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 Reflections and ruminations from a modern day Alice - Life is Wonderland |
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Reflections and ruminations from a modern day Alice - Life is Wonderland  Welcome to the place were I chronicle my own falls down dark holes and adventures chasing white rabbits! Come on In, Take a Bite, You Never Know What You May Find... "Curiouser and curiouser." Alice in Wonderland ** Image ID #1701066 Unavailable **   |
| Age 12 It has taken me a bit longer to write my annual piece reflecting on my daughter’s latest age milestone. I discovered that my commitment to leaving this legacy of her development in electronic ink, may not be as easy some years. I am surprised to find that some of her milestones are difficult to write about, harder to document for a myriad of reasons…one of which being that not all her changes are of the “warm and fuzzy” variety. I have come to understand that I am very much on this journey with her and that more often than not, her changes can affect my sense of self in very fundamental ways. Age 12, for example, has introduced several elements in her personal development that I find to be very trying. It seems that the onset of female maturity has served to sharpen both her tongue and her attitude. Suddenly nothing has become too trivial to argue with me about. She seems to delight in it. What’s more is that it sadly seems to be the only activity in which she will readily engage me. At the same time there appears to be no end in the many, many ways in which I embarrass her. I find myself advocating for my own knowledge and experience as a counter to her newly minted sense of “self”. I frequently, and often too loudly, remind her that she does not “know everything” and that she is very much “still a child”. These are not helpful measures from my parenting playbook. I know they enflame the situation more, and still, I can not help myself. For the first time, maybe since those wolverine-like tantrum years of age 3, I can make a detailed list of things I do not much like about this stage of my daughter’s life. #1. I call it, the “bite”. It is the knife-sharp edge to her attitude, the willingness to go just a bit deeper than necessary with her sarcasm and harshness. The subtle eye rolls have been largely replaced by stomping and slamming doors and defensive retorts that border on screaming. Fun times. #2. The “Ewww” Factor. This is her habitual dismissal and rejection of me. The same child that clung to me and once lovingly installed me in her phone as “mother bird”, is now the same 12-year-old who instantly and venomously rejects everything I endorse. She seems to do this on principal alone. If I pick up a dress and comment that, is it “cute”, she scrunches up her face or look at me as if my fashion sense must have been surgically removed at birth. The only positive here is that is it easy to manipulate her with reverse psychology. If she thinks I’m only lukewarm on something, she takes that as proof positive that it must be cool enough for her. #3. Her newly minted vanity or, as I like to put it in terms of the parenting challenge, “the act of teasing out vanity from actual confidence in order to help her build self-awareness, not just self-image.” Sorry, that was a mouthful, but this one is big, big fun. I get to navigate the fragile ego of a preteen, a daunting path fraught with drama and danger. Her foray into makeup has been restricted to mascara and on special occasions, some tinted lip balm. However, she has become a little heavy-handed with both. I try to explain that makeup should be used to enhance what is already there, and not become a distraction to her already beautiful features. I have insisted that she dial it back, pointing out that her too heavy lashes mask, rather than bring out, the stunning color of her eyes. Because she is poised to automatically reject my opinion, she is reluctant to take my advice. She does comply though…most days. I understand that she has lived two years behind a mask and that she is dealing with pesky breakouts she’s struggling to control. I worry that she sees herself but, sometimes, can’t see beyond the acne and other blemishes. I have allowed her these small touches of vanity for, and, because of those things. And I struggle daily with how to convey how beautiful she is without making her “outside” any more weighted than what is inside her. I tell her that she doesn’t need “extras”, she is all the extra she will ever need and more. I try reminding her that it also important to foster her inner beauty because it is what will ultimately define who she is as a human being. The same battle applies to her clothing. She favors tight shirts and tank tops, with oversized sweatshirts and flannels paired with baggy jeans or leggings. She like athletic clothing overall. It is a delicate dance to explain why, even though there is nothing wrong with her body, she does not need to dress in a way that amplifies it. She has a beautiful figure that does not necessary match her age. It is not her fault that genetics have bestowed her with legs for miles and a sweet silhouette. This keeps me in a chronic state of second guessing myself. How much do I let her express her style and how much do I rein it all in because she doesn’t look like the child she still is? I want her to celebrate her youthful body, be proud of its strength and poise…. but only in relative privacy of our home, and only in the clothes I tell her are appropriate. How much of that is protection and how much is repression out of my fear that the world is full of sickos? Some days, I just do not know. Oh…and the fake nail thing? I pray to God that is just a phase that she and her friends will burn through faster than Playdoh and Barbies because I fricking loathe it. The other night I was lamenting to a fellow mom, “12 is not very fun,” I tell her, and then feel my eyes start to flood. I realize I that age 12, has made me sad more than any other before. I find myself longing for things she has left unceremoniously in her wake: piano lessons, hand-made cards, dresses with ruffles and headbands, a love for MY playlists, begging me to play horses and go on bike, demands for me to “snuggle her”, and the rapt way she would listen to all my stories. I find myself missing the messes she’d make with her paints and her beads and even, (dare I admit this?), her slime concoctions. Now she prefers to be in her room, nesting or listening to music, talking to her friends, and organizing her clothes or doing her nails. She emerges for snacks or to begrudgingly help me with chores. She rarely seeks me out to actually do something with her. I feel grief sometimes, actual fucking grief, over the loss of her childhood. The day she got her first period, I felt like I was sending her off to kindergarten all over again. There was that same, unforgiving pain of something lost forever. There was this ache in my chest, and I could not stop crying. She took the moment in stride, confused by how much I was losing my shit over something I’d been preparing her for the last year. I had prepared her, but I had not prepared myself, apparently. These days I feel like I live for the moments when she leaves me a sweet note on my white board or texts me from school with news about making high honors or with good news. There are moments when we will be at the barn doing chores and she will suddenly confide in me, or even better, ask my advice about something. The infrequency of those moments can make me terribly sad. It makes me dread the years to come, how she may grow even less interested in us, as teenagers reportedly do. Sometimes she’ll let her guard down and I’ll catch her laughing at something funny I have done. It’s like a breath of fresh air. It feels like a tiny victory in an ageless war. I try to take comfort in the things about my daughter that so far, have remained consistent. There are many awesome things about her at age 12, despite the overall tone of this blog… She makes wonderful friends. Despite her shyness with adults, she seems to have no issue relating to her peers. She has a lovely little “girl crew” that are as diverse and colorful as wildflowers. They each bring out something different in her and it is a joy to watch her grow and foster those relationships. A recent birthday brought in a rush of cards in which the hand scrawled sentiments testified that my daughter is a kind, generous, warm, and funny friend. We must be doing some things right, I guess. She cares deeply about her family. While she is reserved and keeps her emotions fairly close to her chest, she regularly asks after cousins and family members we don’t often see. She remembers our birthdays, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day and will wake up and acknowledge those special days without being prompted or reminded. She treasures my grandmother especially. My gramma boop is one of the few people she hugs with both arms and lets her hold on as long as she wants to. She has become a special placeholder in my daughter’s heart. One of my husband’s sisters is battling cancer. It has been a battle our daughter has witnessed firsthand. Recently and unsolicited, our daughter made her aunt a collage. It contained pictures of them together through the years and it was peppered with messages of love and encouragement. It was intimate and moving and it that left all of us in awe and tears. Our daughter is academically mindful and responsible. She checks her grades almost obsessively and places a great deal of pride in her standing. She made high honors in back-to-back terms this first year in middle school. She is particularly interested in writing, something she has shown an early aptitude for. Her writing style is surprisingly candid and descriptive. I wonder if perhaps she finds it easier to be more forthcoming and expressive in her written words than verbally. It has been a sweet discovery to think she might be a budding author, that she may share this passion in common with me. I try not to comment on that though, lest she reject this too out of habit. Our daughter will still bestow affection. It is the rare expression of her affection that still brings me the most joy. It is like a balm to the sore and grieving places in my soul. Despite everything, she will still crawl into bed between us to watch a show. I will still find her snuggled against her father; one delicate arm thrown over his chest. In these moments she always lets down her guard. Sometimes I will slip my hand into hers and she will responsively curl her fingers around mine. Before she gets too sleepy though, she will disengage herself. She always comes back to kiss each of us goodnight, although sometimes that kiss is more air than substance. I’ll take it though. I’ll take all of her, even at age 12, and hold on as tightly as I possibly can. At a recent family dinner, she begged me not to let them make her sit at the kid’s table and I felt a pang in my chest at my own memory of being excluded. In that moment, I found the opportunity to be her advocate and ally. I pulled a chair out for her between her dad and me. I gave her a place at the adult table, with us. For the rest of the evening, she clung close to me, rewarding my alliance by sharing texts, taking photos with funny filters, settling in close next to me and repeatedly resting her head on my shoulder. This blog has been an emotional one to write. It has taken me several tries to get it “right”, and I am still not sure I did. But I wanted to leave something here to mark this milestone that was authentic and honest about this time in both our lives. I wanted her to know that despite our arguments and conflicts, I did often try to remember the turbulence of age 12. I did try to remember that moods and phases are part of this tumultuous age when we are not quite yet young women, but no longer children inside. I want her to remember that once, at age 12, I gave her a seat at the adult table, right between her father and I, because I saw her - everything she had left behind, and everything she was yet to become. I saw her, and I wanted her to know that at age 12, and for always and forever, her place was between us. |
| "Blogging Circle of Friends " Day 3415: March 16, 2022 Prompt: Political: Women in politics - This does not have to be about a woman in office or running for office. It can be about a woman you think should be in office or one that has done something for your state, city, or country. As a woman raising a young lady, I have always been adamant that she develop her own "voice". Learning to stand up for what you believe is so important, especially when women have fought so hard and so long for that right. I make sure I always exercise my right to vote as an example to her. I remember watching the historical race between Hillary Clinton and Trump and, although I wished it had been a different woman, feeling pride and faith that one more important ceiling had been broken through. Even in her losing the election, she inspired a whole new generation of women in politics and that was very effective for me. I will say that one woman in politics has really stood out for me. Keisha Lance Bottoms was the governor of Atlanta from 2018-2022. I heard her speak several times during some turbulent times in her city. Atlanta has always been powerfully and politically charged. She always commanded the podium, speaking with authority but also compassion as she told the angry protesters to "go home". She simultaneously conveyed empathy for their hurt and rage while also condemning their actions that were hurting their fellow black community members. It was a difficult line to draw but she did so with grace, humanity and unquestionable strength. I found her a very compelling and impressive leader. I can only hope she inspired more than a few of Atlanta's female youth to seek out leadership roles at all levels in their communities. "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" Day 2520 March 16, 2022 Prompt: "Flowers bring joy. They elicit memories. They mark occasions and they brighten a cold, harsh winter's day." Emily Von Trapp Write about this in your Blog entry today. My favorite flowers are lilacs. When I was younger, my grandmother's yard was bordered by six or seven big lilac bushes, twice as tall as I was. She and I used to hang clothes out on the line and you could smell their perfume every time the wind blew. I would pick the blooms, lush and heavy, just before the little purple star-shaped flowers fully opened. We'd bring them inside and over the next days, they blossom and fill the whole house with their sweet scent. Even now, when I catch the scent of lilac on the breeze, it takes me back to those sunny afternoons hanging cloths with my grandmother, there was never anyone, then or now, I preferred to be with more. When I got married, lilacs featured prominently in my bouquet. They were off season and expensive, but it was my one indulgence to honor my grandmother and the warm, wonderful memories they will always evoke. I wanted those sentiments to be forever part of my wedding day too. |
| "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" DAY 2519-- March 15, 2022 Prompt: “A week later, I said to a friend: I don't think I could ever write about it.” Sharon Olds says in her poem, A Week Later What are some things you would (or could) never write about? I used to tell myself nothing was off limits as long as I wrote from the heart. I am not sure that is still true. I have become more conscious over the years that words have a lot of power. I would have to say I would mindful of writing something that would hurt someone I loved. I make sure to fully and completely validate my feelings on something before I publish anything personal about someone close to me. There has to be a purpose for sharing something intimate, it can not just be for the sake of putting it out into the world. I don't censor myself often, but I might put much more thought into my language and phrasing perhaps. If I write something that is very charged with emotion, I am attentive when I got back and review it before hitting "publish" and going live with something that is merely a rant on my part. "Blogging Circle of Friends " Day 3414: March 15, 2022 Prompt: Cultural: Write about the art of Architecture. Have you seen any examples of architecture--either in person or pictures online--that you think is beautiful? I was in my early twenties when I made my first trip to Mexico. I was dating someone who's family lived in Cuernavaca, a city about an hour's drive from Mexico City. Leaving behind that insanely busy metropolis for the bougainvillea-lined streets of Cuernavaca felt like going through a worm-hole. That first night I remember standing on the flat roof of the family home, listening to chatter and music floating up from the street below. It was a little like falling in love, those first few magical moments when you feel yourself becoming enchanted with something so beautiful and precious, that you know your words will never be able to adequately describe. My love for Mexico was instantaneous and complete. I had the rare opportunity to travel to the most intimate locales, untouched by most outside tourism. The were small towns on the way to Veracruz. There were seaside villages marked with incredible ruins just outside Tulum where some roadways had checkpoints manned by armed men. I spent hours wandering around zucalos in Oaxaca, listening to street musicians and touching and tasting as much of the culture around me as I could take in. In hindsight, I was probably not always looking out for my safety, but I had leaned into the experience of Mexico and my young mind was not as preoccupied with dangers as it was engaged with everything around me. Aside from the culture, the music, the food...it was the architecture of the Mexican churches I found so amazing. There were these brilliant;y ornate cathedrals ordained with precious stones and gold, but also tiny, unassuming churches with bleached white stucco exteriors and wide, heavy panned stained glass that let in the most marvelous light. It was in these small, modest churches where I was quieted by the presence of faith so powerful in such a humble place. The Templo de Santo Domingo in Oaxaca was this great, rose-colored cathedral that rose up in the center of town. It was so radiate inside, surfaces draped in gold so that they gleamed in the sunlight. I remember there was a mother begging outside, an infant in her arms and a toddler by her side. The stark juxtaposition between the poverty just outside the massive doors of such a richly appointed church - was not lost on me. I would come to learn that for the towns and villages I visited, these churches were beacons of faith and pride. They were open to all, shared by the community and made as ornately to be grand in god's eyes.  ** Image ID #1774840 Unavailable **  |
| "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" DAY 2509 March 4, 2022 This is the month we hear about 4 leaved cloverleafs, Irish jigs, leprechauns, shamrock shakes, green beer, Irish soda bread just to name a few. However, you can’t mention Irish traditions without mentioning literature. Ireland is celebrated for its wealth of artists, ranging from the fields of traditional music and film to Irish literature.Some of the most iconic Irish writers on the world stage boast roots from the Emerald Isle, including 19th century and 20th century writers W.B. Yeats, Oscar Wilde, Bernard Shaw, and Samuel Beckett and Irish women writers, such as Edna O’Brien, Anne Enright, and Sally Rooney have also made their mark. These artists have helped spread the national culture of Ireland around the world. Which of these well known writers are you the most familiar? What did you like most about their writing? If you're not familiar with the authors, what Irish traditions are you familiar? I have to confess while I have heard of most of these writers and poets, I don't recall specific details about their work. I mentally can connect Shaw with "Pygmalian", which I think I read in high school on a required reading list but that was admittedly decades ago. I know "Waiting for Godot" is a poignant play penned by Beckett. I recall several references to it, one recent one being in the HBO series, "Treme". Actors were performing a version of the play with the katrina-ravaged 9th ward as a backdrop to the drama. There wasn't enough of the play featured however that I could expand on the work itself. I feel like I am suffering now from literary ignorance in that theses names register for me, but I have no real exposure to them. It may be because most of them were poets first and foremost and I have always put more effort in prose. The female writers are even less recognizable but a quick google search leads me to believe I would find the works of Rooney the most interesting. I've actually made a note to check out some of her books. I have made a mental note to check out "Beautiful World" and "Normal People" specifically. I have long admired Emerald Isle. I think it looks like it would be amazing to visit. As far as Irish traditions go, I associate the legends and myths most strongly with Ireland..fairy folk chiefly among my favorites. Irish culture and traditions seem to be so interwoven with myths and legends, it becomes hard to separate historic facts at times. The castles and ruins that cover the countryside bring to mind as many historical stories as they do wonderful, lush fairy tales and legends for me involving dragons and banshees, pookas and princesses, fairy rings and rainbows. "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 3403 March 04, 2022 Let's talk about social media. What format do you prefer? Which format do you hate? I think I have a love/hate relationship with social media in general. It is a necessary evil - a way to connect with family and friends that live distantly but also a portal to expose us to over-stimulation, anxiety, jealously and peer pressure...far less appealing human character traits. It has become so much a part of our existence, interwoven in personal and work life. It is very difficult to avoid for the average person. It is a tremendous distraction and can even be dangerous. I prefer Instagram and Facebook. I like the temporal nature of Instagram, it appeals to a short attention span and I can pick it up and leave it fairly easily. Facebook is more personal. I interact with people more on Facebook. I tell more of a story on Facebook. It also exposes me to more negative attention unfortunately. I have unfriended and unfollowed when someone had gotten too personal, too political or even too redundant. The platform I actually loathe and believe is the most insidious and dangerous is Tik Tok. I have banned my daughter from the platform when I discovered she had created and account and uploaded several silly dance videos. Though they were relatively harmless in nature, she looked far older than her years as she mimicked the dance moves of the older millennials she saw on tik tok. I realized the way I viewed her videos might not be the same way someone nefarious would. There was no way to protect her from having her videos downloaded and shared to whomever wanted them and for whatever purpose. I deleted the app and we banned her from re-joining or from participating in anyone's tik tok videos or challenges. The challenges alone have threatened kids safety. I really think Tik Tok is very harmless in the wrong hands. It should be age-protected, it should be age-restricted in some way. |
| "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" DAY 2506-- February 28, 2022 Prompt:“The fear that all this will end.The fear that it won’t.” Rae Armantrout In your opinion, what are things or behaviors that won’t end in this world? I wish I was in a better mindset this morning. I think that my entry is going to come across overwhelmingly negative if my dark mood affects my words like I fear it will. This weekend we learned that for the first time in two years, the schools were lifting the mask mandates, meaning masks would no longer be enforced in the classrooms and on the buses. It has been a long time coming. We have after all, paid our dues. My daughter is vaccinated and has diligently worn a mask in public all this time. I thought, having learned the news of her mask emancipation, she'd have rejoiced. Instead, this morning, she donned the mask as usual - even taking some backup masks for her bag. When I reminded her she didn't need to wear one, she insisted that she was "fine with it". I hadn't wanted to pressure her but it unset me in a very fundamental way. I realized sadly, that my daughter has been conditioned, either by fear of the virus or the simple habit of donning the masks for so long that she can not remember or appreciate the days when they were not mandated. Perhaps she fears another outbreak would bring back the dark days of remote learning? Perhaps she thinks it is what it is expected of good students now? Perhaps the mask has given my shy daughter, another layer to hide behind and it has become part of her? It is hard to know, maybe it is a little of all those things. I fear it will take longer to shed the masks now and that it will be on some level, some unfortunate "new normal" that becomes acceptable. I for one, am done with living in fear from one viral outbreak to the next. I'm tired of seeing people outside in the parks, wearing masks or driving alone in their car, mask firmly in place. I'm tired of business that tell me I need to wear a mask to enter now, after the mandates have been lifted. I'm upset that my grandmother, who is very hard of hearing, still has to struggle to hear the masked surgeon during her consultation and kept turning toward me for help. I'm done with seeing masks litter the roadside and discarded masks in parking lots everywhere. It may be an unpopular opinion, by in my opinion, I'm done with masking for those of us who have done the vaccines and boosters. I fear there are sectors of the population who will always deem masks as necessary and welcome those same rolling mandates to return with every new iteration of covid or the like. "Blogging Circle of Friends " Day 3399: February 28, 2022 Prompt: Environmental: “But Man is a part of Nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself.” — Rachel Carson: Use this quote to inspire your blog entry. There is so much about this prompt that triggers me this morning... We have done immeasurable harm to our planet and precious little to quell those abuses despite our advanced intelligence and technologies. It is the ultimate definition of being short-sighted. We continue to over harvest and pollute our resources without devoting enough efforts to alternative energy resources, plant-based alternatives and conservation. It is hard to even educate oneself because wading into this planet's environmental woes leaves one feeling desolate and overwhelmed. Floating oceanic trash heaps, rapid deforestation, the increasing footprint of human occupation across wide, previously undeveloped locations all around the globe -- are all flashing, red light warnings that should be heeded with much more concern than our future generations have for them. There have been enough movies and series about humans tipping the Earth past its tipping point and paying the price. I've never been a fan of those apocalyptic disaster films in part because at the root of the plot, it a moral that this planet is fragile and can only take so much before it revolts, before it breaks in some irreversible way. I recently started watching the new SnowPiercer series on HBO. The premise is that in an effort to combat a global pandemic, scientist fired some compound into the atmosphere that triggered a new ice age. As a result, the remaining human race is forced to perpetually circumnavigate the globe on massive train called SnowPiercer, until the Earth thaws enough to allow re-population to occur. While I appreciate the unique concept, I found the back story unnerving and uncomfortable. Flashbacks in later episodes featured frightened, masked citizens trying to come to terms with their planet essentially shutting down around them. There was desperation and fear, shame and guilt. Could a scenario like this ever happen? One can almost reason that yes, it seems entirely probable that one bad decision could be the one that finally brings the Earth to the brink. Our family vacations every summer in the outer cape. The pristine landscape of the coastal forests and massive dunes always brings my heart back to center. It would be heartbreaking to see trash littering those wide beaches or floating just offshore where we have watched passing mobs of seals or witnesses the occasional whale spout on the horizon. |
| "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" Day 2495 February 17, 2022 Prompt: Share a list of activities that put you in a good mood This prompt is a delight today because I was just making a mental list of my personal "mood boosters" the other night, somewhat randomly, as I tried to rally through these last weeks of winter. I found my list was substantial but rather short... Writing something that I believe is good...improves my mood most significantly. When something comes easily, flowing naturally from me it brings me a sense of peace that is really unrivaled. It anchors me when I am feeling unmoored. It gives me confidence when my confidence is shaken. It gives me meaning when I am feeling lost and purposeless. A close second is reading a good book, either in bed under warm covers or in front of a fire or in extreme cases of emotional rescue...in a bubble bath. Spending time at the barn with my gelding. There is an uncanny connection I can find in his big, brown eyes. I find serenity in his soft nickers and the way he can just "hold space" with me. I typically put in some solid physical labor at the barn and I find that it makes me tired in a very contented way. I am always leaving the barn in better spirits than I arrived with. I found that during COVID and the long weeks working in isolation in my home...watching the birds brought me a lot of joy. I moved my work station to the window that overlooked my feeders in the backyard. The visiting wrens, cardinal and yellow finches were my constant company at a time when I needed to feel connected to the world in a new way. I still enjoy taking my breakfast with the birds before work. Those are the big ones then there is a host of others.... Music is something I use to improve my mood. I have wide and varied tastes. I play music at work, and while I cook. I've recently discovered true crime podcasts too. I am a novice when it comes to yoga but I find it to be a great mood booster for me. I enjoy coloring with my daughter and playing with our dogs. I have never been one plagued bouts with depression but when I feel the dip in my spirits, one of the methods above is a reliable way for me to kick the melancholy to the curb. "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 3388 February 17, 2022 “Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the assessment that something else is more important than fear.” —Franklin D. Roosevelt Do you agree or disagree with Mr. Roosevelt? Have you ever been in a situation that you were so frightened but found the courage to overcome? I have always been medically phobic. I have a strict, "don't warn me just do it" policy when it comes to medical procedures. I schedule and then cancel doctor's appointments on a regular basis. Three months ago my sister in law was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. She made me promise to keep up on my annuals and take care of myself. Seeing her go through chemo is horrific. It is heartbreaking and it is hard to wrap my mind around the courage it takes for her to put herself through that trauma for the chance to gain a year or two more of life. For her, life is more important that her fear...and she is fearful so very much of time I know. She is an inspiration to me in so many ways but none more than this. She sees a beautiful life beyond the sickness and for that, she will walk through hell. I don't know that I have will ever face anything even close to what she is dealing with but if I had too, I hope I have even a little bit of her bravery. |
| "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" Day 2493--February 15, 2022 Prompt: Charles Darwin said: “A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life.” Then, someone else said, “You won’t have this Tuesday again. Make it count.” What do you say? I don't think I was completely and fully conscious of the passing of time until I had my daughter. These days, I seem to measure time in her development, in the passing of her milestones and in the rate at which she is growing into a woman before my eyes. Facebook, (are we still calling it that?) has this neat feature called timehop where from time to time, your old videos and images from the past will appear again in your feed. Now, after a yelling match with my soon to be teenager that morning, I can be treated to a old video of her heading off to her first day of preschool. The rolling eyes and shrugging shoulders are transposed by the sweet visage of my once upon a time toddler smiling up at me, those tiny hands wrapped around the straps of her stuffed turtle backpack. That memory feed is like tapping into the days we can never get back, the moments that fade like smoke as time rolls forward. Am I making all the Tuesdays count? Not likely. Isn't it human to not realize the value of what we have until its gone? Am I treasuring every moment, even the difficult ones? It is hard to remember to do that some days...some days I feel lucky just to get through a day without an argument or conflict. I used to want to slow time, to capture the moments so I could savor them, I could turn them around and around in my mind and feel everything for just a little while longer. Time moves faster when we are watching someone else. It feels that much more precious of a commodity in our lives. "Blogging Circle of Friends " Day 3386: February 15, 2022 Prompt: "The world belongs to the enthusiast who keeps cool." William McFee What do you think? I am not altogether sure what a "cool enthusiast" would look like it today's world. I just have the intrinsic knowledge that I am not one. I run hot about most things to begin with. I try, and fail, to be casual about a lot of things. I know people who seem to coast through life, maintaining a balanced existence that certainly makes it seem like they have the world at their fingertips. I am not one of those people. I am too type A, too uptight, to overly-concerned with things. I actually googled William McFee. If its the same writer, he is Canadian and favors stories about the sea. It does seem to make an odd bit of sense because those people I mentioned knowing...they happen to be boaters. I have to wonder if there is a connection to those that spend time on the sea and those who approach life with a measured patience? Something to ponder on... |
| Day 2492--February 14, 2022 Prompt: “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” Lao Tzu What are your opinions on the subject? Loving someone means letting down the walls and opening the doors that we so often hide behind. It means taking a risk with our hearts and that grows exponentially harder the more times we have been hurt. Courage begets courage, I suppose that is what Lao Tzu might mean. I believe it is always harder to love someone than to be loved by someone...at least that has always been the case for me. It may be the case that I have forever been pulled toward difficult loves, that they are loves shrouded by challenges, compromises and complications. My loves have always felt harder than they needed to be but they have shaped me, ultimately made me stronger and braver in the end. On the whole, I would have to agree with with Lao Tzu here. Blogging Circle of Friends Day 3385: February 14, 2022 Prompt: What is your favorite quote about love? Why is it your favorite? Who said it? "There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.” Friedrich Nietzsche I don't have many quotes on love in my repertoire. I supposed I lived a large swath of my life in a jaded landscape of difficult loves and as such, I tend to be less romantic than some. I like to think I am a realist when it comes to love and so the Nietzsche quote appeals to me a lot. Love so often feels like madness itself. It can turn you inside out. One minute you can be deliriously happy and the next, you can find yourself lost in hopelessness. Sometimes I think that love is made to take us on a unforgiving up/down journey I think, because without those lows, maybe we could never appreciate the highs. There is so much we are exposed to today, so much potential to become desensitized that life seems most well-lived in the manic ups and downs...where we "feel" the very most. Otherwise, how could it be true that my most passionate relationships were also the ones that brought me the most anguish and pain? The line between love and hate can be so razor-thin at times. Love is a complex thing for a reason, it really does require more than just largely commercial holiday to honor it... |
| Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" Day 2418 December 1, 2021 Prompt: "I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship." Louisa May Alcott Write about this in your Blog entry today. Writing again this morning has the same strain and pull of one easing arthritic joints back into motion. Work demands have kept me away from the keyboard, even as I birthed characters to life, and strung plots together in my brain. Now, sitting here, trying to warm the literary machine between my temples with prompt-driven prose - feels awkward and heavy somehow. "I am not afraid of storms"...the first part of Louisa May Alcott's famous quote rings falsely in my ears. I am afraid of storms, at least metaphorical ones. I don't fear the kind of storms you can see far off, forming as dark and ominous clouds on the horizon. One can plan for those, you have time to prepare for the potential emotional damages those kind of disturbances will knowingly leave in their wake. The storms I fear are the ones that come upon you with no warning, brutal and violent disruptions that leave you floundering and overwhelmed when they roll away. These are the storms for which there is no time to prepare. They will devastate you in much the same way a siphon will curl down from the heavens and wipe out an entire town in a few moments of time. "...for I am learning how to sail my ship." Maybe...but my ship is a weakened hull from the pounding of such storms and sometimes the fact that it still sails on feels, like a minor miracle. Still, if the storms don't sink the ship maybe that's what matters in the end. Weathering the storms of life make all the blissful, happy moments that much richer. We would all love to live in a landscape dominated by blue skies and calm seas but what kind of humans would all that make us? How would we raise warriors if we did not learn to be ones ourselves? I try to remember that. I try to take stock of all I've weathered each time I see threatening darkness on the horizon and I try to be brave. It is all we can ever do. "Blogging Circle of Friends " Day 3310: December 1, 2021 Prompt: “The source of all humor is not laughter, but sorrow.” ― Mark Twain What do you think? Can we find humor in sorrow? Have you ever found humor in sorrow? I used to say if you can't laugh at yourself, you will end up crying all the time. I don't know if that is the same thing really. Humor seems be the relief valve from grief sometimes, that little spark that pulls you back from the edge of sadness when you most need it. I think back to my grandfather's funeral. He committed suicide and that violent act left us all in this heavy fog of grief and anger. There was so much more to process than if he had just passed from our world naturally. It made the preparations all that much harder and we had spent the days before the service, each in our own spaces, morose and distracted. At the wake my grandmother, parents, siblings and I, stood in the receiving line aside of his casket. We were all lined up in front of room full of sympathetic mourners, nodding numbly, accepting hugs and handshakes. My 6-year old little brother was getting twitchy in his Sunday best. He began going up to each of us in turn, desperate to get our attention. He was waved off by each of us, solemnly dismissed and told to "just be quiet". Instead of being deterred, his interruptions became more insistent and each time he was shuffled back to his place in the line. Until finally, he marched up to me again. He planted his feet, hooked the fingers of both hands into the collar of his neck-tied shirt and said, in his loudest, most desperate whisper..."But it's chocking me!" We all realized at the same time that his tie must have been knotted too tightly around his neck, slowly cutting off his air. He'd been trying to get our attention for the last ten mins to no avail. His exasperated whisper had bounced of the walls of the funeral parlor and ignited, among our solemn group, a sudden and infectious fit of giggles. I dropped to one knee and worked the tie off him, trying to keep from laughing at his frustrated but grateful little face and at the way his little boy voice had reverberated around the artificially quiet space. My little brother, delighted by the sudden attention, let loose with a campy and exaggerated display of relief. It was the moment we needed to break us all from the place of solitary sadness. The laughter traveled down the line, lighting across each of our faces and we hid our smiles behind our hands and each other's shoulders. It reached all the way to my grandmother at the head of the line and when she succumbed to her own giggles, it was the first time she had smiled in weeks. There was a special kind of release in the way the lines of her face gave way to the laughter, that tiny pocket of sudden and surprising joy. It rolled out across the faces of the mourners, our friends and family, it gave them permission to, just for a moment, find humor in the midst of sadness. It had felt like a gift at the moment - for each and every one of us. It has become one of my strongest memories from one of the darkest times of my life. |
| How do I protect my heart from this creeping black tide? I feel it…waiting to be acknowledged, waiting to be welcomed, waiting to engulf me. I want to be angry because there is a kind of strength in that, a power in rage. But the anger always gives way to sadness, a bone-weary grief that makes me feel like a hollow vessel. Anger is a bright flame, a space where I can catch a few breaths before the suffocating blanket of grief covers me again. If I could live my life in those airy pockets between those hot flashes of rage, I might stem the tide. If I could find comfort in the excuses and just accept what is offered and have no expectations of more…I might be able to escape the erosion of my love and faith. I might be able to dam my heart against that corrosive obsidian tide. But, then that nagging question…why do I deserve less? And more importantly, why does she? People are not disposable. Indifference wounds the soul in ways I have learned, can not heal. I have come to loathe that part of myself that yearns for connections, that clamors for attention, that cries out to be seen, that seeks to matter. It makes me vulnerable. It makes me weak. I don’t want this for her, to be forever seeking and always disappointed. I do not want her to be the one looking in the mirror and asking, why not me? What’s wrong with me? How do I teach her that even though she is so worthy of more, she needs to learn to accept less with grace in her heart? How do I teach this lesson when I have failed to learn it for myself? How do I explain that some people are limited, incapable of loving more, even as she has so much to give herself? How do I encourage her to love with her whole heart when she barely registers on the hearts of others? Most importantly, how do I explain that the limitations of others is never a reflection on her? I don’t want her to turn that same indifference and disappointment into self-doubt, or insecurity or grief or rage. I do not want her to suffer as I do. I do not want her to find refuge in the anger. I do not want the same black tide to perch in her soul. |
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