An Invincible Summer - A Woman's Journey

 Some people have to brag because they feel bad about themselves. It’s not about you. Feel bad for them . 

Today was the day. I sit here trying to figure out what I feel. Grief, loneliness, sadness....loss. But I sit here just the same. There is something to be said about the cultures that wail. I found this: Grief was expressed in an open and unrestrained way that was cathartic and communally shared, very much in contrast with the modern emphasis on controlling one’s emotions and keeping grief private.  In various cultures the outpouring of emotion was not only required but  performed ceremonially , in the form of ritualized weeping accompanied by wailing and shrieking. For example, traditions of the “death wail,” which allowed people to cry their grief aloud, have been documented among the ancient Celts. They exist today among various indigenous peoples of Africa, South America, Asia and  Australia . Wailing is what my heart wants to do but the stiff upper lip, taught before I was conscious of being taught, prevails. It is said that there is a time for everything. Perhaps it...

The isolation caused by this pandemic can be hard but I consider myself pretty lucky. I've been able to work, we've continued to golf, my youngest is still home and we have our neighbors. Yesterday we started a bookclub. Sitting outside in the wind and chilly temps, spaced safely away from each other, we sat with hats and blankets and discussed the book of choice. The Clearing by Tim Gautreaux is not my taste in books but it lead to a great discussion. Three chapters in, I am already looking forward to next Sunday. As we sat around, agreeing and disagreeing, bringing new light to otherwise overlooked characters, I felt a great sense of community, something I've longed for all my life and struggled to find. Who would have thought that one could find community in a time of world pandemic?  I have long been asking for it and the Universe finally responded, letting me know that time was now and that I am ready to be a contributing part of a group. Emotionally more sober and not...

I am no younger than 5 or 6. I am in a car with my dad and am in the front seat even though that was a very rare occurrence with 5 siblings in the house. He is driving a car with a greyish green metal dashboard. The radio is one that most of us of a certain age would recognize immediately. Music is playing. It is the Guess Who and, for whatever reason, my dad didn’t want to listen to it.  His big fingers reach up to push a yellowish button that I could tell was white before years of sun and dirty hands changed it to its now dingy color. I don’t remember what song or news came up after that. In fact, that is the extent of my memory, brought up just from hearing the song, but sweet just the same. I have precious few early memories of dad and the ones I can bring up easily are mostly scary. I'll keep this one tucked in my heart.

Right now I am thinking of my sweet little dog who has been loyally by my side for these last 10 years. She has seen me at my best and worst and never once judged me (well, once in awhile she made me feel ashamed of myself). She is slowing down a lot, showing signs of discomfort, walking like an old russian babushka with arthritis in every joint. Her back legs are starting to give out and we've notice episodes of confusion settle over her. She has been well treated by the vet, all options taken in consideration. I'm not one to let nature take its course if nature has sunk her claws in. I want to treat her as humanely as I would like to be treated, which means not dragging out months and months of pain in order to not have to deal with my own feelings of grief or loss. I thought today was going to be the day but she's not ready quite yet. She will tell me when she is.

My man is diabetic. Has been for as long as I’ve known him. It’s very hard for me to NOT speak up when he is eating, or not eating, like he’s a diabetic. I am trying to learn to keep it to myself, allowing him to make those choices, good or bad, but a part of me wants to smack him on top his head. And still I struggle with the idea of my partner in life seems to have a little bit of a death wish.  I’m a work in progress  

The past few days have been lovely. 80° (26.6°C) with a cool breeze and hardly a cloud in the sky. While not crowded, the beaches are peppered with sun worshipers and the surfers have been enjoying some massive waves. I’ve been making my early morning pilgrimages to the beach for quiet meditation and some book work. The restaurants are open for business but take out only.  Nice days to golf and so we shall.  No complaints. 

The Great British Baking Show has been a world of comfort to me during this time of anger, angst and absolute chaos.  That’s all I have to say about that. 

When I was 12, I received the only gift my father ever gave me. It must have come in the mail because he had been AWOL for some time. The 7 of us were left to clean up after the storm. Only problem was we didn't have rakes and shovels, more like toothpicks and straws. So the gift came and was met with disdain on my part. I had to be mad, for myself, for my mother's sake. Besides, I was way too old for the gift. Didn't he know that? Of course not, he didn't know me at all. If he did, he would have understood how hurt and damaged I was by his abandonment, but that's another story. That was 45 years ago. That gift, object of my scorn, somehow managed to stay with me through 9 moves. I got older and it stayed the same. I reconciled with that man and eventually came to love and appreciate his friendship but I never wore the gift. Recently, during a deep cleaning, it appeared again but this time I just smiled and remember that handsome man who was so afraid of dying becau...

I think it is slightly sad that I will go through my entire life and never get to sing bass. It’s such a rewarding sound, deep and rich. 

Peace is a great feeling. More and more I'm finding that it is settling in, resting in my being. I’m less flinty, less jagged. Rigidity is replaced by softening. Scars, which generate reaction, are cloaked in a healing balm allowing comments or actions to pass by less noticed. Or better yet, just not absorbed in any way.  Wholeness takes on new meaning. The fewer scars or open wounds I have the better adapted I am to taking on the world at face value.  Of course, that’s right now, just this moment but I have a taste of how it feels and my body likes it.  Watched another beautiful sunrise at the beach. Dawn is far lovelier than the actual sunrise. It’s soft. It whispers hope to me, suggesting that today will be whatever I make it. 

Hatred, bigotry and misogyny are alive and well but the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga isn’t tolerating it. At least not from its offensive lineman coach Chris Malone who felt it wise to tweet: “Congratulations to the state of GA and Fat Albert @staceyabrams because you have truly shown America the true works of cheating in an election again!!! Enjoy the buffet Big Girl! You earned it!!! Hope the money was good, still not governor!” Thank you Chris for showing your true colors. Did you have a little too much to drink and let your guard down? Did your puffed up ego make you think you could say whatever you wanted with impunity? Either way, enjoy that receding hairline and the job hunt. I hear unemployment pays but not great.  PS. Biden won.  PSS Stacey Abrams rocks the free world.

My boy and his partner have given up their apartment in Portland. They have sold or donated almost all of their worldly goods. They have plane tickets dated 4 days from now heading for London so that his partner can start graduate school in a month. They plan to stay for 3 years. When they get there, they have an AirBNB reserved for 2 weeks. They had hoped to use that two weeks to find an apartment for this school year. When they get there (if they get there), they will be on  lockdown.  So basically, nowhere to live if they go and nowhere to live if are forced to stay. I am trying to remember that this is not my job. They will work this out one way or another and don't need me to ask or meddle. How is that going.......eh, not that good but I am trying.

 Out on a beautiful little hike with the Boy Scout, enjoying the cool weather. The sky was amazing.   What can I say, this is hiking California style and all is dry and dead looking until February ish.   As we walked, I got text from the Secret Keeper.  I had checked in on him and this was his reply: He wakes early to be sure that he is ready to get picked up by his family. He takes a shower, dresses, has oatmeal. After the morning routine is done he then goes out on the front porch to wait and wait, it's been two hours. They must be running late like other times. He returns to he room to lay down as he is tired from his meds. He wakes up with no messages, it's now 4, he gets back into bed to keep warm and falls asleep again, nothing else to do. Later that night he is reminded that he had the wrong day., Shit, who's mind is this anyway, not mine... Heart hurting, I could have sat and cried for this man who was once my best friend and who walked through this world so ...