Dancing Around Dusty Memories

There's nothing like moving to stir up the dust . . literally and figuratively :)  What to take.  What to leave.  What to cherish . . and. . .what to throw away.

Lugging dusty boxes from the basement and sorting through decades of shoes is enough to make any of us crabby . . but whenever I come across those soft and faded baby blankets stored in the back of the closet .. they still take my breath away.  Precious memories.

High school "Letter" jackets, prom and senior pictures, and medals of honored debates.  Life is so short.

The garage sale was a must. . no matter the work (as if I did nearly as much as Sissy who folded, arranged, tagged, and bid. . while I talked non-stop and closet puffed:)  Truckloads of clothes, dishes, kitchen crap and books went to Goodwill.  Did I mention BOOKS? (omg, that part was hard).

Little angels, potpourri pots, trinkets of my father . . artwork, table leaves, table cloths . . junk drawers full of  wax lips (Halloween 2 years ago for the babies),  Barbie shoes and Ken handkerchiefs, and the pacifier the last one couldn't seem to give up (he's in first grade now:).

I packed up most of it (ok . .  I threw out the wax lips, I was afraid they would melt). Our table here is now covered in odds and ends that haven't yet found their place . . but most of it will (even if it's in a box to dream through one more time).

I am content today with where I've been (although I think that many days we always think we might have done more)  . . and yet hopefully, with each and every moment, I savor each new snippet of life .  .those precious Sykpe videos, the unique Happy Birthday phone songs, the mini-texts, the cat's-eye sunglasses . . since without these memories and wisps of love, . . how would we live?

I still pretend like I live for myself . . but if you ask me while I'm dancing . . I live to spend time with those I love . . sprinkling fairy dust . . and gathering memories.

What are your favorite memories?  If you have a box in the attic (or the basement) . . make yourself a cuppa coffee or pour a sip of wine . . and dance :)

What Would We Do Without Friends?

I think this has been a tough summer, tumbling into fall.  The crappy economy that leaves most of us with less money than we've ever had before, the incessant political campaign ads that are so angry and caustic, too much rain and flooding waters for some. . . dry cracked fields for others . . and raging wildfires through the forests and mountains.

Some mornings I get up just dragging.  I pray, I swear, I moan. . .and then I force myself to work on something (even if it's a crossword, although scrubbing floors seems to be really effective for me, too:)

What I really want to do is hide.  I don't want to be cheery . . I don't want to go to tai-chi.  No music, no laughter, no fun.  I read to "find answers" . . I try to still my mind to "hear the solution".  I write.  I stomp.  I ponder.  And then the phone dings or rings . . the friendly reminder . . Happy Mental Health Day . . Happy Thursday!


Friends are our lifesavers.  They pull us back from the brink . . sometimes insanity . . sometimes depression.  They cheer us on.  They encourage us.  They cry with us. . . and then they check on us.  They lift our spirits.

I think it's amazing how much better I feel when "klatch" under the park pavilion in the rain. . .break into spontaneous chatter as I "cane" up a set of library stairs . . crinkle my eyes into a grin as I "see" one of my gal-pal emails pop-up . . and "dance" freestyle on the beach in my heels. 

I even think I might feel a settled contentment as I send a "shout out" back to the old dude steering the Harley:) . . He'll be able to tell it's me . . I'll be the one with the pink towel:)

Bette Midler's song, Friends . . You Got To Have Friends, pops into mind. . .1973.  Can you believe it?  I can't possibly be that old  . . and then one of my friends will gently remind me that I am :) .  .and then I will smile.

So today, tonight . . tomorrow, at the latest. . . let them know. . it's how we make it through.

What would we do without friends?  I'm here . . I'm listening . . with love and cheers to my friends!

Shifting Identities

This morning when I looked in the mirror (yes, I had to get really close to be able to see without my reading glasses :) . . I began to see that I am really changing . . my eyebrows no longer have a full arch (yes, too overplucked for too long). . my lip color has washed to a paler pigment . . the dark circles under my eyes defy the highlighting concealer. .

And yet, I'm going to say it here. . . I still have a definite "look" . . an identity that is uniquely my own.  We all do . . and yet, so many times, we fail to own it.  There are so many days I run around the house in my jammies and a tee . . waiting until I've done my work before jazzing up.  Unfortunately, when I get in a rut . . I never get around to "jazzing" up.  So, if I have to run to the store or run an errand . . well, I tell myself, "no one will notice".  But the truth is, I do.  When those days roll one into another, I feel rumpled, inside and out. . . and I bet my face looks "rumpled", too.

. . .all of this has to do with my shifting identity . . .and if you can relate, yours is probably shifting, too . .

In order to take ourselves seriously . . and to get anything done. . . we have to have an identity (which then also, by context, gives us purpose).  However, just like my changing face as I am ever-so-slightly-getting-older. . .my identity is shifting, too.

In order to define who I am and what I am going to take on . . I've got to choose something and stick to it.  My process and purpose has to be meaningful.  .  . and yet, it only has to make sense to me (however, the caveat here is that it has to be defined and real within myself).

"There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique.  And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost.  The world will not have it.  It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is, nor how it compares with other expressions.  It is your business to keep it yours, clearly and directly, to keep the channel open". . Martha Graham

And so for me, today, I am "jazzed up" early :)  I am dressed and ready to work.  I have a mission (and a purpose).  And I'm on track.  Open . . and listening . . .still.

Running Away

Why is it that when things are tough, we want to run away?  I've been thinking a lot about this lately . . as have some of my friends.  I am pretty sure it has to do with this instinctual search to protect ourselves. . to find a place where we can retreat from the seemingly constant barrage of needs.  My editor "needs" this today, I "need" to go to the store (and start dinner), "need" to pay the bills . . . and "need" to make certain everyone else's needs are met (which is what creates most of our angst).

And so, when we become overwhelmed (after trying to dig out for weeks/months/years) . . we throw up our hands.  I am never sure whether we give up because we run out of options or run out of energy. . but none-the-less, we choose to flee. . rather than waving the white flag of surrender.

And, I'm thinking maybe this is a good thing :)

After all, if we can run away for a bit (whether to our sister's or to the water's edge), we retain the possibility to find peace in this quiet space.

We cannot "fix" anything other than ourselves.  We know this. . even though we refuse to accept it (over and over).  And the longer we continue to try and fix someone else, it is really just a way that we have to escape working on our own needs. . whether they are painting our toenails or pulling weeds.  And I'm totally convinced that when we give ourselves permission to "run away" . . .we will be taking the first step to beginning again.

I am totally convinced that we have the power to endure . . to flourish. If we can get out of our own way.  And for me, sometimes the best way of seeing is to talk it out, write it out, dance it out, cry it out.  And so, just for today . . I'm running away (with friends :)

Tomorrow, I'll be back . . listening . . .as always . . .

Small Good Things - Grandchildren

On Friday mid-morning, I will head to the airport . . my youngest daughter and youngest grandchildren will be arriving.  I can hardly wait.  I long for the joy and life that they bring.  


In the weeks and months between visits, I spend time teaching and working on my business efforts . . spending so much time in matters that I know for certain cannot compare to the sweet reality of sticky kisses and constant streams (or screams:) of chatter.  


When I am with them in Peoria, we might have a tea party or play in the breezeway . . we might eat chili dogs and ice cream cones . . or throw bowling balls while they squeal with delight as I drop my backwards (as my older two beautiful grandchildren have taught them:) .  All familiar places and familiar comforts.  Small good things that I hold close until they return.

Today, I am longing to see them practice their acrobatics, hear them sing out wildly, gobble their spaghetti and salads . . and most of all to hold them in my arms . . listen to them read . . take them to the library. . .splash at the beach . . chase away the errant clouds.  It is a love that I can only share through images . . but that runs deeper than any vein of gold . .    it is through their love that I see possibility . . . and goodness in the world. Small good things.  

Who reminds you of those small good things?  Who props you up when you are sagging . . and reminds you of hope and possibility?  I'd love to hear.  I truly believe that the greatest gift we have in life is each other . . .I am here . . I am listening ...

Fridays Are Meant for Poetry

Asking Anna
"And when one sees the truth,
what is one to do?" -- from Anna Karenina

In my museum of friends
sacrifice winters our lives.
In this deterioration
we decline to specify,
I ask Anna:
what's it like when lights
are going down, and like miners
with flashlights we're lying
thin on the ground?

What does she make of it?
Do icons remain icons,
forever concealing secrets
in the float of their skirts?
Do doorways open upon arrival
to those with a connoisseur's
eye for jewels and paintings?
Is the magic word as cold as vodka
slamming the back of the throat?

Finally, she smiles: around her ears
I can see traces of flame.
None of her answers longer
than a sentence, Anna understands
the potent mix of mandate
and submission, of choosing
to love or die. She advises,
"Let a dozen roses go with you."
And so they will, I reply.

Andrea Bates

Small Good Things

This has been a spectacular month . . one of sensory delights (squiggling, sparkly-eyed, nuzzling children; gem-toned tulip promises; precious I-Love-You's in real-time; scrumptious Batman-Birthday-Cake; and the salty-sea air of home) . . and of continued amazing graces (family, laughter, health, and work).  Small Good Things.


I am not the same woman I was two years ago, last year . . or even six months ago when I held stubbornly to the belief that I "knew" the answers would come . .  that if I was good enough, listened close enough, believed hard enough . .then I could hold the keys to the kingdom.  I would be whole.  I would have everything I ever needed to survive, to be happy.  And although I noted the Small Good Things when I wasn't busy looking for the Major Jackpot (and I don't even play:) . . I was preoccupied with certainty.  I needed to know that I would be okay .. that economic security could be wrapped up in a neat little package, that I would still see tomorrow the same things that I saw today, that I could intellectualize my way out of an emotional squeeze. 


And then I began to see Small Good Things . . speckles of life, sparkles of hope.  


A soft peach cotton shirt, a smile from forever, holding hands, noshing pastries, sipping coffee, sharing tidbits.  


I am in transition . .or maybe it is translation.  The beauty of life is unfolding right in front of those little windows of light that still allow me to see.  Small Good Things.


"I humbly opened my hand . . . I let go.  Lay the hand open.  The sun slides across old hairline scars.  My palm holds light."