and one of- a -kind paintings.  Not to linger after your meal is a missed opportunity.

My friend Diana and I meet there for lunch when our lives have become complicated .  It’s the perfect ambience for de stressing while filling up on nature’s bounty.  We always order the same items: a black bean burrito with extra salsa and sour cream for me and tuna salad with dressing on the side for her.

The café is owned by two women who give entirely of themselves to the experience of dining with love. I can just feel it; it’s in the wallpaper and in every aromatic dalliance born in their kitchen. They are always a part of the conversations which fill the cozy spaces within their business.  The locals call it home.

I have invited you into this wonderful place so that you will be able to relax, take a load off and appreciate the circumstances of my “ah ha” moment…

I am finding that I am a very complex woman. I am more than I thought possible. A connection has been discovered wherein I am being given the answers to “Who am I”?  Can you imagine not owning your identity?  Well, until just recently, I have not been able to do so with any clarity. 

Adopted children struggle with this identity crisis.  For me, I have been a character born of fiction and placed into a family to complete their own emptiness and sense of duty.  The first child to a couple desirous of fitting into a middle class lifestyle appropriate to a college professor and wife in the early years of his climb to success.

That’s where my journey began. My parents are long dead and I have decided that my “borrowed” relatives no longer have entitlement to my identity. So now what?

Well, I’ll tell you. I am a visual metaphor hanging on the wall of my favorite eatery.

There I am, in black and white and framed and NFS.  I gazed at myself during lunch recently but did not make an immediate connection until the shared conversation with my friend highlighted my soul’s journey at present.

The photograph was taken at the beginning of a double railed wooden footbridge in the haziness of either dusk or dawn. A forest surrounds the bridge.  You are unaware of the spaces underneath it. The focal point is somewhere on the other side.  It’s black and white with all the shades of stillness and calm captured in neutral tones. The symmetry of the plank boards gives a sense of order to the natural world. The seeming curvature of the hand rails bring the eyes of the viewer up and over and down again. A perfect contrast exists between man’s need for order and nature’s guarantee that all will be rediscovered in time.

I appreciate the photographer’s sense of wonder.  I understand the message. Yes, I am there; naked and exposed. My soul’s journey has been documented and I am validated.  The unknown is beckoning me approach and cross with trust and self- confidence as my guides. I am at the foot of this bridge and it feels like the first time.  I shall cross it and expect nothing and revel in promise.

This is my unexpected self -portrait; my identity, not for sale and gifted to me from the unknown.