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! 

A Story, Not (Yet)

 

Toni Morrison: Song of Solomon* 

Hello, 

I've been working on a story for the last few weeks, intending to craft it with tremendous care.  However, I seem unable to get out of the starting gate.  My mind wanders, my heart pounds, and my legs...let's not talk about the aches in my legs.  

Physical pain, mental and emotional anguish, I am in short, stuck.  Or rather, I feel askew. 

The story is about a woman who is on the brink of change.  She is excited, yet afraid; undecided about how or even IF to lean into the circumstances.  

My own lopsidedness is likely one reason I can't give voice to any definitive choice or action for Janice.  

Rest assured, I will work through my physical pain, find sustainable solutions for the anguish, and discover the crux of Janice's tale.  

In the meantime, let us have sketches; old and new.

Kindly, 

Middle Girl 

*you wanna fly you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.  

New Year, Same Me

 

Well, not 100% the same, but mostly.  

Wednesday, January 1st looked a lot like Tuesday, December 31st.  

But, there is a shift, of sorts.  A change toward developing (or rather, re-developing) more positive habits toward more positive goals and outcomes.  

We are seduced by the "new" in Happy New Year! Or, I should speak for myself.  "I" am seduced.  

Or, should I be? 

I feel an urge, but not a sense of urgency. 

But, I do.  

Kind of.  

New Year, same me.  

Cheers! 

Art

A few years ago I resurrected a long-dormant practice.  In my latter high school years, I majored in art.  It was the intent to major in art in college.  I did create a portfolio as part of my application to the department.  My emphasis was drawing (over textiles, sculpture, or painting). I was accepted to the department. Had I continued, I would have entered the department as a degree candidate.  

I didn't finish college.  A long story for another time.  However, I continued drawing and exercising other disciplines as time and materials allowed.  There was, though, quite a lull during the child-rearing years.  

The 80s and 90s were a virtual blur.  

Bremen, In

It took until 2018 to begin a more regular sketching practice.  Since then, I've completed 5 sketchbooks.  I am weeks away from completing the sixth.  I've joined groups that prompt, motivate, and inspire. I've shared the sketches publicly and have endeavored to grow artistically.  (charcoals, y'all)  

A friend tagged me in the Mural Mosaics Global Roots program which allowed me to paint, which I hadn't done in decades.  The final product isn't exactly as I envisioned but sits in a little easel, on display, in my living room. I am grateful for the opportunity and happy to have finished.  

If you're in Bremen, IN visit the mural there.  If you're in any of the other cities (or countries) where other murals are situated, visit those too.  If you're of a mind, complete a registration for your own tile, and give it a whirl.  

Big fun.  

Thank you, friend.      

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! 

For Now, This

Of course, I did not intend to stay away for so long.  

Of course, I won't regale you with all that didn't happen, namely my thoughts solidifying into a comprehensible mass. 

Of course, summer has bled into Autumn.

May kindness rule over the next few days, leading to the next post.  

Asked and Answered

Growing up my friends and family called me Debbie. At some point in adulthood, I became, Deborah and I corrected folks who slipped to call me Debbie or . . ugh, Deb.  

There was a regime change at my work a year or so ago. My new supervisor began referring to me as, Deb.

Other colleagues followed suit (mostly in emails and IMs).  I never made any moves to stop/correct them, convincing myself it wasn't that it wasn't a big deal.  

It isn't.  Really.  But, . . . .   

If you ask my name or what I prefer I say, Deborah.  Deb o rah

Last week a patient insisted on changing the pronunciation from Deb o rah to Dee BOR ah when she noted how I spell my name (the context being my name is part of my work email).

For the record, I detest the Dee BOR ah pronunciation; though technically many folks accept that way of saying Deb o rah. The conversation with the patient was more frustrating than the dozens of emails and IM messages that begin, "Hi Deb" . . . 

The saving grace was knowing I wouldn't have to speak with her again; her problem was solved, and her case was closed. 

It will feel weird to add in my reply to the Hi Deb emails with...oh, by the way, my name is . . . 

All things considered, there are greater issues with which to take umbrage.  

But if you ask me my name, I'll say . . . 

DebOrah

 

Thank You. 

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).  

Verano

Some time ago I started working with one of the language apps to learn Spanish.  I have had some success but I have also stalled. I have been unable or unwilling to fully commit; I haven't done more than two lessons a day (though I do log in daily) I haven't (seriously) sought out other learning methods, no Spanish language listening apps, no written stories beyond that which is provided for free through the free app, and as important, no serious efforts to connect with other learners for real-time conversation.  I discovered that our local library has a group that meets once a month or so.  But short of finding and investigating sources, that has been the extent of taking the learning to the next level.    

I languish at the basic learning level. 

What will be the catalyst to move the meter? 

Mientras tanto disfruta tu verano.  

I am going to enjoy mine.  

Take gentle care, 

oxox 

New Month

Happy July.  

In the wise words of Lorraine Hansberry, "Never be afraid to sit and think."  

Sitting.  

Thinking. 

Unafraid.  

Take gentle care.  

Apropos of Month-End

site for article

I was clicking and scrolling about the internet and came across an ad for Gorilla Sofa. Imagine my shock and awe when the search bar query yielded multiple images of multiple varieties of magnificence.  

Now, I can't imagine feeling the need to NEED to have such a thing in my living space but several folks across the web exclaimed just that. 

Different strokes and all that whiz. 

Happy End of May.  Happy beginning of P R I D E Month.  

Journal Art: A Start

Pineapple Art 

Berries on the vine

                                                               

Grapes

I journal.  I do art.  I'm recently endeavoring to do art journaling.  What you see here are my most recent entries. I am still deciding on a central theme; these efforts are more of daily practice sketching with a twist. 

Don't worry, I still have charcoal experimentation ahead; I still remember.    

Ninety Days

I am here.  

Again. 

Reset.

Rinse. Repeat. Return.

To the series of good habits for the well-being of mind and body. 

Ninety days. 

One day at a time.  

I can clear my system in 90 days

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

Snack Happy

Recently I celebrated my tenth anniversary with my current employer. Please note that the folks who hired me are no longer with the firm (due to an amicable merger and eventual resignations due to other factors) but the spirit and the nature of the larger company still exist, most days. :-)   

Soon this space will celebrate an anniversary as well.  (March 29, 2006, was the first post) The second was published in May, 2006.)

I have ruminated over the last several months about both spaces; how long will working remotely be a perk that holds me in place? How attractive would a different position have to be to entice? Am I as ready to stop the grind altogether? 

And in this space? Should it remain Middle Girl (I have to admit to not being in love with the moniker)--I am a long, long way from the "girl" stage of life and have to admit more, I have an issue with referring to adult women as, "girl" (even in the cultural colloquial, "sister girl" manner). 

That's a blog for another day. 

But, re-brand to...what? 

Beyond what to call it, am I still drawn to publish thoughts, art, and beyond? Am I encouraged, motivated, and entertained, by the engagement of others (btw: yes!)  But, enough to work to grow, expand, and shift the focus for even greater engagement? Or Is the current level enough--and for how long, how much?   

Some folks who left blogging when folks were leaving to head over to the lands of other social media platforms have begun to return to this platform; each for their own reasons.  It isn't a flock by any stretch but, encouraging, to be sure. 

Not prolific recently as in years past, (140 posts in 2006) the space has begun to feel a tad abandoned, held taut by a slim thread.  That said, I have routinely felt more at home here than on any other platform, for what that is worth. 

Much, I think. 

Still, I also feel a pull for some kind of change. 

Or not; this is anniversary musing or the prospect of Spring. 

It is

 When I snapped this photo it was early in the month and now the month is nearly over.  

Wow. 

I haven't started using the charcoals yet but am starting to get back into my daily sketch practice.  I haven't sketched "daily" in recent weeks but certainly more than in the weeks preceding the first new sketch in several weeks; nine in the last month.  

Woot.  

twenty twenty four

We are now twelve days into this new year.  Twelve days of . . . well, honestly, same old stuff.  I didn't set any specific intentions for the new year other than continuing on the path of better...everything; eating, walking, working, playing, thinking, laughing, loving, writing, sketching, and maybe even some painting.  

Actually, there is a specific intention... I was gifted some color pencils and charcoal sticks.  I haven't worked with charcoal since high school.  The intention is to dig into reacquainting myself with that medium. 

That should be fun.  

The forecast for the next several days is winter at its most wintery; cold, snow, and more (deep) cold.  If you're in a part of the world experiencing some extreme weather (or some other extreme) be careful and be safe. 

One day, one step.