Just a Thought...

  When life presents us with major upheaval it can be difficult to see beyond the chaos. Easier still, to fall into survival mode, focusing so much on the "Big Picture" we fail to notice anything. Or worse, so focused on minutia that we can't see beyond the immediate, the biggest fire. The devil really is in the details on those days. If this is where you are, STOP! Take a loooong cleansing breath...now, take another. In all transparency, the above is really a reminder for myself. The last three and a half years of life have been...just, wow! There's been people found and lost too soon, the kids launching, quitting a job, putting plans on hold, understanding new relationships, living alone for a year, health issues and lifestyle changes, cleaning out 28 yrs of stuff, moving across the country, balancing family needs, and more.   Decisions, so many decisions. But with the change of seasons (finally!), comes a moment to pause. To breathe. To reacquaint myself with...wel...

This meme makes me laugh every time I see it. Eagles walking is hilarious - they look like they're wearing floofy pants. Also, that's pretty much been my attitude when it comes to taking care of my physical and mental health. So, not great. The last five or so years has brought about a revolution in the way society views mental health. We take care of our bodies, we should also take care of our brains.  As Martha Stewart would say, "It's a good thing." The difficulty arises, I believe, when there is so much emphasis all at once that instead of it being a "good thing" it becomes another task. The pressure of adding ANOTHER thing to the "to do" list that feels overly complicated and unrealistically time consuming. And if you don't get it checked off that list, it becomes a source of shame.   "What, you didn't spend 30 minutes in mindful meditation?  What's wrong with you?"  It's called a freaking LIFE! On the flip side, ...

It's been sitting open on the floor for the last month. Things have been removed, added, and stacked on it. The dog has napped in it. I've tripped on it, shoved it out of the way, and carefully walked around it in the dark. What I haven't done, is put it away. That suitcase I used going to and from my Dad's memorial service is still there. Whether happy or sad, making the final move that ends something is paralyzing. The symbolism of a final step is so significant to me. I'm quite sure this is why I struggle to finish anything. There's always one more thing that could make it perfect. More effort, more input, more rewriting, more energy, more creativity, or in this case, MORE TIME. By ending something that is not, in my eyes, perfect, I have failed. But if you don't end, you don't acknowledge completion, there's always a possibility you can fix it, a chance at redemption.  Unfortunately, death doesn't work that way.  Which takes me back to the em...

 Music is always a touchy subject.  It evokes strong opinions and feelings.  What is the greatest combination of notes and instruments to you may be like fingers on a chalk board to another.  You may be moved to tears, spirit soaring as a melody builds, while the person next to you has all the emotion of a cold bowl of plain oatmeal.  Music is not neutral.  Christmas is by far my favorite genre.  I think I have more Christmas CD's (remember those?) than any other style.  I usually start listening in September and continue through February.  On ridiculously hot days in summer I will even play a few songs - a blast of musical air conditioning. For those of you that think I've just described a musical hell, that's fine you cold hearted Grinch! I'm kidding. It's the beauty of music that it feeds the needs of the listener, performer, writer.  It nourishes our souls in a way nothing else can.  For me personally, it allows me to reconnect ...

When it comes to holidays in our family, food is as much a part of making it festive as any decoration, bauble, gift, or sparkly decor.  If you don't have the right foods, is it even the holidays?   Nothing says Christmas like our homemade fruitcake.  When my children attended university in Europe, I was ordered to pack frozen bricks of it when visiting for the holiday. Upon arrival it was quick hugs followed by the search of the suitcase for the delicacy. Yes, our fruitcake is that good.  This year, thanks to the ongoing supply chain issues, it involved multiple trips to grocery stores (yes, plural) and help from my mom to acquire all the ingredients.  This isn't something you make on a whim.  It is a labor of love. Conventional wisdom says we shouldn't tie strong emotions to food. I get it. And while I agree with the "health" aspect of that concept, the reality is that the smells, taste and sensory moments tied to certain foods becomes so strong, so ...

I miss my Dad.  Actually I miss both my Dads.  But I miss them differently. The Dad that raised me died 9 years ago after a long illness.  I lived close by so was heavily involved in his life, his care.  He had time with my children - they adored him.  He had been sick and deteriorating for so long that by the time he died I was, in a way, prepared.  I grieved hard, but we had so many memories, so much history. The Dad that gave me life, died 9 days ago.   I've only been in contact with him for 7 1/2 months.  We texted and spoke on the phone a lot in that time. I visited for a long weekend. We went through pictures. We shared our stories. We grieved the moments in life that we missed. We bared our souls. We made peace with past decisions. We were ready to move on, to create memories.  A future. He died exactly one month to the day that we met in person.  I don't even have a good picture of us. Before the comments start, I am in...

We all know the moment.  Someone is coming to your house for a visit. Immediately you turn into a whirling dervish grabbing all the “stuff” that isn’t where it belongs while vacuuming like you are a Formula One driver.  Closet cramming and door slamming become full body workouts.  You run through the house spraying room deodorizer hoping it will cover your panic induced sweat. When I did this I would often hear Marlin Perkins in his Wild Kingdom whisper voice in my head.  “Here we can safely observe the stay-at-home mom.  We don’t want to startle or spook her as she prepares for the dreaded visitor.  Isn’t it fascinating to see how she functions in her natural habitat?” To clarify, I’m not talking about the house cleaning for sanitary reasons, or special events or just because it wouldn’t kill you to put all of your kids things in their rooms before your friend comes over.  I especially don’t include the picking up because my mom is coming over - s...

The greatest drive of my mothering is protection based in the most intense love possible. Almost from the moment I was pregnant it was about the survival of my child. It was not an easy pregnancy. There were weeks vomiting my insides out worrying about nutrition. More weeks of praying she was still alive at the all too frequent ultrasounds. Finally we get to birth and the first night spent in NICU. By the time I finally had my baby there was nothing I would not say, do, be, create for my child. I would battle to the death to protect that demanding little creature. Fortunately, as months go on we mothers forget the traumas of pregnancy. A small amount of sanity returns to our brains, usually when the child is a toddler and just destroyed something that was priceless. But then it’s “I may yell at my baby, but heaven help the person who would dare say the same thing.” It is also in those toddler years that I came to the most alarming conclusion of my life. To be a good parent I will hav...