post epiphany

January. Post Epiphany & MLK Day.
Ok, so I need to take down the Christmas décor before I can have space for something, anything new. That’s clear enough. And the internal bargaining begins…What if I just got a few primroses for the pots outside? Could I do that before I get the tree down? Maybe what I need is a kick start – you know, something bright and cheery for inspiration?

So, primroses.

A house free of Christmas clutter.

My closet dealt with.

Boxes opened, sorted, and lots of stuff tossed from my study
and the leftover church stuff in the garage tackled.

A plan – that’s what I need. A plan that takes me through this year.
Through graduation. Summer. Fall. Then moving back to Seattle.

Deadlines do help.

What do I want to do? What do I need for me?

Prayer time. Quiet meditation space. Poetry. Writing.
Time for imagining what could be. Hospitality.
Finding the sacred in everyday. Noticing. Time with my gurus.

That feels good.
Like I can take a deep breath and know that hope/help is on the way.
Amen.

before spring

Aargh. Ouch. Damn. I don’t even have the right word for the emotion. This dance of independence comes with a heart-wrenching realization that he’s going to do any and everything in his power to let me know that I am no longer wanted or needed. Dirtying the nest, some have rightfully called it. The push pull – complete neediness (usually disguised as forgetful, cluelessness) and the complete disdain for anything I might do on his behalf. What’s a mother to do? Stop buying his favorite cereal and planning pizza for dinner? Stop asking when he’ll be home? Stop worrying? It goes against everything I’ve shaped my life around these past 18+ years. And I know that I have made good progress in this letting go time. Really, I have. Trust. That’s the word that comes when I allow myself to get quiet. Trust that all will be well (though I’m pretty sure the mystic who said that was childless). Trust that this, too, shall pass. While I believe in those statements, their power to soothe is elusive just now. Trust is a good wintertime aspiration. In this time before the buds appear, before the maturity appears, before the letting go process has been completed (at least for this cycle). Trust. What I need is buried beneath the earth. It is in the seemingly dead branches. Like the brown vine across the front porch. I have learned that it is only by resisting the urge to cut it back when it’s past blooming, that we will see more growth in the spring. I hope that the same can be said of me.

Grandmother

Solitaire. That’s one thing I remember. She taught me to play, we played together, and on occasion, I would come into the dining room and find her playing alone. Of course she used real cards, with pretty pictures on the backs. Not the virtual version I seem to be turning to. It’s calming somehow, and numbing, too. Was it the same for her? A way to escape, and to put things in order? My Grandmother is dying. She’s been gone for a long time – dementia took her when I wasn’t looking. Actually, the loss happened when I moved away. I didn’t know to say good-bye, a real good-bye before we moved.
I keep trying to imagine what her life was like. What she thought of the costs of living, of choosing what she did. It’s easier to imagine the joy. Because I could see it in her eyes when she looked at me – at her family – and especially at Alec. Love of family. A desire to have everyone close, and to feed us. She passed those loves and passions on to me. Solitaire and large family dinners. Those seem to be discordant, but I know too well that they are not. And I am grateful.