Category Archives: Musings

Tossing Out the Feathers

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“Much of what we acquire in life isn’t worth dragging to the next leg of our journey. Travel light. You will be better equipped to travel far.” 

Gina Greenlee, Postcards and Pearls: Life Lessons for Solo Moment

Twice this week I encountered friends who were crying softly as they sorted through the accumulation of their lives. Each of them was preparing to move from their long-time home to something smaller. One was moving across town and the other halfway across the country. The distance in miles was really inconsequential. It was the emotional distance that was making the journey…even though chosen and happily anticipated…challenging.

Watching Birds Through Penny’s Window. Spring 2018

Many in my generation of Baby Boomers are beginning to pitch unwanted and unneeded feathers from our nests. We spent years gathering those feathers to create a soft, comfortable place for our chicks, but while we were busy building a life and tending to their needs, they grew up. Now that they have fledged we are left with more room and more everything else than we need. Ah, but there’s the rub. Our children want none of the beautiful plumes we’ve accumulated and we struggle to rid ourselves of them, because they link us to another place and time. It’s not really the feather it’s the memory of the flight that is so hard to give up.

Following the death of my husband and after helping to empty my mother’s condo and then her assisted living apartment, I find myself eagerly wanting to simplify my life and…in my opinion…ruthlessly purging the flotsam and jetsam of my existence. Sending the bits and pieces that hold the memories of my childhood to the Restore hasn’t been easy, but then it occurred to me that I’m also holding on to the memories of others as well. I have child size Depression Glass plates that were my mothers, a collection of report cards and boy scout badges that were my husband’s, and my father’s fraternity paddle from college in the 1940s . Each of those is now destined for some form of recycling. I will still carry my memories of my parents and spouse, but I realize I am not required to continue to provide safe harbor for their memorabilia.

Another Visitor at Penny’s Window. Spring 2018

Tidying is the act of confronting yourself. The process of discarding and organizing confronts your emotions about the past, as well as your fears about the future. Your stuff (things that bring you joy and things that don’t) will show you what you value most in life.

Marie Kondo The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up

During the process of assessing, sorting, and purging, we often find ourselves confronting people and places from our past that we had forgotten. Memories rise to the surface bringing with them the joy of remembrance as well as the reminder of pain and regret. It’s not an easy process. In the end, we realize that things are only things. Freeing ourselves from the physical debris that no longer fits into the life we have or serve us as the people we have become, though challenging, is a very liberating experience. Once we pare down our possessions we find that assessing and sorting our activities, relationships, and obligations and purging those that no longer bring us pleasure, joy or meaning expands our options and provides the space and time in which to enjoy and develop those that enrich us. Keeping those negative memories also serves no purpose. Let’s ditch them too while we’re at it.

More Fun Out the Window, Spring 2018

Find what you truly cherish in life.  Cherish who you are and what brings you the most joy and fulfillment.  Don’t let stuff, or worries, get in the way or distract you from the life you want

Marie Kondo The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up

With less feathers in our nest we can use this time to hunker down and luxuriate in peace and simplicity or perch on the edge, take a deep breath, flex our wings, and fly.

Stork in Flight, Hunawihr, France 2019

A Sign?

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“I keep stars in my pockets wear daisies in my hair but I tuck you tenderly in the folds of my heart and take you everywhere.” 

Melody Lee, Vine: Book of Poetry

My husband, Dave, absolutely loved to mow the lawn. He began as a young teen mowing the lawn at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, the rectory, and eventually the cemetery. When we bought our first home, much to his delight, it had a three acre lawn that required, or so he said, a riding mower. He’d spend hours in a meditative state, going back and forth, back and forth alone with his private thoughts, but more likely just enjoying the ride in a state of bliss. He especially liked to be out on his tiny tractor, ball cap on his head, when the neighboring farmers were out plowing the surrounding bean fields. He prided himself on being able to greet them across the steering wheel with the forefinger and thumb farmer wave and have them return the gesture. Simple pleasures.

It seemed that every home we ever owned was blessed with a large lawn for him to mow. Hmmm. I wonder how that happened? If the lawn wasn’t large enough, he’d gradually increase it…reclaiming area that had been devoured by the wild grasses and weeds that grew along its edge.

When he died, one of my many decisions was what to do about the lawn. Over the decades, his mowers had, like the lawns themselves, gradually increased in size to the point that there was no way that I’d be riding it. I’d have to hire someone, but how much should I have them mow? Dave mowed just because he loved mowing. Did I really need to keep the lawn the size he had created, or could I let nature gradually take back her claim?

I decided on the latter. The first few weeks would bring tears as I watched the grass grow beyond anything he would have allowed. I remembered the joy he had with his weekly ride and the satisfaction he felt at the end. As the grass grew and the weeds returned, it was a constant reminder that he was gone.

Weeks went by before I ventured out into what was now a meadow. When I finally summoned the courage, instead of the weeds and grass I had expected, it had become a field of Daisies, Buttercups, Hawkweed, Clover, Fleabane, and yellow, purple, and tiny white flowers for which I haven’t a name.

In nature everything is valuable, everything has its place. The rose, the daisy, the lark, the squirrel, each is different but beautiful. Each has its own expression. Each flower its’ own fragrance. Each bird its’ own song. So you too have your own unique melody.

Diane Dreher

People often talk about receiving signs or messages from those who have died. White butterflies, bright red cardinals, and delicate winged dragonflies have become recurring motifs for many of my friends. I was never blessed with a unique sign from either of my parents and didn’t expect to receive one from Dave either, but perhaps this field of wildflowers was indeed a message from beyond. Oh, I know that when we are looking for meaning we can easily assign the profound to the most mundane…a butterfly lands on our hand, a dragonfly swoops through a party or a cardinal keeps appearing at the window…but perhaps signs become such merely because we say they are and if they give us comfort, bring a smile, or give us courage, who’s to say they aren’t sent from those we love?

Walking among the daisies, I found where a deer had spent the night. Perhaps small mammals are also making this their home; insects of all kinds, for certain; and I’m sure a snake or two has slithered in as well. I didn’t expect to find a field of wildflowers, but I did. If I listen, maybe they are telling me that life does go on, and it can be an abundant life at that. No, I wasn’t looking for it, and I’m not sure who sent it, but I’m taking this glorious field of flowers as a sign.

.

I

A New Road on my Journey

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“You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.” Bob Marley

The Hinge…October 2018

“The Hinge” Utah Ghost Town, September 2018

On the morning of October 25th, 2018, I arrived home after a short errand to discover that my husband of 43 years had died peacefully and without warning in his favorite chair. The morning news was playing on the TV, and his coffee sat still cooling in a mug on the table beside him. Finding myself unexpectedly on the hinge…knowing that my life would never be the same…I began an unanticipated and unavoidable journey of self-discovery, exploration, experimentation, and hard work.

“Your life, too, will swing suddenly and cruelly in a new direction with breathtaking speed, and if you are really wise… you will know enough to look around for love. It will be there, standing right on the hinge, holding out its arms to you, If you are wise, whoever you are, you will let go, fall against the love, and be held.

Kate Braestrup, Here If You Need Me

During the months since his passing, I have sought support and comfort in the arms of friends and family. Often, when I least expected it, I realized that there was no other choice but to fall against their waiting embrace of love and allow myself to be held. Eventually, the day arrived when I knew that I must stand alone and begin making my way into an unknown future. Slowly, the hinge will allow the door to open to the new life that awaits. With any luck, I’ll step through to a world full of light, love, laughter, and adventure.

First Steps on a New Path…November 2018

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The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.

—F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

About ten years ago, I had surgery on my knee. I was released from the hospital to recover at home. I spent most of that day sleeping, as I recall. The next day, I was amazed at how little pain I felt and how easily I was able to walk. Crutches? Who needs crutches? This was going to be much easier than I thought. The second day, however, after the pain and numbing medication given for the surgery itself wore off, I was in terrible, terrible pain. That’s the only thing I can compare to the initial grief I felt after Dave’s death. I was numb, and I had yet to experience the pain.

When the numbness of shock and disbelief wore off, and grief descended upon me, it was as if I was completely alone, surrounded by darkness. It was as if my world was illuminated by the light of a single candle. I could only see the path that lay directly in front of me. I was unaware of other people or their needs. Nothing was important, and nothing mattered. I was moving slowly down this unfamiliar path. Each footstep took tremendous effort. 

“There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting.”

C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Gradually…very gradually…I became aware of others on this path. While I was still unable to connect with anyone, still locked within my own grief, I was surprised by the crowds walking this road beside me. I was surrounded by people carrying heavy burdens of sadness, sorrow, and despair. I still couldn’t break out my own deep emotions to reach out to anyone, but I knew they were there.

I was also surprised by those who had traveled this path that lay before me and knew the pitfalls, landmines, and deep ravines that lay ahead, but chose to turn around, trek back, and walk beside me. The lyrics from the song, “I Believe,” kept playing on loop. 

“I believe for everyone who goes astray, someone will come to show the way.

“DRAKE, GRAHAM, SHIEL, AND STILLMAN

That’s not exactly how it works. No one can actually show you the way. Those who have gone ahead may come back for you, but only to walk beside you. It’s the same journey of grief, sorrow, and the whole nine yards, but each of us must walk it in our own way and at our own pace. But what a comfort just to have someone to walk beside you. 

I’m hopeful that at some point I’ll be able to reach out to those who are traveling this road with me. It will be ever so much nicer when all of us can grab hands and walk together. I’m not there yet, but I know I will be.

New Year’s Eve Hike…December 2018

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” 

Psalm 23:4
Seyon Pond, December 31st, 2018

On New Year’s Eve, I went on a short hike around Seyon Pond. I was wearing yak tracks; I had my hiking poles, earmuffs, and mittens; and I was in the company of friends. I was also carrying the weight of loss with me, as my mom and especially Dave were never far from my thoughts.

Today, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Twenty-Third Psalm for some reason. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” 

I have always thought that the ‘walk through the valley of the shadow of death’ was about contemplating my own mortality, but now I’m wondering if perhaps the ‘shadow of death’ is really grief. For in reality, it is the loss of my loved ones that hangs like a veil…a shadow…over every part of my life.  

So here is …The Psalmist Paraphrased: 

Although I’m filled with grief, I am not afraid of what lies ahead, for I am surrounded by love and I’m confident that I have the tools I need to keep moving.

I hope that will comfort me until Spring, when I can lie down in green pastures and find the still waters.

“I didn’t survive because I was strong — I became strong because I survived.”