Tag Archives: thoughts

April 12, 2020 · 3:05 pm

Looking Up: A Practice

Walking meditations are my new practice but to make things interesting,

I like to have little objectives during my walks. 

I think that is the Type A/Teacher-Planner in me. 

So recently I practiced looking up through the vantage point of trees in my neighborhood. 

 

I philosophically thought it could help me improve my mood and frustration

with being on quarantine for the past four weeks,

after all, looking up represents hope and positivity. 

       The sunlight streams            down through the leaves.

 

So I documented my practice with photos of some of my favorite trees

found on a beautiful, sunny day

walking up and down the streets in my little community.

 

 

   Plenty of blue sky above me.

 

Inhabiting the trees I saw a variety of birds, butterflies, bees, flowers, and fruit.

   Lemons

 

The signs of Spring arrive even though we are not gathering in groups to welcome it.

 

Jasmine

Flowering trees welcome bees and scent the air.

  Flowers on the eucalyptus

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The iconic palm trees give the feel of a southern California beach resort.

 

  Tall stately palm trees.

 Bushy, full palm trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I walked in the shade of the trees, I looked up and relived memories of climbing trees as a young girl

and the freedom I felt being up high off the ground and nestled among the branches.

 

Memories of pretending to live  in tree houses.

 

Looking up is my aspiration,

but every once in awhile,

when I look down,

I find something surprising and that can be interesting too!

 

              A little snake black               slowly moving across the road.

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September 16, 2018 · 11:05 pm

Memories

Today my sister and I attended the Kever Avot Memorial Service, a service held during the High Holy Days.  There were moments of sadness, but also moments of comfort in the prayers, the melodies and the sounding of the Shofar.  I am not a particularly religious person, but I do enjoy the cultural aspects of my heritage and the feelings evoked by the familiarity of blessings heard my whole life.  Maybe the comfort and the feelings I get are my religion.

Today, sitting at the cemetery with hundreds of other people, we remembered our parents and other family members we have lost and of course Gary was at the forefront of my mind.  The service was a time for reflection and meditation and I was lost in my own thoughts.  I thought of the time that has passed, it has been 18 years since my dad died, almost 10 years since my mom died and almost 2 1/2 years since Gary died.  Time that has flown by and stood still at the same time.  Memories ingrained and memories tragically fading, but all the while, I hold on to the traditions I grew up with and tried to instill in my own children, attempting to find ways to pass the feeling of comfort to my children and granddaughter.  Holding on to traditions and vocalizing memories are what keep our loved ones alive in our hearts.  I was particularly moved by this poem by Rabbi sylvan Kamen and Rabbi Jack Reimer:

 

We Remember Them

In the rising of the sun and in its going down,

We remember them.

In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,

We remember them.

In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring,

We remember them.

In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer,

We remember them.

In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn,

We remember them.

In the beginning of the year and when it ends,

We remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength,

We remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart,

We remember them.

When we have decisions that are difficult to make,

We remember them.

When we have achievements that are based on theirs,

We remember them.

So long as we live, they too shall live,

For they are now a part of us,

As we remember them.

Memories are difficult things to pin down and control and mine surprise me by showing up unexpectedly, a favorite song playing, a scent wafting in the air, places visited and never-ending thoughts about what could have been and what I miss so much.

 

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June 23, 2017 · 11:38 pm

3:00 a.m.

 

 

It’s 3:00 a.m. and I am awake

like I am so many other nights.

My first thought is,

“Of course, the moment his heart

stopped.”

I am tugged out of the escape of sleep.

The house is dark

and so quiet.

I get up, walk to the bathroom,

walk back to bed,

waiting for sleep to return.

 

It’s 3:00 a.m. and time moves slowly,

becoming 3:15,

when there was still hope,

when the phone rang and

in a foggy confusion I got

in the car.

 

It’s 3:30 a.m. I am still awake,

watching minutes tick by,

noticing the light of the moon

trickling in

through the window shades.

 

It’s 3:30 a.m. and I run,

too late,

through

the hospital to Urgent Care.

Missing the pronouncement

by only one minute.

 

It’s 4:00 a.m. and the mockingbird

is singing as I try

fruitlessly to return to slumber.

There isn’t enough air.

The room is too light,

the blankets too warm, and

the pillow offers no comfort.

 

It’s 4:00 a.m. and the hospital room is full,

of family, friends, support.

But, it is empty too,

of a life, of a future.

The nurses say, “It’s time to go.”

The doctor’s say, “We must clear the room.”

But how can we move when time is standing

so still?

 

It’s 4:30 a.m. and my mind won’t stop

thinking about this different life

filled with decisions I make alone,

about paint colors, room designs,

coordinating the arrival of cabinets,

the avoiding of packing

my old life and deciding what to take

into the new life.

 

It’s 4:30 a.m. and we are leaving

the hospital room,

lingering in hallways,

hesitating,

not ready to head home,

away from the place

where hope once lived.

 

It’s 5:00 a.m. and exhaustion is

setting in.

Sleep is slowly returning

and it doesn’t matter that the bed

is too big or

that the bird is still mocking.

 

It’s 5:00 a.m. and we are all exhausted

by the disbelief,

coming home to the whirlwind of

plans and decisions.

eating bagels, drinking coffee,

We are waiting for planes to arrive,

for cars to bring everyone

together,

our eyes aching, dry and red.

Multiple empty boxes of Kleenex

dotting the house.

 

It’s 6:00 a.m. and morning is near, but I cling

to sleep.

Just a few more minutes…

The sounds of other birds begin now,

robins, finches, the occasional cry of a hawk or crow.

They beckon me to rise, eyes opening again.

 

It’s 6:00 a.m. and it feels like

A thousand hours have passed.

3:00 a.m. is a lifetime away.

Time is divided into before and after.

Information is being gathered,

preparations are being made,

prayers are sent and phone calls break the stunned silence.

 

It is 6:15 a.m. and

the sun rises.

It is a new day and the need to crawl

back to sleep is over.

This is the first day of a new life,

another day of a new life.

A blend of old and new,

memories, hopes, the unknown and maybe

there are still

some dreams.

 

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May 21, 2017 · 9:28 pm

13 Months: Through The Looking Glass (Reflections on entering the 2nd year.)

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The 21st is a hard date to face each month. A month ago I was standing on the other side, the Looking Glass in front of me, looking over my shoulder at the first year, my past, hesitating to step through to my future, but really, what choice did I have? I can’t live in the past, with regrets, and wishes don’t make the future a reality. So, I stepped through and I find myself here, on the other side, insecure in my uncharted territory with a million decisions to make and myself the ultimate consultant.

I am fine most of the time, well maybe ¾ of the time, as long as I stick to my routine. The decisions are hard, the weekends can be hard but I’ve gotten used to the nights. I’m fine and some of the time I even enjoy the time alone, to think, to write, answering to only myself. I have a home that stays clean, food that I like to eat in my refrigerator and half as much laundry to do each week. I’ve almost stopped waiting for someone to come home.

It is different here, on the other side of the Looking Glass. The world looks different and feels more uncertain, but I am trying to create a landing pad, a place to feel at home and friends to share some good times with. I am making different memories while struggling to keep the old memories alive, the good ones, the laughter, and the adventures shared. This side of the Glass has a long road stretching out ahead and I am traveling light, taking only what holds memories, is beautiful or needed, letting go of so much. Not just hopes and dreams, but also the weight of all that is carried through a lifetime.

A Looking Glass is for looking through, but once I’m through it, I can look forward and while I can’t see too far down the path, I can see a day at a time. I can plan a day at a time. I can live a day at a time, with gratitude that I have these days and that I have this path to walk on. I am fine, most of the time, but having the support of my family and friends is the buoy keeping me afloat. You’re asking, me answering, I’m fine most of the time. Thanks for asking.

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February 17, 2017 · 9:21 pm

Faith Blooming

rosesTen months in as of next week and change comes slowly. Little things need to be taken care of daily, shopping, eating, laundry, and then, suddenly I realize my car lease is up, ironically on the year anniversary of Gary’s death. I am proactive and start looking for my new car; something I have never navigated by myself, having a husband in the car business came in quite handy for the past 20 years.   Now I am trying to remember all those things Gary negotiated for us, the warranties, the car lease terms, the car accessories and interest rates. I am navigating the unfamiliar and while people do this all the time, I have never done this alone and I want to make a good deal.

I made it through another holiday, the romantic one I’d been lucky enough to take for granted for the past 37 years. I always had a Valentine and plans for dinner; most of the time we cooked it together at home. We spent quiet evenings at home, but enjoyed the company. This year I realized it is a good thing to be a kindergarten teacher on Valentine’s Day because it comes with the guarantee of little cards, some chocolate and lots of handpicked flowers. This year, the year I wouldn’t come home to roses, my daughters thoughtfully ordered roses. My daughter coordinated with my dear friend, who kindly delivered the roses to school, and I was moved to tears by the sheer thoughtfulness and love the act represented.

I long for ritual.  Every holiday is a pause in my path to acceptance, or at least acknowledgement, of my new life and after I’ve made it through the day, I exhale. The day after Valentine’s Day would have been my dad’s 93rd birthday. He died when he too young at 75. This past week was a double hit. After surviving the loss of romance, I woke up to the loss of the other man who had influenced my life.

This week I am tackling taxes, organizing my documents and doing my best to organize Gary’s tax documents. Cruelly I have to file joint tax returns for two years, reliving the past year and then next year, confronting the void of documents. We always worked as a team to assemble the paperwork, but truthfully, though I organized, Gary was the numbers guy. I am double checking everything.

People surround me, but many times, I am alone in this new life. Some days go by and everyone is involved in his or her own lives. I realize I have to find one, fill it up and think of myself, something a wife and mother rarely does. I am unaccustomed to putting myself first, but I have to learn to do this if I am going to survive. I am doing my best to stay in survival mode, dipping my toe into new things, dinner with new friends, figuring out how to negotiate a car purchase, and organizing my tax documents.

A Valentine chocolate came with this quote and I saved it, rereading it, and gathering faith. I am looking for the faith in the best outcome, the faith in the relationships I cherish, the faith in the possibility of a future.

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December 22, 2016 · 9:01 pm

Hawk Watching & Halos of Light

hawkYesterday, marking 8 months, sent the hawk to watch over me as I sat at my desk, paying bills, checking the emails coming in and contemplating my life as it is now, a long floating journey to an unknown landing. The hawk, who usually lands at the top of a nearby towering pine tree, landed in the tree closest to my window, closer than ever before, and sat contemplating me in between gazing at the landscape. I felt protected somehow.

Each month that goes by brings new challenges and just when I think I’ve gotten a grip on things, a new mess is dumped in my lap. Does it really take a year to get things straight? I’ve been told many times to wait a year, that it takes a year to get used to things, to settle things and to figure out a new place in the world. It feels like forever at eight months.

The hawk stayed watching me for over an hour perched in the tree. I felt his presence and it was somewhat comforting, making my day less lonely. The house was busy last weekend, with a visit from my eldest daughter and my youngest, my little granddaughter. It was family filled, busy, chaotic and reminiscent of the many family gatherings over the years as we all came together to introduce little Margie to friends and family. My daughters surprised me for my birthday with a homemade chocolate raspberry cake (our family birthday tradition) and everyone sang. During the singing, as Nicole videotaped, she noticed a halo of lights moving around me and near the cake. Of course it was a reflection of the candles, but yet, it hovered near me, above me and next to me during the singing of Happy Birthday. It startled Nicole and when we watched the video the next day, we were all a little teary and speechless.

fullsizerender-28Sometimes there are things that can’t be explained. Sometimes the longing for what was is overpowering. Birds appear, Honda Pilots escort me as I drive, lights appear, and yet, as I fall asleep asking for a little help getting through all that I am dealing with, it is harder to feel the connection. I want to believe that I can communicate with my partner of 37 years because how can such a strong connection be gone, even with the separation of time and space? It seems so much stronger than that.

I am dealing with the messes, the stuff, the remnants of odds and ends left undone in the wake of a sudden departure. I am tired of “adulting” as Danielle calls it. I am tired of being the only one to deal with the complications in my life that used to be shared. Divide and conquer. Now I’m left with cleaning up the works in progress that Gary left. My life, without these, seems painfully simple and I suppose one day, it will be.

The holidays are a particularly challenging time when the aloneness is in juxtaposition to the blatantly obvious togetherness and celebrating going on everywhere. It is possible to feel alone even in the middle of a group of people and it is especially hard during this solstice, the darkest days of the year. The cold, dark night sends me to the couch to get under a blanket and zone out watching television.

I am looking forward to the return of the light, the coming warmth and the signs of spring to come. I am hoping that I can have a rebirth too, and enter into a life that feels more like I fit in somewhere, that I can make new, happy memories and land on a solid foundation.

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January 27, 2013 · 7:14 pm

Raining

 
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Today is another rainy day and my energy is on simmer.  I woke up with my list of good intentions, managed to get a lot done, but when the soft drizzle turned to heavy droplets, loud enough to make sounds on the window panes, my resolve began to diminish. 
 
I am sitting at the kitchen table with my thoughts and cup of tea, slowly sinking ginger snaps into their hot bath, I feel content to stare out the window, through the trees at the little valley below and watch the clouds swollen gray with evaporated ponds, lakes and tears.
 
Sometimes it is nice to take a melancholy moment to relax and meditate on the sound of rain on the roof, the Kit-Kat Clock ticking regularly, its eyes taking in the solitude on the quite house, the hum of appliances and the occasional swoosh of the heat coming on, regulating the temperature and wrapping me with warm air.
CatClock
 
Tapping turns to pounding and the landscape is drenched once again. Little clouds dance in the distance, tiptoeing across the peaks of the distant mountains leaving just enough space for me to peak at the sunlit light-blue sky,  just out of reach.
 
Pensive thoughts and the possibility of procrastination are suddenly lit by a burst of sunlight and the optimistic rainbow that sets itself down completely, stretching from one end of the Valley to the other, showing off the entire color spectrum.  Offering light.
 
photo-16

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January 3, 2013 · 12:49 pm

The Wind and The Dog

Why is the wind so restless?   It begin to howl yesterday afternoon and during the night it droned on endlessly waking people and dogs alike.  Charlie demanded to go out into the windy night twice, unlike him to wake from his comfy slumber on the sofa in our room but the wind brought out the wild in him.  He spent time on the lounge in the yard, poised like a sphinx, nose in the wind, whiskers blowing.  We too were restless, listening to the howling up here in the tree house.  We are perched above, in somewhat of a wind tunnel, and while it looks like a restless breeze, it sounds like we are living in a haunted house.

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This morning we struggled to rise, not as rested as we would like, to face the wind again for our dutiful morning walk with Charlie.  Somehow he never tires of the outdoor adventures, though in-between he sleeps deeply, contentedly, owning the sofa or curled in his bed.  He really demands so little:  morning and afternoon walks, cozy sleeping arrangements, a nuzzle here and a dog hug there, yummy treats and cool water.  He gives so much:  unconditional love, tenderness (like the way he gently licks the peanut butter hiding his daily pro biotic off of Gary’s finger in the morning), companionship (nestling in next to the bass drum as Gary practices or planting himself at my feet as I write), and serving as the lone “brother” in a house of daughters.

People come into our lives for reasons known and unknown.  The same is true of animals.  They arrive and are woven into our family fabric, becoming part of traditions, histories, and etching permanence in our hearts.

Today I appreciate this good old boy of ours, hearing his gentle breath and soft snores as I enjoy my last few days of winter break.

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