The Decades

I am 7:

What I remember: Not much except that times were tumultuous. I was forced to change schools between second and third grade because of redistricting. I was in an integrated school, and then, I wasn't. I'm sure the impact of that would have been felt seismic if my family wasn't imploding. My mom and dad separated between my seventh and eighth birthdays--as memory serves.

I am 17:

What I remember: My graduation from high school. It was a glorious time. Beyond the excitement of graduation was the elation of the next steps, being on the precipice of my future and freedom. Or so I thought. Long story short, my planned move to the dorm was cancelled, and I spent the next two years commuting to college and fighting to survive the onslaught of my brothers' antics and my mother's growing medical and mental anguish.

I'm 27:

What I remember: Kindergarten. My son had two orientations in two schools. The first orientation was rendered moot due to an argument his dad had with the landlord of our apartment building. We were evicted. Thankfully, another apartment, only a few blocks away, was available, so we moved in. Despite the second apartment being geographically closer to the first school, we were out of the district. Hence, the second orientation at the new school. My daughter was entering the parenthetical terrible twos. Twenty-seven was a blur.

I'm 37

What I remember: Upheavals. In the workplace, the CEO of the parent company died. Two years later, the executors sold the family of businesses, ending one era and beginning a new one (for me). On the home front, my marriage was crawling toward its eventual end. My 15-year-old son and my 12-year-old daughter had their eyes, hearts, and hopes trained on me for guidance.

I'm 47:

What I remember: Being in a relationship. My mind was falling in love with the idea (and the act) of falling in love. It was a long-distance affair, meaning it wasn't without its logistical challenges.

Dance Me To The End of Love

I'm 57:

What I remember: Nothing super specific; my mother died four years prior (my dad, five), and judging by my archives for the year, blogging was not a top priority. Between over-arching grief and focusing on the newish job in a new (to me) industry, I was putting one foot in front of the other and just moving right along.

One of the November posts from that year contained this quote:

"It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences."   -Audre Lorde

and creatives

I Didn't Want To Know Anything (More)

A couple of months ago, I decided to go out to lunch with one of my many cousins (Pam) from my father's side.  For context, we hadn't seen each other in several decades. Her mother and my father (both deceased) were siblings. My relationship with my father, his siblings, and their offspring suffered when my parents divorced when I was a kid.  There was, over the years, some effort to reunite the families, but mostly, they were all out of my life.  

Enter social media. Pam and I became friends in that realm. We exchanged phone numbers. We texted and IM'd every now and again.  She has tried to get me to meet face-to-face before this summer, but I always begged off, as we were, in my view, virtual strangers despite our ancestral heritage. 

Enter a death (Sqr), another cousin.  His sister (Dot) was in town for the memorial service.  Pam invited Dot and me out for an afternoon of reminiscing some days after the service (which I had missed).  I hesitated but eventually agreed.  On the day of, I discovered that Dot had begged off, so it was just Pam and me. 

      

 For context, we hadn't seen each other in several decades.  And while we are close in age, we have people and experiences in common, the second half of our childhoods and a large chunk of our adulthoods were spent in separate worlds.  Her memories and my memories did not align. 

She shared stories of her parents, our grandparents, and the epic family divide, most of which I had never heard or experienced.  It became clear that what she sought was someone to bear witness to the trauma and toxicity that permeated our separate but equally fraught-filled child and young adult lives.  

At the end of the afternoon, I told her I'd keep a good thought for her upcoming surgery (she'd shared a devastating medical diagnosis--I was the first cousin to know) and said our goodbyes, hugging it out.  

We haven't spoken since.  Enter social media.  Pam and I are still friends in that realm.  

Happy Autumn! 

Story in Drips and Dips

My daughter gifted me with a Hear Your Story book for Mother's Day.  I'm determined to complete the prompts and extra pages to expound, as one does, by her birthday (a milestone one) in five weeks.  My initial thought was that this was an easy assignment, which is why I didn't start right away. 

It has proven to be anything but.  

It wasn't long before I realized I hadn't said (a lot) out loud.  

Also, I realized that there were limbs of the family that are completely unknown to me and likely to remain so.   

Still, I'm happy to fill in these pages for her.  I hope she follows the nuggets to this space and perhaps whatever journals I still have on paper at the end, but she is not likely to do that.  It will be okay, she'll discover what may offer comfort, I trust.  

Me, Kindergarten

Happy September! 

hop skip jump

Amanda Gorman / The Hill We Climb

And just like that, it is July.  

The last several weeks since my previous post have been full on ...full. 

A few deaths, a few birthdays, a first international trip for my son, workplace goings on for him, me, and my daughter; in short, life. 

All that and then some, plus, well, you know, the dumpster fire that is this country. 

I am unable to report that I've worked on (or better yet, finished) the story of Janice*. 

I am unable to report any measurable improvement in Spanish.   

I am unable to report sketching consistency. 

On the flipside, I can report that I am still chug, chug, chugging along and still trying to tame my wild and woolly salt-and-pepper mane. 

Take gentle care, gentle folks.  

*Janice has been renamed Opal.  

And away we go.                                                           

Thoughts

*Photographs and memories 

Christmas cards you sent to me 

All that I have are these 

To remember you . . . 

May is my mother's birthday month.  Before my mother's death, the first part of May was always full of preparing Mother's Day celebrations and, of course, the impending birthday celebrations.  

Since then, the month is flooded with memories of times gone by.  

This year has had that same dynamic with one exception.  This year, I can't shake the sense of longing for the relationship I wish had developed between my father and me.   

He and I weren't close. We had made peace before his death.  

And since then, I've been able to... compartmentalize the mixed emotions.  

Or, so I thought. 

It feels weird to be weighed with memories of his presence (or lack thereof) while remembering my mom in the shadow of her 85th birthday. 

Photographs and memories...   

This song is about the longing for a loved one, a romantic partner.  It has always hit me differently, these last few weeks, more than ever.  

Photographs and memories 

Christmas cards you sent to me 

All that I have are these 

To remember you . . . 

Take very gentle care,  

*songwriter: Jim Croce

Happy Birthday

A cousin recently celebrated her 70th birthday.  Her three daughters hosted a grand party, with immediate family, extended family, and friends, from near and far were in attendance, lending to the festive vibe.    

There were games, food, music, dance, and lots of laughs.  

A joy-filled event.  

Love in action! 

Tell Me A Story

I had a dream about my maternal grandmother. 

Except she wasn't in it.  

In the dream, I was at the two-flat she called home rescuing some kittens.  

Not her kittens, for she never had kittens (any pets for as long as I'd known her).

This was the most vivid dream I've had in a long while.  

The vivid dream compelled me to look up the address (of course I remember it).

According to the street view, the building is empty and boarded up, for sale—"investor's special!"

I know not what any of these means.  

I do know that now I want kittens that I absolutely cannot have.  

                                                                 

                                                                         Buttah (flashback) RIP

Love. Like. Life.

My last romantic relationship ended four-hundred and seventy-five years ago.  

That's an exaggeration but that is what it feels like most days.  

Most days I do not lament the presence of a significant other.  

Some days I do.  

Most days I feel ready to dip my toes in those waters.  

Some days I do not. 

Most days I am too busy with family, friends, the pooch, work, and related stuff to feel any emptiness.  

Some days I am not.  

In between time, I do things I need to get through the day: talk, laugh, cry, think, throw, catch, sleep, and dream. 

Different things, different days.   

Take gentle care.  

Happy Autumn. 

 

Laundry

After our last cat died, doing laundry jumped to the top of the heap as my least favorite chore. Aside from the chore itself, is the fact that we have to tote said laundry, bag, detergent, and for me, a crossword puzzle book to the public facility--laundromat. *

Due to our respective schedules, we have chosen Sunday morning as laundry day.  

The kids, the cacophony of multiple TV screens playing different programs, the random folks who choose to present as pesky--it is a difficult place to sit and concentrate. 

More often than not, I close the book and walk about outside if the weather is agreeable. 

All things considered, it could be worse. In fact, I've experienced worse in my lifetime.  This laundromat, over many others I've visited, is clean, has mostly operational machines of various capacities and prices, and has attendants on-site to address any issue that may arise.  

So, while I do not like the chore nor much of what goes on in that space where it must be done, I am grateful for the convenience of the location and other factors that make the morning weekly chore not suck super bad.

Happy October! 

On Theme

 

This photo was uploaded on 07/24/24 with the intent that I would have written and then posted the subsequent post. 

Here we are some days later, well into August and here I am writing and posting.  

In the interim one aunt celebrated her 94th birthday (she, the mother of an only daughter) and another, celebrating birthday number 87 next month expressed extreme frustration with her only daughter.  

This only daughter celebrated and mourned for deep, deep reasons in conversations with both.  

For the record, when I talk about family, aunts, uncles, cousins, it is primarily my maternal relatives I speak of. I don't really have a relationship with any of my dad's side.  I am virtually connected to a few cousins but we haven't spent any face-to-face time together in decades.  When they speak of our grandparents, their parents, and our shared cousins, I'm at a lost.  I don't have the comfort of the history they enjoy.  

Also in the interim of the posting of that lovely sunflower a neighbor died.  Our across the hall neighbor, with whom we had a companiable relationship, had gone silent to her distant (she didn't have any relatives in town) relatives. After a couple of days of her not responding to messages, they called our local police for a well check.  

Her brother (driver of a vehicle with Texas plates) is here to . . . do what needs doing.  He's been here for two weeks.  Neighbors who have seen, met him outside the building report he isn't doing well; he is deep in the grips of grief. 

I can relate.  Deeply.

For also since the posting of that lovely sunflower yours truly celebrated another birthday. Conversations with my brothers (one actual phone conversation the other a conversation by proxy--my older brother and I do not talk) along with conversations with other relatives and friends kicked up a bunch of memorial dust. m

Here I sit on August 14th . . .  well, basically it, here I sit.  I'm not making plans beyond the next 24 (okay, maybe 48) hours.  I am living in the moment, taking it all a day and a step at a time.  

My knees will not allow much more than that.  

In other news I have posted at least one post a month save June.  What happened in June?  Still, on pace to hit 1,130 posts before years' end.  (I'm at 1,128 LOLOLOL) 

Take gentle care, gentle folks; life is a celebration, Celebrate Life.  (of Fame -the TV show, fame).  

Annual Spring Shares

When I was a kid with brothers, cousins, and a great-aunt.  

Me, when my kids were kids. 

I have had a song in my head for weeks.  I heard it years ago in a TV program. And other than the hook I cannot remember anything more except that it is haunting, about longing, and for me, grief.  

I'm sure I jotted down a note when I heard it because it hit me hard; with the intent to look into it further toward adding it to a collection. 

My recent, not-too-furious search uncovered many songs with a similar theme and hook (or title). None of the samples I played resembled the song of my memory.   

At this point, I am not sure I can trust my memory.  I do trust the emotion dredged up by said memory. 

I won't keep looking for that song.  I shall spend time with songs I already have in the collection, songs that take me away from longing and grief, songs that lighten my heart and give me ideas of moving my feel.  

It is just an idea for I am a bit of a klutz and certainly don't want an 'oops, I've fallen' scenario. 

Happy Spring

And Just Like That

The holiday season is officially (or unofficially, depending on who you ask) over. 

There were precious few viewings of holiday movies (no "Love, Actually" though I did try--once I couldn't, the thrill *such as it was* for most anything was squashed). 

There was a marked avoidance of all holiday specials and except for promos, no holiday music.  

There were no Christmas cookie baking as we are not big Christmas cookie bakers / eaters.  

For all that wasn't there was much talking, laughing, eating, and acknowledging how grateful we are to have our health and miles and miles of good cheer. 

  

  

 

This Is November

I know, already?  Yes, already.  

And speaking of ready, who is? For anything? Everything? 

The few retail outlets I've visited in recent days are nearly 100% outfitted for the December 

holidays (let's face it, mostly Christmas), the holiday movies have hit the airwaves and the 24-7 holiday music programming has begun.  

Ready or not, here it is.  

Of course, we may all to choose to embrace the joy at our own pace despite the peer pressure.  

I'm choosing a much slower place.  My daughter and I have spoken of and watched a dozen or so  DIY videos for simple <i>holiday</i> themed (simple) table-scapes but otherwise we are both focused on the  November holiday; she, menu planning and cooking and me, everything else.   

In the meantime I'm trying not to think about elections (runoffs and such. GA, really?) outcomes, majorities, red, blue, the time change and how much the pooch does not like walking in the dark.  

Psst..neither do I.  

My (hands-free) flashlight chose this time to stop working.  I'm shopping for a replacement. 

Ready or not, here we are.  

Welcome to November. 

 
 

Daily Practice

Sitting. Thinking.  Trying to draft.....  something.   

Nothing but everything is coming to mind.  

When in flux, do a list:  

My dad died ten years ago (on the 6th).  I feel the loss but moreover it is a reminder that coming 

in February is the tenth anniversary of my mom's death.  It still feels kind of unreal.  

My daughter and I have lived together off and on since her birth.  She developed habits in her youth that remain today.  A couple of said habits bug the bejeebus out of me.  She is aware but . . . ugh.  

If the actor (my son) were to order business cards he'd barely have room for his name what with all the different things he does.  When he's out and about, he's difficult to peg and when people ask, he varies the reply but it is usually, "performer" or some variation therein.  

Per the memory tape in some of the social media platforms I've used over the years it appears that I've had bouts of great busy-ness with little reward or progress; usually as related to the work I do (or have done).   

Hmm  . . . 

While I do sketch often, I don't find the window to do it every day.  I'm grateful to be part of several groups that help with motivation and inspiration.  And I see some pretty amazing sketches; heck, full on works of art.  Dang.  

I have not cut my hair since making the decision to grow it. However, I have discovered that I am not 

the personal hairdresser I was in my youth.  Plus, the texture has changed, which has altered some options.  

Still, I keep it going. And keep it simple.  

It boggles my brain and shakes my soul that I have a forty year old son and a daughter who will 

soon be thirty-seven.  Yet, a check-out clerk carded me for a case of beer the other day. 

I haven't quite decided how to feel about that.  

Somewhat.  

It's Autumn?  Wow. 

Take gentle care.  

  

 

And, So

Throwback / Flashback 1978*

There are two recipes, written on yellow index cards, affixed to my refrigerator with magnets.  The intent was to entice my daughter (the professional cook) to prepare one or the other or better, both of these recipes.  

They are: Cajun Deviled Eggs and Apple Cinnamon Chimichangas.  

Both have manageable ingredients lists and steps.  Both tout prep times of. . . well, I didn't even include the prep times on the index cards so I presume both were / are very short. 

Either, both are recipes I could pull off.  While not a professional cook, I've done okay over the years.  I may have mentioned a time or two that I never enjoyed cooking.  It was necessary. I did it.  I achieved some measure of competency through the years.   

I don't have to wait for my daughter, the professional cook, to prepare either (or both) of these recipes.  

But, I will.  

Both recipes will remain affixed to the refrigerator with magnets.  

*art class assignment: zipper study

Middle

When I started this post it was precisely the middle of the month (hence the title) and I was stuck with what to talk/write about.  Now, it is well beyond that and I'm a little less stuck, thanks to a shoehorn. ::smile::   

Some days ago my shoehorn broke.  The shoehorn was beloved, note because it was a shoehorn but more because it was gifted to me years ago by my mom. And it was hands down the most useful tool I own/ed. 

So, I went shopping (not physically, don't do that anymore--well, yet) but tap, tap, tap--looking over all the different options for shoehorns.  

And, wow are there a lot of options.  Part of me expected it because I looked for a thumb drive recently and whoa, talk about options. But part of me was surprised and I'll admit, a tad overwhelmed.  I went down a virtual rabbit hold of all manner of dressing aids; shoes, socks, and more.  

Good to know those things exist for if / when.  But for now, I had to stop and pick.  

I did.  I am now the owner of a replacement shoehorn. The choice even included a, "travel" sized version. I'm not sure my two new shoehorns will move to the beloved stage but for now, they are welcomed additions.  The non-travel sized one is used every single day, easily the most useful tool I own. 

Have a great rest of May! 

  

Times Gone By

The first few years of my childhood, my mother dressed us in our finest for holidays; Easter being among the largest and the dressiest of those.  Our wardrobe was selected weeks before, set aside and then prepared the morning of, we were primped an preened until we glistened. 

Once perfection was achieved, a photo was snapped.  

Usually.   

Then we headed off to church and onward to our grandmother's for family time and some grand eats. 

While those rituals (or traditions) were suspended by the time I was ten (our lives had taken and decidedly drastic turn) they were revisited in my late teens, early adulthood.  My initial nuclear family was well fractured but there was still the extended; at least until my maternal grandmother died.  I am thankful to have had her with us for the earliest parts of my children's lives for their own experience a few of those grand gatherings and grand eats.  

Through the years the rituals / traditions took on different shapes; church waned, dressing up waned, toward a slow roll to present day; celebrations are not even on THE calendar day.  

Everyday we are able to come together is a celebration.  The one constant through the years has been grand eats no matter who's in the kitchen and a grand experience.  

I love hanging out with my son, the actor (and beyond) and my daughter, the chef (and beyond). 

Happy Spring!

feliz aniversario

 

Tuesday, March 29th, marks the 15th anniversary of this space.  Two days ago, I had precisely what I wanted to post to commemorate the momentous occasion, but I didn't write (or type) it down, so it is gone.  

Lost within the recesses of my mind.  

Oh, well.    In the spirit of "winging it" I shall revert to the time-honored blog tradition of listing stuff. 

1. Fifteen years ago, my son and daughter were in their twenties.  

2. Fifteen years ago, there were many blogging folks.  (I miss them, that.)   

3. Fifteen years ago, I was not as active with my sketching.  

4.  I am overjoyed to have found the time and space (emotionally and physically) to become active with my sketching.  

5.  More often than not, I'm at a crossroads as to sketch or to write.  One day I shall begin the discipline of combining the two.  

6.  The sadness mentioned in the previous post continues; not only grief but conditions; the county, country, the world.  

7. I am tired. 

8. I shall persevere. 

9. F I F T E E N years.  I was going to link to the song, "Shout," but after listening (really listening) to all of the lyrics (not just the hook), I decided not to.   

10. I will link to this son,g which has been ribboning in and out of my consciousness for weeks now. 

11. So, how many more passwords will I have to create?

12. Hair.  Just because it's always hair.  :-) 

13.  No, I haven't cut it. I might.  But, I don't think so. 

14. I'm counting the days until I (we) can get another cat (or two).  

15.  I am also counting the days until folks get tired of FB, IG, Tw*tter, Sn*pch*t, T*kT*k, and the dozen (?) or so social media posting, trolling platforms and come back to the tried, the true.... 

Be kind to each other.  

 

January Twenty Twenty-two

 

And just like that it is the end of January, Twenty Twenty-two.   

My January consisted (in part) of leaving the tree up the entirety of the month; mostly due to not have a suitable storage tote in which to store the additional items purchased for the new tree.  This is the first tree since moving to this apartment February, 2019. And we hadn't had a tree at the old place since . . . 2014?

I think. 

Anyway, the tote has been purchased and the tree is coming down today.  

I came across an item in social media making a case for having a tree year 'round; decorating it for 

Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter, Cinco de Mayo, the Fourth of July,  Halloween, Fall Harvest, 

Thanksgiving, and then, back to Christmas. 

In theory, it is an interesting idea.  I suppose there are some items that would work for multiple themes but I can't even begin to wrap my head around the storage challenges.  

THAT and there is a long time between the Fourth of July and Halloween equals a no for me. So, tree comes down, Christmas (and winter) decorations are going in the tote and down to the basement storage locker until December...something...2022.  

I hope you have had a peace filled, healthy, safe, and zen kind of January.  The last few days of my January are set to be filled with snow and below freezing temps.  

Pass the hot chocolate.  

Ta Ta for now.    

**artwork in response to art group prompt: "the months--January"  a friend offered some suggestions; A.A. Milne being one so, Kanga and little Roo.  The other, well, of course all the tossed trees during the first couple of weeks of January.  

Christmas Just Ain't Christmas

 

This was going to be about Christmas. But now, Christmas 2021 is but a distant memory except to say I didn't have the kind of experience that many others seem to have had; mine was precisely as envisioned, as designed. The holiday had been scaled back a wee bit, year-by-year since my mother died in February of 2013. Well, truth be told, Christmas 2012 was pretty basic since my dad had died that previous September and by December, my mom was pretty sick with (what I didn't know then) was lung cancer.

The non-traveling, cocooning type of existence plays into my personality type. Granted, my daughter would rather have more people around but for me, for now, she and my son are plenty of company and plenty of energy.  

Which brings me to what brings me here today, on the second day of the new year; the year in review: 

I still have not cut my hair.  I still don't know what to do with it beyond washing, conditioning and braiding--but then, maybe that IS what is to be done with it.  

I'm still sketching. My daily practice has turned into a more every other or every few days practice; but I'm still creating and expanding skills.  

I do still have health and weight loss goals to achieve; these have been sort of rinse and repeat kind of endeavors but think I have settled on a different approach for the coming days, weeks, months, this year toward achieving different (more favorable) results. I shall keep you posted.  

My workplace is experiencing some transitions. I will continue to work remotely and I hope that the coming changes will ultimately equal success for myself as well as the company at large.  

My son, daughter, and I are still healthy; that is to say we have managed to avoid any positive Covid tests.  As they are out and about frequently (mostly for work) they test frequently.  All of us have had vaccines and boosters (mine is scheduled for next week). I've been hearing across with internet wires that folks believe that at some point, "we're all going to get it."  I hope that isn't the case. 

Two days in, I've managed to achieve each of my daily practices.  May this continue for the next . . .  three hundred and sixty-three.  Well, maybe the next five, at least.  

There is other news from this year; some even from last month but I'll save those stories for another time. Which is to say, I expect to come back here again and again and again. 

Dear Bloggers, please take gentle care.  Be safe, stay safe in as much as is possible to do so.  

Merry Christmas.  

Happy New Year. 

Cheers to 2022.