I promised myself I would not ignore this spring, the surprises and certainties. That I would work less and live more. I’ve not done so well on keeping this promise. Old habits die hard.
And winter had been so cold, dark, lengthy.
Lovely walk in the fen yesterday and in the woods the day before. While it was cold, gloomy, and very icy, (which cut the walk short) , it was OUTSIDE in nature, so that’s grand. Today? Bitter cold. Come on, spring!
(From my phone) And I’m here, still.
...I’m trying hard to keep it together. My husband is pulling me off the ceiling sometimes, as I’m finding I’m having chest pains and horrible urges to sob loudly.
When I see her, I will be cheerful and not dwell on the fact that she is most likely dying and going to die an awful death. But in my alone moments, I don’t handle things so well.
Took a short nature walk today and it really helped. Saw a flying squirrel and an ornate box turtle. The poor turtle was stuck between a rock and a hard place, literally, but got free. The flying squirrel froze when it saw a human. I tried to be still, to disturb it as little as possible.
The walking paths were snow-covered, which is surprising since it is still autumn.
Sitting at home, done with grading, waiting for night to fall. Flashes of red from outside. Three male and three female cardinals picking seeds up from the bush in back of the house. Those brief flashes of red are so beautiful and so life affirming somehow.
I stand up to look outside, and they fly away. They must have been able to sense my presence, perhaps see my shadow.
And it helps. And the sunset helps. And the trees and the birds and friends and loved ones help.
But it is impossible to inoculate yourself from grief. At least I think so, if you are a loving person, the loss of a loved one will hurt greatly.
About 13 to 14 years ago, my family and I suffered the loss of many. Some died from a freak set of accidents, some from cancer, some from old age, etc. But it was so many in a short period of time that I was truly overwhelmed and didn’t get a chance to really mourn the loss of most of them individually.
Of these nine losses, the loss of my best friend, Susan, my godmother, and my mother hurt the most. The others I feel bad that I have not mourned them individually; it was like a collective grief.
So I know I’m going to face a lot of pain, and if you love someone, that’s to be expected.
But not something to be looked forward to.
It’s the price of loving people and getting older, surely.
The cardinals have returned, cautiously picking out seeds from the bush behind the house.
And I’m here, still.
Lest I forget. Find beauty even in the quiet of a gloomy day. It’s there. Especially if love is there; I do not take anyone for granted.
Trying this blog entry from my cell phone–that’s risky! I am outside and just do not want to go INSIDE and log onto a computer…
What an odd day, a day mixed with joy and sadness. 630 AM—still dark—road closed ten seconds before the intersection where I turn to get to work and a truck started pouring hot tar in two lanes. Semi ahead of me kept knocking down tree branches (too big for the small amount of the lane still open) and construction cones. I had to get out of the car in the dark to move the cones, but finally a construction worker let me through.
11 hours of work (part time !) Some middle school kids on the college campus today. So cute. So loud. Sipping their pumpkin spice sugared drinks waiting for the presentation they were here for.
Some students asked if I could teach them next term.
Drove home in the dark.
Sad loved one’s health news.
Two more poetry rejections.
Glad I’m part time. This won’t happen often. To work in the dark. Home in the dark.
Glad for modern medicine which may help family member.
And frogs! I’m sitting outside in the dark with my trusty tennis racquet (you know… in case of critters) and with a spotlight hearing LOUD FROGS. It’s that warm now!?!??!! Wind blowing off so many remaining leaves.
Love hearing those frogs. Thought I’d not hear them for months, until spring.
Truly a changing season type of day.
(Picture taken with my little camera phone while sitting in the dark, soft rain… back flashlight light on the bush. I’m such an adventurer.)
Thanks for reading; may your seasonal changing days change well, with kindness and hope.
Just some nature photos from a woodland walk today. So good to walk in the forest! Look up, look down. Beauty. Even on cloudy days? Yes, even then. Look closely.
And watch out for those squirrel and chipmunk holes… just the right size to trip me when walking. So I am looking DOWN as well as up for sure!
Not a gorgeous day, but a certain peacefulness in the quiet of coolness.
Thanks for reading.
Today I met a woman about my age. She told me how many times her children thanked her for moving to America to give them opportunities they would not have had in their small town, which she characterized as small, unsafe, lots of guns, lots of drug dealers. She raised five children here in America, all in college or college graduates. And now it is her turn, she said, to go to school.
I was so bitter and angry growing up I never thanked my parents for anything, not even the now obvious sacrifices they made so we children could go to good schools. I was too busy feeling like a victim to appreciate they sacrificed a lot–I didn’t see it at all.
As I walked in the woods this afternoon, I was full of regret.
Is it possible to thank the dead?
All I could think to do was embrace the beauty around me, the trees, wildflowers, gorgeous sky and say thank you, Mom and Dad, I wish I had thanked you while you were alive.
I hope my life itself and my embracing of literacy have shown my appreciation, but I doubt it. I took it as my due while I tried to distance myself from my family, my neighborhood, and especially my father.
Thank you, Mom and Dad. I wish I had told you that while you were alive. While you were far from perfect and even destructive at times, I acknowledge you made big sacrifices so we could have a better life.
How I wish I had told them that while they were alive– thank you for the sacrifices you made so we could have a better life. No, that’s not good enough.
Thank you for helping me have a good life.