Tag Archives: hope

Long I Stood

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“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood, And looked down one as far as I could…”

Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken
The Sound of Yellow Aspen
Santa Fe, NM, October 2015

“You know, when it comes to poems meant to inspire us, I think The Road Not Taken is one of the most overused,” she told me. And yet, once again, I find myself drawn to it. Not for the last stanza, where attention is usually focused. “I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.” No, I find myself stuck on the phrase “long I stood.” Most often, we focus on the outcome, not the process. The traveler stands at the crossroads deliberating for what they think is a long time before eventually lifting their foot off the ground and taking that first step.

For over forty years, I stood in those yellow woods with another traveler. I seldom made grand decisions on my own. I was the one who would point out the differences, the possibilities, and the pitfalls of each decision. Dave would often listen without indicating that he was actually hearing what I was saying and then suddenly declare with confidence and finality which direction our path would take. Occasionally, I’d feel rather annoyed. Why did he get to have the ultimate say? At times, I was really irked at him for getting the last word and at myself for ceding that power to him. I’d attribute it to the male/female thing, but in actuality, it was the difference in our personalities and how we saw the world of choices and decision-making. His world was black and white, while mine was a blaze of color, glitter, and flashing lights. Together, we found a satisfying balance as we chose our path beneath the banner of golden leaves.

Hidden Valley
Rocky Mountain National Park, September 2018

With his death, I find that my life in many ways is off-kilter, off balance, and out of focus. Making decisions is one of the many ways this manifests itself. I keep exploring all the options, weighing the pros and cons, and considering all the angles, but there is no longer anyone there to announce that the deliberations are ended and a choice had been made. I miss Dave’s decisiveness. I feel myself in a constantly repeating loop, like driving on a roundabout without ever finding the exit. I know it’s there, and when I find i,t I’ll be able to move forward, hopefully in the right direction, but in the meantime, it’s nerve-racking and exhausting.

Frankly, I’m getting quite tired of standing at that tedious crossroads among those yellow trees. I’m also tired of the mosquitoes, black flies, and thoughts that keep buzzing around my head with their constant drone of what if, what if, what if. As lovely as the woods are, I am beginning to yearn for a wider vista. Any day now…I’m going to brush the mud off my Keens, tighten the laces, and…actually move.

“Did you ever have to make up your mind? And pick up on one and leave the other behind? It’s not often easy and not often kind. Did you ever have to make up your mind? Did you ever have to finally decide? And say yes to one and let the other one ride? There’s so many changes and tears you must hide. Did you ever have to finally decide?

The Lovin’ Spoonful, Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?https://youtu.be/CV9DMgVF-Nk

I’ll go left. I always go left. Decision made. Then the second-guessing sets in. Oh Bummer! I want to join Jean-Luc Picard and “seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no one has gone before!” Then I think of the traffic, remember that I get motion sickness, and begin to doubt whether or not I can read the map.

“You know the greatest danger facing us is ourselves, and irrational fear of the unknown. There is no such thing as the unknown. Only things temporarily hidden, temporarily not understood.” 

Captain, James T. Kirk, Starship USS Enterprise, The Corbomite Maneuver
View From the Porch

It’s puzzling to me that making decisions has become so difficult. Life itself is merely a continuous chain of decisions, but maybe some of my trepidation is recognizing that, being a solo decision maker, there is no one but myself to blame if I mess up.

People tell me to listen for Dave’s voice when making decisions. Unlike me, Dave didn’t generally share his opinions when he was alive, so I’m not expecting to hear his voice from the beyond anytime soon. I gradually learned over the years that he made decisions for all kinds of reasons. If you ever played cards with him, you know exactly what I mean. Some of his decisions were well thought out, some were just based on a gut feeling, and others were just made to shake things up, provide a laugh, or…well, usually to provide a laugh. His decisions met with varying degrees of success. Perhaps that’s the message he’s sending. That it’s OK if I choose poorly, if I make a mistake, or if I should have painted the kitchen Wild Oat instead of Jewitt White. It’s all good, and quoting my friend, Bettie, “It’s probably not a pivotal moment in history.”

It’s true that “way leads on to way”. Any savvy shopper knows that if you find a pair of jeans that fit, buy them immediately. But Robert Frost lived in another time and was never privy to the dulcet tones of a disembodied voice instructing…”When possible, make a safe and authorized U-turn.” It is possible to go around the block, dig yourself out of a hole, or simply choose again. The Merlot not so good? Next time, select a Riesling.

Learning to make decisions on my own is difficult, and it’s going to take some time, but I know with each choice I make, I’ll grow more confident, positive, and comfortable. So, just for the practice…and since it’s chilled and open…I will choose the Riesling.

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.

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