An Invincible Summer - A Woman's Journey

I received an email from a friend. She’s a good friend who is wonderfully warm and well educated, an author, a counselor, a survivor and so much more. I read the email. It was beautifully written to me and 3 other women who have become a group of mutual love and adoration. We are in our 3rd year of studying and recovering. We are 3 years into sharing our lives, struggles and victories.  As I read it, all my writing, ranging anywhere from pathetic to well expressed, paled in comparison and I wondered why I ever thought I could, in these minuscule ways, write at all. I saw what a fabulous education and deep introspection afforded her. I felt shame. Then, I took a full, intentional, generous breath, held it there for a few seconds and let loose. When I did, I let loose of the shame and the unworthiness. The sentence structure that may be questionable, the vocabulary that is limited, the tenses that flip and flop, the over and under use of commas that frustrate the hell out of me. All that

I've become a jack of all trades (or better yet, A Jill of All Trades). I've painted and spackled, plumbed and cleared plugged drains, put in flooring and new base board using our new to us miter saw, used specially designed paint to cover some old sinks that I cannot afford to replace at the moment, pulled up carpet and spot repaired the old flooring. I've put the router, the cordless drill/screwdriver, the Dremel and WorkX (high frequency oscillating tool), along with the miter saw to good use. That WorkX is my personal favorite because it does a little bit of everything only a lot faster. Today, with the help of a YouTuber, I fixed the garage door that has not been operating properly for over a month. I am feeling accomplished. Now it's time to clean out that damn garage. It makes me crazy how disorganized and whack-a-doodle it gets. Ah well, another day. It's far too cold to stay out there for long. A parka and heavy gloves are not conducive to organization. I m

I let you go as if you were not important. It is so unlike me especially since it is hardly the case. I love and admire you. Why did I? It is so complex. It’s taken me a long time to figure it out. You, truly one of the most resilient, exuberant and grateful people I know, are a hard act to follow. As I left on this adventure, I felt fear, dread and resentment. It seeped into my life, gradually taking up so much space in my heart. I let other people go. That was easier, it was time. But you……I just felt ashamed. How could I tell the friend who had been through so much heartache and misfortune that I could not find my gratitude? How in the world could I cry on the shoulder of the friend who trusts and makes the best of each set back? I couldn’t fake it and I couldn’t muster anything that resembled good sense in my thoughts. Through it all, you sent messages and phone calls and unconditional love. You are amazing my friend. One of a kind. A bright star. Beautiful inside and o

Is anyone else having trouble with blogger constantly logging out so that comments often get made as "anonymous" ? Very frustrating. If you have a suggestion I would welcome it.

Last night my dear sweet Winnie threw herself a birthday party. She knew what she wanted, knew who she wanted to spend the evening with and that’s what she got. It was lovely.   We were not a young crowd but we all shared in our love for this tiny person with so much inner joy. To be quite honest I heard very little of what was being said but I could still share in the laughter and love. Every person there, aside from Boy Scout and I, are from Winnie’s church. A room full of Catholics and us. It was fascinating. I asked the group if this was some kind of weird intervention, were they trying for conversion? They laughed and then invited us to Sunday’s pancake breakfast.  Hahahahahaa. We passed. Instead, I watched the sun rise as Mt Hood supervised. I’d say she did a fine job. 

I finally picked up my first Louise Erdrich book. I've heard all the hype. I am aware of all the awards but for some reason I resisted.  Then the spirit moved me and I got The Master Butchers Singing Club. The book is well written and has an interesting story. Her language is lush, characters flawed and she demands that we look at the complete person.  Even if I had not liked the book as a whole, the last chapter of the book is so stunningly beautiful that it would be worth the time spent. I had to read and reread it again and again. I would share it but, darn it, it's the last 3 or 4 paragraphs and it doesn't seem right to do so, just in case you decide to read it. If you are not a fan or uninterested, at least go to your local bookstore, pick it up and read the last 3 or 4 pages. You won't be sorry.

My best friend Jill and my very favorite youngest daughter went to dinner last night.  I’m a little jealous that my best friend is having dinner with my daughter. And, I’m a little jealous that my daughter is having dinner with my best friend.  But I’m thrilled that two of the women I love the most are together. What a wonderful thing. 

The savings is dwindling. There are a few things that this old house needs and when that is done there will be little left. Life has changed completely. From a more than comfortable income with health insurance and the hope of future stability, then, starting in 2018 a shrinking income that has brought me to a situation that is very like the childhood I tried so hard to rise above. It is not poverty. I know poverty when I see it. I have a roof over my head and I am not hungry. There are two cars with payments that will be made. This will be a spare existence that I am familiar with.  There is no excess. Anything extra comes straight from that shrinking account. Property tax, car repairs, hearing aids, health care, utilities, cable, gyms, they are set to a list with their priority status. Like so many other older adults, health care and dental will take the first hit. I have to hear, I need a car, property tax must be paid. The rest will wait........... Gone are the dreams. The vacation

The wind is gusting and while it is not my beloved Santa Ana winds, with their warmth and incredible energy, I’ll take what I can get. I love wind.  Wikipedia describes: Santa Ana winds are known for the hot, dry weather that they bring in  autumn  (often the hottest of the year), but they can also arise at other times of the year. [3]  They often bring the lowest  relative humidities of the year to coastal Southern California, and “beautifully clear skies.” [4] With that description I can’t help but wonder who wouldn’t love the Santa Ana’s but I reluctantly admit that the fires that often accompany these winds are a very strong con. In my junior year of high school I fell in love with a windy song. It spoke of longing and nostalgia, feelings that were still quite foreign to a 16 year old, but I love me some Bob Segar. I leave you with a little bit of 59 year old nostalgia, a feeling that I am much acquainted with these days. 

I’m reluctant to get out of bed. The chill air outside the protection of the blankets is keeping me in place for the moment. Finally, I race from the warmth to the pile of clothing I prepped the night before. Lined leggings under the roomy boyfriend jeans go first, the skin tight t shirt then the blousy longer cotton t, a cable knit sweater and scarf.  I’ll bring my parka just in case.  I’m crossing the river that is spotted with dense fog but through the fog are the glorious reds, yellows and vivid oranges waving to me. I have always loved fall colors but never actually lived them except for a few trees sparsely scattered in the desert I called home. Here, at times, they threaten to cover me with the towering trees on both sides of the road, one must struggle to catch a glimpse of the grey blue sky above.  I reach a spot on the bridge where I catch my breath. The bright morning sun is cresting the mountains east of here and sharing its golden brilliance with the most beautiful gifts t

 Happy Saturday. It’s another beautiful day in Portland. Chilly.  I want to head up to Trillium Lake soon before the road is not passable for us. It’s gorgeous and close by. Maybe I can talk Boy Scout into taking me there tomorrow.  Today I’ll clean up and enjoy my Munich meeting.  I’ll leave you with a few shots. Mt. Hood is there in the background. Do you have anything fun planned this weekend?

The Boy Scout reads my blog. He never comments but he loves when it is about him.  Here you go Boy Scout….

It’s rainy and cold. Probably not for my Canadian friends but 40° is cold for this California girl so, for this post, it is cold. The drops are big, fat, squishy and coming down fast. A car goes past me as I sit here in my little refuge. It’s rare that I see a car since I am usually gone by 7am but I slept in a bit and at 9am the car passes. It’s a standard issue Subaru which is the Portland car of choice. There must be 3 for every other model.  The car stops, maybe 150 yards away, three people get out, each with their own umbrella, slowly, separately, they walk to their destination. It’s not far. As they reach the place that is calling their hearts, they stand still, but even in their stillness they are drawn together like magnets, edging closer and closer to each other until they look like a single entity, sheltering under their paltry protection. Are they seeking a barrier from the cold or is it deeper than that? Will the close proximity ease the pain of saying goodbye? There they s

We are eating lunch in a health food restaurant. We are planning out the rest of our day, enjoying the cool weather and the gorgeous rain. He's sitting across from me with his Oregon weather clothing. My previously natty husband now prefers Carhartt shirts (layered for warmth), thick denim pants and boots. Not the fancy expensive boots of his past though. Portland boots. The ones that keep your tootsies dry. We talked of love and friendship, weather, guests, family and holidays. As we sat in the intimate little corner, next to two giant windows, a preschool class walked by. Three and 4 year olds in their rain gear, boots and knit hats all holding on to the rope that began and ended with a teacher. Boy Scout says to me with a big smile, "Look at them".  I look over and noticed the little group of 8 or 9 tots.  He adores children and they return the gift ten-fold.  Not being quite as enamored with them as he is, I  quickly  turned back to see his face tighten and turn sligh