Happy Mother's Day!

A friend nominated me for several Mother's Day award categories.  It was beyond sweet of her to do this and I began to think about this day.

My children and their families are at a distance.  I don't spend Mother's Day with them.  Like most of my holidays, I spend them with self.  Now don't go getting all teary eyed.  I have what few will ever have.  I have had a loving family, loving children, and grandchildren.  And a strong and healthy sense of myself.

I do not expect anything from them.  I just want to love them.  Mother's Day, after all, is a marketing day.  And you know how I feel about marketing. Blech!

It is a day of gratitude as I told my friend.  I don't require flowers, notes, cards, gifts.  Knowing that they are happy in their lives is what my Mother's Day is all about.  I am in their lives by design, choice, luck, miracles.

This year, my daughter will enjoy Mother's Day.  Her first.  A death in the family meant that her husband had to go out of the country for a funeral.  I hope he makes it home in time to spend Mother's Day with her. Either way, she has a gift.  She is nearly four months old and we couldn't be happier.

Thursday, a card from my daughter arrived in the mail. I was too excited to open it so I sat in my car in the garage while I pulled the envelope apart.

"Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

I finally understand what it means to be a mom and am so grateful to have your unconditional love as an inspiration.  

Thank you in particular for your support in helping me to become a mom.

Love ~

her name

P.S. This stationary was bought for me by Grandma Eleanor way back when."


Almost immediately, I burst into tears.  There were three generations of women in this note.  My mom who bought the stationary gifting it to my daughter.  My daughter who wanted to pay it forward in her appreciation of me, her mom and my granddaughter who brought us all together again.

Thank you HG.  You are the gift that keeps giving.

Happy Mother's Day to all who mother ~ many of whom are not biological ones but mothers none the same.  To the mother in all of us!

Art For Emotional Instability And Resurrection

A great deal of art has been created to alleviate emotionality suffering.  Some would suggest emotional instability. Whatever the name, no one is immune to its affects. Our response to this is expressed in a variety of mediums. Literature, painting, music, and others. Many believe art evolved as a means to express oneself.  I certainly believe that.  

Whether one is moved to tell a story, explain human suffering or their own, art takes one to another dimension.  Within.  

When I am drawn to paint, time stands still.  That the hand is one with the brush creating a timeless and unbreakable connection. But it comes from a solitary place.   The now.  After all, that moment is all we ever have.

The writer, Ernest Hemingway, is believed to "have suffered from depression, bipolar disorder, had borderline and narcissistic personality traits, and later suffered with psychosis."  

As was the situation with Leo Tolstoy, Sylvia Plath, Franz Kafka, one of my favorites, and Virginia Woolf. Through their hearts, their angst, they shared a story.  Theirs and ours.

We admire their humanity, their ability to discuss intolerable social conditions and abuse. We admire their courage, their need to open a dialogue on our emotions.

http://blogs.psychcentral.com/hollywood-therapy/2014/12/7-famous-writers-with-mental-disorders/

Similarly, painter Vincent Van Gogh, was known to have a bi-polar disorder.  His rapid production of paintings was unattainable by many other artists.  After each completion of his work,bouts of depression, exhaustion and finally suicide ensued.

Likewise, Mozart's creation of Sonata no. 8 in A minor.  Please listen and see if you can't feel his confusion and anger. His consistent rhythm is easily heard.  Mozart wanted the world to know of his turmoil.  Perhaps by listening and feeling the suffering of another, we too, may experience less.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fRgxY8VUOz8

Woody, Selfies and A Cushion

"Nope, its just not my thing."

He couldn't understand.  She neither.  I enjoy my privacy and surely do not require accolades or patting myself on the back.  I prefer to stand back and observe.  And, that is just what I did.

She said it all.

" you don't seem like the selfie with a celebrity type." 

"Oh, lord.  I am not that superficial," I responded.

But it is alright for anyone else.  I would be beyond embarassed.  And no, I did not want to be an extra.  Yes, I was asked.  A bunch of times.

"No, thank you."

I was happy enough to get back home.  An early morning to Asheville leaving at 6:20 a.m.  I could barely open my eyes at my appointment.  It took about half the time and I am forever grateful.  I was hoping to pick up the reupholstered chaise cushion which used the three yards I had purchased three years ago in the event I needed them, but they were not in.  Just after I arrived home, the store called.

"Your cushion in is."

Back next week.  I have way too many projects going on to make another trip for a few days.

Little Lady

It has been an interesting month.  Floaters in my right eye, diastolic way too low, blood work, blue skies, verdant mountains.  Family.  Beautiful grands, and a three month old baby.

As every parent knows, babies have a short happy span.  The awaken, need changing, they nurse or take a bottle, they sleep.  Repeat.  But in the morning, between the feedings they are happy, happy, happy.  A beginning smile.



This cutie has captured my heart!

With nearly no hair now (she lost the little bit she had on top) we make sure to keep her head covered until her hair fills in.

She is blessed with the most beautiful hand-me-downs any mother could want. It makes it difficult for her Nana who loves buying clothes for children.

Her female cousin who is two, has the same dress. Both dresses are big on the girls but this summer - look out!   They will fill them out nicely - and maybe can even wear them in the late summer, early fall.  When we are all together again.  This time in New Hampshire!  And in D.C. in the fall

Fun times!

Magnets

Magnets

I miss the warmth 
Of another person

Lying beside me

Our hands pulled together
Like magnets 

Effortlessly, deliberately

An early morning sun 
Rises over the horizon
As we tilet toward each other

While the sun warms our smiles

He is the first thing you notice

There because he wants to be

And you because you care

Two loving faces

Repeat the story

Of your life together

You just want to be close

On Warmth

One of the things I really miss is the warmth of another person beside me. Hands connect like a like a magnet to  effortlessly, deliberately as they rest together on the mattress you share.  A slight roll toward them in the early morning, just as the sun comes over the horizon,  the smile of someone who really wants to be next to you is the first thing you notice. You are there because you want the same thing.  Them.  Their facial gestures tell a story of your life together.  They just want to be close.

I awakened early this morning with that on my mind.  It doesn't happen every night.  I have dated a mixture of people in my seventeen years of singledom.  Some interesting, some really damaged, some caring men.  I suppose when you sequester yourself in a bubble for so long, taking on the identity of another,  you don't see all the people who are just lost.  Lost because of poor parenting, lack of nurturing, importance.  You are lost because you aren't in a place that serves you.  You are there because you made a commitment, you have children to raise who matter more than your happiness for yourself.

The retirement years offer a window into things more vivid than they could have been when you are a student, working full time, taking care of your family and running through your life.  You are caught in the moment of joy and happiness watching your family grow.  You like being a part of something far more important than yourself.  

In any community where I lived, I was drawn to a variety of people.  Much of my interest has been working and hosting people from different countries.  I have hosted students from France, England, Italy and China.  While I thoroughly enjoy European culture, Asian culture fascinates me.  I enjoy eastern philosophies and being among people who live them.  One such person is the woman who does my nails.  She grew up in Vietnam.  One of ten children, she was raised mostly by older siblings. Her mother at the time of her birth was 47.  Vin was the youngest of her family.  Whenever she speaks about them, it is with the deepest love, warmth and affection.  She misses the time when everyone was together.  She doesn't miss the government, nor the poverty of living in Vietnam.  She has been in the United States nearly twenty years. Despite all the isolation, deprivation she exudes so much warmth.  Her husband is quite westernized, as is she.  


Vin is the age of my children and has a six year old daughter.  We talk about relationships, hers, mine.  She wonders how I fare in life as a single woman with my children and grandchildren living at a distance.  I tell her I am exactly where I am supposed to be.  Maybe it will change and I will find a wonderful, loving partner.  I am glad, grateful beyond words that I found myself.   I tell her I am lucky because I can travel to see them, live in paradise and have such a good life.  I know there is someone who wants a heart like mine.  Someone warm, loving who wants to share a life with me.  I am here for a reason.

But it will happen again.  I will awaken, roll over and there he will be.  His hand will magnetize mine, his warmth will spill over, his smile will greet mine.  Our day will begin.  Together.

On Being With Self

For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed my time to myself.  As a child, I loved being in the house alone when I was sick.  Of course that was around age eleven and it was just such a treat.  No one to tell me what to do, or give me a chore.  Just pure quiet.

As I got older, staying home sick from school meant watching the Loretta Young Show at one o'clock in the afternoon.  It was a bit melodramatic, but always a good story.  And, it was always nice to see my family around dinner time.

When I married, being home was nice, too.  In the beginning, it did feel a bit odd.  Being in an apartment one hour away from familiar surroundings.  I was on my own and I have wanted that since I was eleven.  Even throughout marriage, because my former spouse was so rarely home, I got used to my space.  Even loved it.  I really enjoyed when it was just my two children and me.  We would go to the movies, lunch, do something scenic.  We were the Three Musketeers in so many ways.

When the marriage completed, it wasn't much different.  I was used to being alone.  Now some seventeen years later, I love the quiet of my home.  It has taken a while to get there.  Some five years or so ago, I went through a time where I was feeling lonely.  I hadn't quite found the peace within myself I was looking for.  A trip to New Hampshire for one and a half winters in an old age apartment complex cured me.  Though I did enjoy many of my neighbors, it was a bit intrusive for me.  I have always preferred to be away from le miserables.

Instantly, the return home felt right.  Comfortable.  Home.  Some two years plus into my return time, and about to celebrate my fifteenth anniversary here on May 1st, I have come home to myself.  Fully.

I have a cadre of close friends.  They are such a mixture of warm, intelligent and caring people.  I see them regularly and always look forward to our time together.  I also look forward to coming home.

On being with self.  It is truly the greatest gift.