Embrace The Suck

Things That Moved me in 2011 The final hospice experiences: gentle nurses, wise doctors, "Manhattan" communion, friends' visits, holding Dad's hand, Brother George's phone call, washing Dad's body, gently and reverently dressing him, saying goodbye. Sunflowers A green blanket Pomp and circumstance of burial in a National Cemetery A hootn'nanny songfest Seeing the granite headstone for the first time ----- Johnson's many talents Squircles Traveling with my Sweetie Napping on a screened porch while rain fell gently through the mossy trees Le Chat Noir Writing Circle LCWC recital The Hair Whisperer Grasping the concept of the "communion of saints" Seeing Suzi's brown eyes through the cage and knowing she was the one Traveling to Paris, picking sunflowers and lavender without leaving home My Family Tree Boy Cat donating blood Declaring my Sovereignty Weneki blowing out all 40 candles Bok Tower Gardens and Carillon Amazing Gracie Visiting Brot

Last night I decided my word for the new year would be: FOCUS It just sort of came to me a few days ago and I've been ruminating on it for awhile. T o make sure it was the word that would best fulfill my intentions for the new year, I looked it up in the dictionary Dictionary.com defined focus in several ways - most having to do with light and lenses and refraction which I confess, I am not so sure what they means. One definition is even associated with Geometry which is for sure not my intention. Another with geology - the point of origin of an earthquake. While my intention for the new year is to see things more clearly, and perhaps that could lead to an earthquake of new ideas and creativity, the definition that speaks most to me is the verb form: " to concentrate, i.e. to focus one's thoughts." Yup, that's what I want to do in 2012. I want to concentrate more on things that are right in front of me. I want to focus on where I lay my glasses down. I want to

I guess I'm not the only one using these last few days of 2011 to look back and take stock. My pen pal and blog friend Molly, commented on my last post about a site she found. Cortney Carver of bemorewithless suggests making a love list: "Instead of firm goal setting or setting resolutions, make a list of the things you’d love to do or start doing in 2012. A new year allows for a fresh start, clean slate or new approach. Actually, you can create those things for yourself anytime, but a new year is a special invitation to be bold, brave, and different. Make a love list for 2012 including every possible thing you would like to consider in life, love, business and relationships. What would you really love to do in 2012? What would you like to see? Who will you be and who will you be with in 2012? Before you start your list, eliminate the roadblocks and dream killers. This is not a list for accountability. You won’t be crossing things off or crying over your undone tasks at the e

I guess I'm not the only one using these last few days of 2011 to look back and take stock. My pen pal and blog friend Molly, commented on my last post about a site she found. Cortney Carver of bemorewithless suggests making a love list: Instead of firm goal setting or setting resolutions, make a list of the things you’d love to do or start doing in 2012. A new year allows for a fresh start, clean slate or new approach. Actually, you can create those things for yourself anytime, but a new year is a special invitation to be bold, brave, and different. Make a love list for 2012 including every possible thing you would like to consider in life, love, business and relationships. What would you really love to do in 2012? What would you like to see? Who will you be and who will you be with in 2012? Before you start your list, eliminate the roadblocks and dream killers. This is not a list for accountability. You won’t be crossing things off or crying over your undone tasks at the end of

Instead of making resolutions I would most likely ignore, at the beginning of 2011 I picked a word that would set my intention for the year. I didn't know at the time my father would cross from this world to the next in 23 days. I didn't know that my desire for "freedom" was going to be handed to me on a silver platter and I was going to stand, frozen in place wondering what to do with it. I'm reminded of a video I saw recently about some beagles who had spent their whole lives as test animals in a laboratory. They'd never been out of a cage, seen the sunlight, peed on grass or chased a ball. I'm not sure how it occurred but a group of volunteers rescued them, undoubtedly just before the executioner's song played. The video showed how tentative the dogs were when the doors to their traveling cages were opened and they were given an opportunity to step out into "freedom." It took several minutes for one of the dogs to slowly venture out, to

When my kids were very little, the excitement leading up to unwrapping Christmas presents grew with each passing day. My then husband was every bit as much a child as the kids. He liked to count the number of packages with his name on them. He liked to rattle and shake and try to figure out what was in each present that I had wrapped to look like something from a Hallmark commercial. I admit it drove me crazy. In my family of origin Christmases there was a no touching rule. There was also a nothing gets opened before Christmas rule which I tried to hold on to but was out-voted 3-1. Trying to contain all the real surprises for Christmas morning, I usually allowed one present, to be picked out by me, to be opened on Christmas Eve - cute flannel pajamas that would look good in photos the next morning. One year I made the mistake of letting the kids pick out the gift they wanted to open. I think Johnson must have just grabbed the first thing that he saw and been happy with it. Weneki car

"Don't cry because it's over Smile because it happened." I think it's true what people say about having dread-filled expectations. Often the worry and anxiety are worse than the speech-making, solo-singing, or 24-hour train trip sequestered in a closet-sized room with 2 kids. No, I think that last one was about as awful as I expected! It's no secret I've been dreading the holiday season knowing there would be empty seats at the table and ghosts of Christmases past hanging around the house. I dreaded being sad when everyone around me was going merrily about their business. Mostly I feared awakening the grief monster who seems ready to hang out in my heart, uninvited. To my surprise and delight, with the exception of a few crying jags, some extra naps and low periods brought on by deja vu, I got through the season with a minimum of sadness. In my mind I keep going back to the Christmas Eve service at church, and how it summed up the beauty, magic and hope

The house is quiet except for the whirring of the dishwasher. Sweeties is trying to figure out a new toy, the dog settled in surrounded by several new bones. One cat is asleep on Grandmother's quilt and the last time I saw the other one he was behind the tree planning a kamikaze attack. Christmas Eve service at church last night was beautiful. Sitting in the church surrounded by the holy-day sights and sounds made me heavy with missing mom and dad. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning Dad called me. I awoke with a start, opened my eyes and listened for more. That was all, just his voice calling my name. Sweetie was the first one awake this morning, anxious to see what Santa had brought. It was fun to watch his very neat and organized way of selecting presents from under the tree, then carefully opening each one and depositing used wrappings and bows in a tidy pile. I'm more of a rip it open and see how high you can stack the paper! After awhile, the White Beast, Maizey,

Had she lived my mother would have been 90 years old today. The fact that I can say that without an ache in my heart or tears running down my face is proof that the pain of mourning does diminish over time. Mom was born in an Army field hospital in Koblenz, Germany. Her father was in the Navy so she moved around a lot which was good training for being the wife of a naval officer. Mom knew how to pack and unpack a household in record time. She knew how to keep things to a minimum, unlike my father who was a self-proclaimed pack rat. Mom was the epitome of a 1950's housewife, though I don't think I'd call her June Cleaver. Before her a virus damaged her brain, my mother was a force to be reckoned with. She was small but fierce. Early on in their marriage my parents must have drawn up job descriptions - Dad worked outside the home, and mom's domain started and stopped at the front door - and they rarely, if ever, veered from their appointed tasks. My mother could cook, s

Dear Beloved Girl, When we have old things in our hands that we are afraid of being without, with our fists tightly clenched around those things...and we walk around fearing what will happen if we ever open our hands and let those things go...when we worry whether or not anything else will make it's way into our lives...if we will ever have enough...if our hands will always remain empty if we open them and let the old clenched stuff go...........if we keep doing that, we will NEVER be able to grasp onto what is meant for us. What is done is done. What is over is over. We are meant to move forward, we are meant to progress. Everything natural and beautiful and true and living was designed to constantly be renewing itself, progressing, living living living and then dying....going on to the next step of it's life cycle. When we clench old things in our hands, we prevent new things from being able to hold hands with us. New experiences, new things to learn, new relationships, new t

I'm on a roll. Last package mailed. Cookies frosted. Half eaten. Presents wrapped. Under the tree. I've got to share this picture of what my sister Linda made me for Christmas. I opened the box thinking there would be wrapped gifts inside. This is what I found: This is no ordinary bear. Yes it is soft and cuddly. But what makes it so absolutely wonderful is that it is made out of one of my father's shirts. And he even has a pocket with Kleenex coming out of it, just like my dad. What you can't see on the back is the number "39" that came off my Dad's wrestling robe from the Naval Academy. 39 being the year he lettered and graduated. Sometimes someone does something so totally cool you've just got to shout it from the roof tops. It's late and dark so I'm not going to climb up on the roof. So I'm sharing my bear with my favorite people. Thank you Linda for the bear. But mostly for your big ol' busting at the seams heart you so generousl

" ...Christmas cookies without sprinkles are like raisins without wrinkles, and like sleigh bells without tinkles ..." The Christmas Cookie Sprinkle Snitcher Since my last post, I've either been feeling puny (as in running a low grade fever and feeling achy everywhere, including the insides of my eyelids) or poopy (as in sad, blue, whiney, unmerry). However, in the last few days I've felt good enough to rival a Christmas elf on sugar overload. I don't want to jinx things but I think I may just be ready for Christmas by the time it gets here. I spent most of today making cookies - the rolled kind that still have to be decorated. I may get dough made up for some drop cookies I can make tomorrow. Yes, there is still a light dusting of flour and powdered sugar on the counter tops, and yes, the sink is still full of dirty baking utensils, but I feel like I have made great progress. The key, I realized half-way through the cookie-enhanced afternoon is that I only made o

So I successfully made it to the end of NaBloPoMo and then dropped out of site. What's up with that? I've gotta say I'm not really sure, but I suspect it has to do with feeling so sad. At the risk of getting started on another chapter from my grief saga, which is not the stuff holiday cheer is made of, I'll just say I think my sadness is coming from both sides - both my little girl feeling and I are feeling kind of blue in a world that has gone crazy with red and green. No big surprise there. It is to be expected. I knew it was coming but not sure there is a way to prepare for it. Like ocean waves the emotions come rolling in, sometimes small and easy to jump through; sometimes so rough that you are knocked off balance and go tumbling in the surf. I want to "feel" my emotions, or at least give them a voice and not stuff them somewhere below my liver. I tell myself it's okay to feel what I'm feeling. At the same time I don't want to give the emotion