If I Knew

This print came from an idea for the Unity on the Plaza gallery art show for the month of March, 2015. It carries the theme of the show. Guests and members were invited to fill out cards with their own ideas of what they would do if they could not fail. The process was a success with cards and statements covering the gallery walls. One of my own cards was, "If I knew I could not fail I would drive to the Writers' Colony in Eureka Springs this spring." Because of a bum knee I knew it would not be possible for me to make the drive but . . . if I could I would. Never did I imagine that my husband would say (during a March Madness basketball game), "Why don't I take you to Eureka Springs?" The thought of someone else driving never entered my mind and I replied, "It is a 4 hour drive each way." Of course he knew that but wanted to take me because "you enjoy it so much." So, here I am as gratitude surrounds me! Two out of three cards have come to fruition and the third is a dream in process. Think about it . . . dreams do come true. 

Nuts

There are days when I dive into the pool of this journal and swim laps of thoughts back and forth, back and forth -- the end of the swim feels good, refreshing, smooth. Then there are mornings like this when I want to escape my own thoughts and not think or write, but then where do the worried, scared little tendrils of fear and anger go if not onto confessional page? I was headed for the airing of negative self centered, sorrowful thinking right here under the old oak tree, when my neighbor, Jeff, standing at the fence that separates our backyards said, "I have a gift for you." Wait! I thought -- I am full of stress and meanness and anger and fear this morning . . . "I wanted to say thanks for taking care of the cats last weekend" -- Nuts on Clark! -- the mixed kind with caramel, cheese and plain popcorn -- a delightful combination that people stand in line for wherever there's a Clark's store in Chicago. So, I poured my second cup of coffee and wrote of a neighbor giving me famous popcorn at 7:30 Saturday morning -- giving me gratitude and quiet kindness and the reminder that the workday of the workweek should be left where it belongs -- far away from a cool Saturday morning as the sky turns gold; as the September light spreads within the haze of clouds beginning to cover the entire sky with light --

Window Sitting

This is where I live with a good man who shovels lots of snow and presents me with a wood burning fire every wintry evening. We live here with Jane the Cat and Zoe the Border Collie. You can see the Clematis vines climbing the screen of the snowed in porch which validates that today we are, for the most part, socked in. Thank goodness for this winter weather which carries with it much needed moisture and a sense of normalcy. Bring out the soup pot, the broth and the root vegetables. Perhaps we'll make French bread the baking of which will warm up the chilly kitchen. And I will stay in to look out the window and note the variances of the tail end of this the second blizzard in two weeks. This morning the snow fell horizontally into drifts and through screens. This afternoon the air holds only snow mist that seems to cover all with a polish of silk thread.

Holiday Traditions

In 1986, it became a tradition for me to view traditional holidays with a wide lens.  Single folks move away from families, parents die, divorces happen. Stir the pot and you get a new mixture of tradition--possibly every holiday. How to deal? Don’t plan, do. The Thanksgiving of 1986 was my first holiday following divorce and the first time my three children packed suitcases as part of a new tradition: Thanksgiving with Dad and Christmas with Mom. Bummer. But. . .my bachelor brother had a new job in the same state as my new job. We found a halfway point between our two cities and booked reservations for two at a place called “Hays House” in Council Grove, Kansas. As it turned out we had a wonderful time within the new tradition: don’t plan, do. The route from Manhattan, Kansas to Council Grove weaves through the heart of the Flint Hills which, in my mind, is silent with poetry and sacred beauty. And, the Hays House is fantastic. The feast is just like “home” really and truly (even the vegetarian, me, had plenty of delicious salads, side dishes, veges, etc.) and lemon meringue pie is now the Thanksgiving desert! The tradition my brother and I founded has continued low these many years. The people who show up change every year and have included in-laws and out-laws, uncles and aunts, best friends, sons and daughters and 3 year old grandsons. This year the group was back to two. Chuck, my most wonderful husband, spent the traditional Thanksgiving holiday with me. I’m just plain lucky that way.

Remember how lucky you are

Many years ago I worked and lived somewhere else. I was miserable and talked about my plight with a women who was both a friend and mentor. I thought the problem was my work situation and the tasks and the people and the dismal surroundings. Her comments surprised me, "Where do you want to live? Start there, go there and your work will find you." Radical advice, wouldn't you think? But, the more I thought the more I knew exactly where I wanted go and what I wanted to do there. I did it. I moved to the spot where I wanted to live and took a good job. It was not the dream job but it was a job where I learned some hard lessons and grew into the person able to accept a position that turned out to be the job. The effort I put into adjusting this dream was a creative and artful process that included visualizing both place and activity. Visualization mirrors meditation in that it is created in solitude and not easily put aside. During those years, I became the person living the visualization. Life seems to be a story to read in different languages and continues through the present moment. The photo is a cell phone capture of the window in my current office. Although not a high resolution graphic it is a representation of my Now and I am blessed to be here.

I remember when I was insane. The panic had become unbearable and there was no good way out. It was here that my doctor piercingly looked me in the eye and said, "This will pass. You will be okay. I promise you this will pass." To which I almost screamed, "Do you know what I feel--this anxiety is caught in my head? There is no place for it to go, no relief, no way out. I cannot live this way. Do you know that?" To which he immediately answered, "Yes. I do know." His emphatic response was stunning and quieted my rantings. This and well prescribed medication and therapy got me through the after shock of trauma.

Eventually, all of my medical and hospital bills will be paid. However, the debt I owe this good doctor can never be repaid except with huge mountain sized gratitude--and then some.