It is a mysterious expanse that lies around me, behind me, ahead of me.  The designs it creates are unreadable.  It gives no clue to what is coming next.

It calms me with its rhythmic cadence and frightens me with its overwhelming strength.

It teaches me to be mindful, to watch for danger, and to be curious about the things that it shows me.

Precious things have been swept from my grasp by its terrible power. And then it becomes benevolent and presents me with cherished treasures.

Today I am on its tropical shores.  It bathes me in its warmth. Another day I will be in other places.   Its icy cold will shock me into awareness.

I must stay ready for it.  And yet, to be content, I must let it take me where I should go, without struggle.

Sunrise and sunset.  Beginnings and endings are each a part of my walk along the beach and through life.

xxoo

This post was originally written for Vision and Verb, a Gathering of International Women and posted on January 31, 2012.

My Darling Child,

Why?  How?

Where are you?  The warm bundle of love with perfect fingers and toes who lay peacefully in my arms not so long ago?

You are yesterday and you are always, but you are not with me today.  I can’t feel your hand in mine or smooth your hair as I pass by you.  I needn’t lift my heavy head from my soft pillow in order to feed your morning hunger. I can’t  lie next to you at night with your hand on my arm as a soft reassurance.

I lie on your bed in the darkened room.  If I close my eyes your scent may fill my nostrils as a vapor on the evening breeze.  Your breath may light on my cheek,  your head a soft weight on my arm.

It is only a dream that ends  in a nightmare of reality.

You are gone.

When I think, I ache with loss.  Your face must come unbidden, wafting by as if you are with me…without thought, without conjure…as a fleeting joy that lets me forget.   Right now I am fighting my memories. One photograph and I am drowning in a sea of sorrow that washes over me in giant waves.  There is no relief.  The grief does not ebb.

It is too soon to think of my next hour or next day.  I must lie with shallow breath, not stirring, for fear I will breathe in the dull ache of the future with out you.

I must wait.

xxoo

I liked her idea if acceptance and sharing: not only writing about the blogs that she is awarding, but also listing some of the things that give her joy.  I’m going to copycat on that one.

Here is my partial list of things that are dearest to me in life.  (I purposely don’t include people…the list would be too long.)

Water.  I love the sound of it; a fountain in the garden, a stream trickling by or ocean waves pounding the shore.

Music.  There isn’t much music that I don’t like.  Heavy Metal?  I’m not wild about the big band sound or Dixieland Jazz.  My favorite music genres are Opera (La Traviata is my top fave) and Blues/Gospel.  This doesn’t account for the times that I soothe myself with classical piano or flute…or dance my way through salsa…or fall in love all over again to romantic ballads.

Food:  I love to cook.  I love to eat what I cook.  I’m hard-pressed to choose favorites but southern Italian cuisine always grabs me.  I love good Chinese.  Sushi, YUM!  Chili

Chile Rellenos

Rellenos.   Or just give me fresh vegetables and a well-cooked piece of fish.  There you go, I love to eat.

Conversation:  I love intense, soulful, intellectual, examine-feelings-and-ideas-from-all-sides conversation.  I don’t mind if it’s a bit combative.  I don’t mind if it is emotional.  I can take sad, glad, or anything but just cocktail party chat.

Reading (or listening to recorded books):  I tend to read books on different philosophies (Buddhism, Taosim, Mind-over-Matterism,).  These are the books I own.  I love good fiction, too, although I am getting more and more wussy about it.  I don’t want to read suspense, violence, brutality, graphic sex or other books that may entertain…just not me.  I find myself before sleep reading early 20^th century British romance authers.  A good D. E Stevenson doesn’t keep me awake beyond three pages and doesn’t give me nightmares.

Travel:  Not just anywhere.  There are countries that don’t intrigue me.  This might change if I met a person who lived there and their life seemed very different from mine.  I tend to visit the same countries over and over: 1. Mexico, 2. Greece, 3. Italy, 4. France.  There are other countries I love and other places I want to go.  Just say the word!

And then there are the blogs.  I’m passing the Leibster Award on to some of my favorites.

My first is T-Girl at Only Temporarily Insane.  She isn’t a prolific blogger.  Yet she is always thoughtful and something resonates with me each time I read a post.

Recently I discovered Slow Happy Runner and  J. M. Monohan.  Each of these women have something to say to me.  Slow Runner is working her way through the world as a widow.  J. M. is beginning another journey, that of a writer.

Rising on the Road has taken me along on her search for Finding Life in a Death, after losing her father.  She is writes the most poetic prose I have seen from a blogger who is not listed as a poet.

Wildly different is Ramana’s Musings, a blog which reflects its title perfectly.  It covers a variety of subjects and is a glimpse into a life so completely different from mine that it helps me remember that we are all the same.  Ramana is opinionated about politics, sentimental about family, and pragmatic about the direction his life has taken.

These favorite blogs of mine may take you on some interesting journeys with me.

Thank you, again, Kath, for the opportunity of letting my readers into the lives (isn’t that what blogging is about?) of those they may not have discovered on their own.

xxoo

She is always a delight, and this morning was not different.  In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I am writing with the only real purpose being to guide you to her wonderful commentary on increasing blog traffic, If you want to join the pantheon of the blog gods, the number one thing to remember is to make your post title short so search engines will have an easy way to find you; in other words, use key words, keep it simple, and don’t make it a complete sentence!!!

I have written my personal feelings on this a few months ago.  You can read that here.  As usual, we do what works for us.  I expressed my angst over the concept and she makes it witty and side-splitting.  It’s the touchy-feely version in juxtaposition to the LOL version.

Oh well, you know my thoughts on trying to be funny.  Lighthearted doesn’t come easily to me.  And it’s okay.  I have plenty of blogger friends to make me laugh.

If you’re a blogger…click on her post and howl.  If you aren’t a blogger…click on her post and see how cleverly Year-Stricken has made light of the advice that inundates a blogger’s  in-boxes.

xxoo

P. S.  BTW, for the non-bloggers, the term “SEO” refers to “Search Engine Optimizer”.

Still, I have that inner urge for blocks of freedom, which I create by traveling to foreign countries.  And then, when I am away from my own home, I have moments of panic.  Will I be totally alone?  What if I am lonely?

At times, then, I recreate exactly the situation that I left behind so that I needn’t face my fear of an emotional vacuum.

I encourage the village children to read bilingual books and use art supplies on my front porch.  Their eagerness to congregate here creates contact for me, goodwill with their parents, and a sense of shared creativity with the kids.  It’s a privilege.

The curse is that the children don’t give up easily when I am busy or not in the mood.  As I lie in my hammock behind my open door I may hear a slight noise and look up to see one small eye peering through the crack.  Or I hear my name and look up to see an agile little guy hanging from the grillwork of my kitchen window.

I have other social outlets.  I can go to the beach palapas or wander into the courtyard of a local B & B.  Most days there are plenty of English speaking people scattered at tables.  In varying degrees they are welcoming and inclusive.  Some, I have grown to know through the years so I can share a meal, a walk, or an occasional refreshment.  And there are usually a few invitations to dinner.

Here’s the curse.  The ex-pat society is a bit puzzled if I separate myself from the camaraderie.  When I choose solitude in a hammock away from the crowd, I’m considered a bit odd.

The curse also includes the social side of my personality that enjoys new people, new ideas, and a sense of belonging.  None of this is a problem.  But it isn’t what I came here to do.

When I calm my fears of loneliness, my place in this village is a perfect retreat. I am accepted without obligation other than a warm greeting to those I meet.  I am welcome to stop and visit and I am free to pass by without further engagement.  I can enjoy immersing myself in the culture of the community or listen and watch without comment or participation.

The key, as always, is to make choices for myself that allow for my time alone.

Hmm…sounds like I could do that at home.

xxoo

I don’t like that you are so far away. This is a moment I want to share with you.

Of course, I always want us to be walking and talking together.  When I turn a corner or look over my shoulder at the sound of footsteps, I’d love to see you.  There are many moments in every day when I want you to share bits of my life.

After all, you are my life…or a huge part of it.  Your quick mind and your sense of wonder spark my own curiosity.  Your view of the world broadens mine.

Right now, I miss you especially.   When it’s time for celebration, some of the shine and shimmer is gone without you.  I’d love to capture each moment of excitement and see your eyes shine with the magic.

But we can’t experience it together.  We are separated by circumstances that we can’t change for now.  I must remember each precious bit so that we can relive it together.

And I’m not going to be sad.  I’m going to think of your face, your smile, and your laugh.  I’m going to nestle into the comfy feel of you next to me, your hand in my hand.

As I move through this time without you by my side, you are in my heart.  We are  breathing the same air as it swirls through the great distance between us. The stars  are looking down on us from the same heaven.

I love you.  I miss you.  I am with you and you are with me.

Always.

xxoo

With this sort of attitude, it shouldn’t surprise you that I can squeeze the joy out of my favorite things until they are only a smudged line on my “to-do” list. I can turn a pleasure into a dreaded obligation in the time it takes for a single thought to change from “This is fun,” to “I’d better…”

I travel to leave myself behind, and then I bring myself with me.  I set up expectations of myself no matter where I am because I’m convinced that if I did anything once and enjoyed it, I should do it again.  What I loved once, I should love in every situation.

Not!

Take blogging for example.

I love my blogs.  I love to write.  I love to express my deepest thoughts. I would have thought that even if I were writing into a silent world, I would keep clicking away on the keyboard.

I came on my retreat thinking…hooray…time to write.  Time to read all my favorite bloggers.

Wrong!

My Internet connection is really LOUSY.  Posting is frustrating.  Commenting is often impossible.  And I have learned to hate WordPress.  I know.  I feel guilty, but it’s the   most difficult site of all to load.

And I’ve pretty much lost my interest in trying to upload a photo.  For those of you who follow my travel blog, you know that even those posts are few and far between.  By the time I get around to writing, find enough bars to post, etc.; I’ve lost interest in sharing my adventures.

So here’s the deal.

I forgive myself for loving to blog at home and not loving to blog here.  I’ve already spent half of my month trying to do and be what I am there.  It’s not working here.

Enough.  The mountain is a molehill once again.  It is official; I’ll post when I want to, when I can, and when those two miracles happen to align.

xxoo

So I’ll just say thank you to Let’s CUT the Crap! at   That’s How the Cookie Crumbles for my Versatile Blogger award.I’m guessing we have a mutual admiration society going here.

I’m honored.

My acceptance is to include some info (x7) about myself that you may not know.

That’s a hard one.  After all, I bare my soul post after post, year after year.  Where’s the surprise?  Hmm…

1.  My skin and hair are both white.  I could disappear on a snowy day.

2.  Most of  the lies I tell are white, too.

3.  My home is colorful.

4.  My language can be colorful at times…especially after a glass of wine.  (I always told my kids that bad language was a lack of being able to express oneself.   The more I drink, the less articulate  and more colorful I become.)

5.  I can’t remember to Twitter.  Only porn types seem to want to follow me, so it’s not a worry.

6. When I do remember, I can’t think of anything interesting to say and so it is generally just self-promotion which seems to be the point anyway.

Are your bored yet?  Only one short one to go.

7. I drive a Prius and love it.

If you love thoughtful writing, read  My Oprah Lessons.  She lets you in on her thoughts as they come to her.  Great place to brush up on Oprah Life Classes, too.

 My Funny Little Life is Kath’s sometimes whimsical view of life and includes delicious, healthy recipes with mouth-watering photos.

I guess I favor women who are taking me on their journey with them.  Life Is A Bowl of Kibble does that for me.

Back on My Own falls in this same category.

When I want to laugh aloud on the way, then I read (Love) Notes to Self.  If you have the blues, just dig into her archives and be prepared.

Year Struck is probably the most versatile of all.  She can make me laugh, make me cry, and intimidate me with her biting wit and wordsmithing.  (I just notice that she has already one every award there is in the blogging world…but I’m leaving her on the list anyway.)

Maybe it’s cheating to name Vision and Verb, since I contribute now and again.  But I love this international gathering of women who each post their beautiful photography accompanied by wonderful words.  It never fails to inspire me.

And speaking of inspiration.  Love Isn’t Enough is a thought-provoking site whose contributors concern themselves with raising their children as free from prejudice as is possible in a color-struck world.  They have taught me much about my own attitudes and those in the world that I may not have recognized.

I think I have obeyed the rules…except I have to go now and inform the women behind all of these great sites that they are the recipients.  Sorry this is gender oriented…I’ll just have to pimp the men I follow in some other way.

xxoo

Official Rules of the Award

1. Thank the award-giver(s) and link back to them in your post.
2. Tell your readers seven (7) things about yourself.
3.  Give this award to up to fifteen (15) recently discovered bloggers.
4. Contact those bloggers and let them in on the exciting news.

I promise that I have made great strides in my quest to de-clutter my life.   I have been taking a tougher stance as I examine the things in my cupboards.

Recently I had a major setback in the streamlining of my life when my Dad’s wife moved out of her home.  To my husband’s surprise and dismay, I used my little red wagon to cart home box after box of her “memorable” possessions.   I stacked the smaller items  in the back of my kitchen.    The rescued rocking chairs and earth-toned rugs went into our shop, waiting for distribution.  I created chaos in our own home in my quest to spread these manifestations of  her love among the family who loved her.

The phone lines were buzzing as I called sisters, children, nieces and nephews with the list of memories they might want to have.

These aren’t just things, they’re bits of our past.  Those of us who lived within the hug of her acceptance will never see a Bauer dish,  a brown crock or a unique old basket without the past rushing over us like a warm bath.  Her home was a hodgepodge of color and comfort (held together with dust and cobwebs) that displayed what she cherished.

And it was time for change. She has settled into her life near her daughter and I have cleared my counters and floors of most of her treasures. The even allotment of her worldly goods even spurred me to pass on  some of the wonderful keepsakes that she had given me through the years.   Everyone and everything is in a good home.

Except three lids.

There is no real value here unless someone should need one of them.  Yet, if the lid to a precious piece is chipped or broken, any one these colored bits of pottery becomes priceless.  How can I throw them away?

This is evidence to me that I have retained a bit of the depression era mentality that was pervasive in my parental pod.

Does anyone need a lid?  Anyone?  Anyone?

xxoo

Note:  This piece was created for and published by the website Vision and Verb (http://www.visionandverb.com),  …a global gathering of women of this age, on January 10, 2012.

I want to give him a shout-out. I meant to do this as I was leaving…but…

In case you’ve noticed my absence, I’m in Mexico where the internet is unreliable at best. I spend my time carrying my computer (to which is attached a “stick” with Telcel covereage, or not) to a place where there are more than three bars. This doesn’t mean it will work. It just indicates a higher possibility. I’m trying not to be frustrated. After all, I can still write. But I’ve gotten used to sharing my ideas as they come up. I miss that.

I understand that in a relationship we needn’t ask for permission. There is no “letting” me do what I want to do. Although we are married, I still make decisions for myself. And yet there is such a thing as cooperation. And compromise.

And there is total and utter confusion. Which is what he feels when I go away for a month at a time. And which is why I appreciate his attitude.

He could be Billy the  Butthead. He could act as if he approves and then be a passive-agreesive jerk. He would be within his rights to question the time, the money, the responsibilities left behind. Because we are a team, whether we work well together or not.

Instead, he picks up the load, does my work as well as his and becomes mother and grandmother as well as father and grandfather. He hosts our company. He carries out our monthly social obligations. (I don’t think he misses me on that one.) He cares for our properties, our problems and any questions that arise that neither of us could have foreseen.

He and my daughter pick up the pieces that I missed before leaving so that the puzzle of my life in a foreign country goes together as smoothly as is possible.

What a guy!

xxoo