mimijk

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Where’ve You Been?

November 13, 2014November 13, 2014 mimijk

“Bo Diddley Bo Diddley have you heard

My pretty baby said she was a bird.

Bo Diddley Bo Diddley where you been

Round the world, gonna go again” — (Elias McDaniel, songwriter)

I’ve been away a long time – or at least it feels like a long time. Not sure whether I’m really back. Blogger fatigue? Not really. More the sense that if I had nothing interesting to say, better to stay mum. When I consult, I often say that if you put your bucket down a well for water and you get a bountiful supply, you’ll keep putting your bucket down that well. If you put a bucket down a well and draw up dirt, how often are you going to return to that well? Felt like a lot of dirt to me. So I’ve been out dousing…

Serendipity, the universe, a smack upside the head – call it what you will. I received a comment from a woman named Karen in response to my last blog. I’m sharing it with you in part (you could check it out yourself, but it’s important to this little story to quote from it here).

“Dear Mimi,

I just found your blog and it could not have been better timed. I find your writing to be so lyrical and admire your authenticity…I want you to know that you have made an impact on my life at a time when I needed inspiration and the strength to move forward; I lost my husband 18 most ago; we both had cancer at the same time. 8 weeks after his death I was diagnosed with a second cancer and went through 9 months of grueling treatment, alone, without my Beloved…[L]ife has a way of being arbitrary in how we learn the real lessons, yes? Our life together was like a beautiful song – starting with an anthem of the wonder of finding one another, then verse after verse over 45 years playing out the excitement of creating a family, the expansiveness of gratitude for all our hearts could hold that spilled so lavishly onto us and those we held dear, and then even over the period of shock and awe, our determination to live in the ‘now’. to savor the tastes, the touches, the fragrances and sights of ordinary days. Your writing has restored my soul, my heart, my mind and my body once again hear that beautiful song – the one we created together that chapter and verse comforts and sustains me, and the belief once again that though we ay not always cling to it, that the Universe is on our side, that it is Love that is always the answer to aching hearts. Thank you Mimi, thank you.”

I was left humbled, silenced by such gratitude for something I didn’t realize I had done. That Karen shared this with me – to give me such a generous gift. I affected a life. I. affected. a. life. Is there a greater contribution one can offer – especially without any knowledge of doing so? I am still awed. I am still shaking my head and I am still so touched that my words helped this beautiful woman. This beautiful woman who was willing to share her personal thoughts with me.

Flash forward to dinner with someone I used to know in high school and college. Ok, we dated – but that was a lifetime ago and after forty years, it counts far more as someone who used to know you before you learned a lot about pretense and guile and the only games you could play were the most sophomoric ones. Anyway, he mentioned a memory – I was 17 or so, and apparently was upset about something. He asked me if he had done something to make me mad, was it about him, etc. My response? “You know, sometimes it’s not all about you.”

And here I’ve sat – with these two disparate, yet powerful moments in my hands. I am heartened to know I still run true to form. That I am still focused more on others than on myself. It isn’t selfless believe me – it’s just where my comfort lies.

But do you realize that you change lives with your writing? Those whom I follow devotedly, affect my day, my thoughts, expanding vistas and shrinking others that have been over-planted and tended. You have changed my life. And if we can do this with and for each other, are we not answering one of the highest of human purposes? You matter. You have made a difference. You touch with tentative but determined intention. How incredible is that? We are here. And when we hurt or thrill, when we cry or giggle – when we least expect it – we are gifted.

inspiration, life lessons, mindfulness

When All Else Fails

September 12, 2014 mimijk

I can’t believe I’ve written nothing for a couple of weeks – yet there has been so much going on that I can’t quite get a grip on my reaction to it all. Horrific events around the world, virulent illnesses, the passing of iconic talents, thirteen years gone by since 9/11. I was in NY that day – and yet to write of that day seems disingenuous. How the air stank as a disgustingly grey cloud forged uptown. Shock and disbelief trumped any sense of reality. Yet, I am here; my family is fine; I didn’t have that much innocence left for the thievery that occurred that day.

And still, this all seems like too much stimuli – I am too pained to be numb and too numb to reveal or touch the pain evinced in my heart. For reasons unknown to me, I can’t rise above this ache and feel stymied by my limitations with the English language. Somehow it feels like there’s no recovery period, no chance to re-group, cry the needed tears or resume breathing rhythmically.

This morning broke a bit differently though. The air is clear, the sky so blue it seems almost as if in a cartoon. The weariness of the leaves hinted at the promise of colors so vibrant, that the landscape waits with impatience. And I felt myself inhale for the first time perhaps in weeks. I drove with all the windows down, letting the breeze in and maybe suffusing the air around me with something fresher and kinder. Hope, hope – in the moment, for tomorrow, for the moments unseen. And finally, I bowed my head and cried.

Listening to NPR, this was playing …and I sat in the parking lot and was lifted. I hope. And I hope you do too.

inspiration, life lessons, love, Uncategorized

Ever Present; Usually Hidden

August 26, 2014August 26, 2014 mimijk

My parents were a great-looking couple. More than their physical appearances – they looked vital, engaging life with much the same grace and rhythm with which they danced. Something remarkable happened when they entered a room – they flirted and laughed and played and delighted those around them. They did it differently, for in many respects they had completely individual life constructs and approaches.

And today marks the eleventh year since my dad has been gone. Eleven attenuated, inexorable years. Eleven years that have passed before I took another breath. To say I miss him is a cliché; to diminish that fact would be a lie. He was my touchstone, the person I sought out when I needed to talk ‘work’ or topics which I held most private. He brought me up short without hesitation and he delighted in my successes. He was the most loving role model for my sons when they were little. If they have integrated any of his values, curiosity, warmth, etc, they are the better men for it.

We listened to John Philip Sousa marches when we went into work together. He would try to excite me about the book he was reading – whether it was about the life of a cell or the biography of some vague historical figure. He read the New York Times on the subway, folding the paper in that efficient way that commuters did that allowed them to hold on to an overhead strap simultaneously. And he would occasionally look over and laugh as he saw me nose-to-armpit with another commuter. We would always drive in the next day.

The words I spoke at his funeral were buried with him. Somehow I felt that they really didn’t matter to anyone except him. And with him gone, there were some thoughts that I would never utter again. And yet, I speak to him in some way or another every day.

This morning Bill Wooten @ drbillwooten.com posted a poem (re-printed below) that felt like it was meant for today and for me – as if my dad and I were walking down 82nd Street in Jackson Heights, heading for Shelley’s bakery. As if he were still reminding me to look past that which disillusions me and find the aspect that brings a greater calm. He is always here though he has been gone for so very long. He is the lump in my throat. He is the secret in my heart. He is the presence I seek in the subtle gestures in each day.

The Invitation

“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for, and

if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,

for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow,

if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or

have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,

without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own,

if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you

to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be

careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re telling me is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself;

if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every

day, and if you can source your life from God’s presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,

and still stand on the edge of a lake

and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,

weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself,

and truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.” — Oriah Mountain Dreamer, from the book ‘The Invitation’

humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, Uncategorized

Suddenly Sixty

August 6, 2014 mimijk

So here I sit, on the eve of celebrating my 20th anniversary of being 40 – or as most people would say – turning 60. 6-0. S-i-x-t-y.

– Hello, how are you?

– Fine thanks, I’m 60.

How the hell did I get here already? Even my sister acknowledges that it’s a big number. She also assures me I’ll get over it. I’m sure she’s right, even if I can’t fully articulate what it is I’ve got. I understand that the alternative is untenable – so untenable in fact, that perhaps that’s my issue. I’ve lost my sense of infallibility. I’ve exited that period of my life (which lasted a very long time) where it feels that everything goes on forever – and I’m a part of that everything. Tom Stoppard writes that one should “[l]ook at every exit as being an entrance somewhere else”. Sounds right – I am just a little uncertain about opening that door.

Of course, if we’re fortunate and healthy and inexplicably blessed, we all enter phase after phase. And no beginning is without its challenges; it takes an effort to move from childhood to adolescence, adolescence to young adulthood, young adulthood to middle age, and so on. It’s that ‘so on’ part…

I still dance with an abandon that embarrasses my children. I still cry at romantic comedies, clap for Tinkerbell and keep my playlists relatively current. I was never known for being a night owl, so there’s been no concession there. Perhaps it takes a bit longer to heal if I’m unwell, but I have much more confidence that I know how to take care of myself. I don’t do ‘mom’ jeans. I’m still in search of the perfect lipstick, blush and the eye cream that really does wonders.

Perhaps that’s it – I still believe in wonders. In fact I think I notice them more than ever before. Wonder in the breath of the wind, the intangible, unbreakable connections that tie me to those I love. Wonder at how much more meaning my days have now that they have fewer requirements to dilute the attention I might give to the sun on my face. And while I marvel, I also realize how tightly I am holding onto this life. How much I love the moments as well as the spaces in between, when I breathe in the absolute sweetness of being a part of it all.

I guess I’m going to charge right into sixty, because that’s the door that is open to me. “There are years that ask questions, and years that answer” (Zora Neale Hurston). Whatever this year turns out to be, I know it will hold its own wonders. And I’ll be clinging just as tightly as I always have.

aging, anxiety, friendship, humor, life lessons, mindfulness, Uncategorized

Passing By A Window

July 21, 2014July 21, 2014 mimijk

Have you ever had one of those moments when you pass by a window and catch a glimpse of your reflection without recognizing yourself – albeit briefly? Please nod your head affirmatively, or I’m going to seriously wonder if my crazy level just escalated.

Is there any greater dissonance than not recognizing who you are? Who you have become? Accepting that none of us perceive ourselves as we are perceived by others, at least our self-perception should align with what we see. And I have to admit, that there are moments when they just don’t line up.

When my head insists that I can rock an outfit which a) I clearly can’t and b) is arguably no longer in style; when I sit in meetings where people moan about millenials and I wonder why they’ve skipped two generations in the dialogue (including my own – hello???); when I dance around my house (full disclosure – only the dogs witness this activity) and find myself hoping the next song is a slow one.

The moments when I realize that my children are now men. Awesome men. No longer in need of that overpowering, all encompassing love that arrived in utero. In my head I am still able to carry them on my hips, pudgy fingers around my neck, little boy sweat and kisses that smacked. And always sensing that if I hold on too hard they will have to wrest themselves from me painfully. I tried to keep my grasp loose-ish. Do they even have these reflections in their mirrors? Perhaps somewhere. Certainly not something they consider when defining themselves at this point in their lives. Nor should they. It isn’t time.

Am I the woman in the little black dress meeting Andy for the first time 23 years ago this week? That curiosity and humor and hint of possibility filling the Georgetown harbor with something unrecognizable yet familiar? I could probably fit into the dress (there was some lycra involved I’m sure), but would I recognize the woman? Sometimes, perhaps…when we dance in the kitchen to a song of Andy’s creation (don’t ask).

So many passages that define this reflection, so many exhilarating moments and sad lessons, an awful lot of pain and kindnesses of indescribable magnitude. To look in the mirror and see that I’m still evolving, the image isn’t static even though there’s something to be said for thinking one is frozen in time. The reflection is the reality – no longer eligible for the ingenue roles, juggling mom, menopausal manic, or driven senior executive. Now? Good question.

The reflection is still blurry, morphing into something gentler, arguably a little easier on the image staring back. Perhaps a little less intrepid and sensing something that haunts my thoughts in ways that are unfamiliar – the limits of time maybe?

The eyes though – the eyes I recognize – they crinkle from laughter, they well too easily, they look to the sky with such gratitude. Sometimes I don’t recognize the face in toto – I just recognize the heart. And sometimes that’s enough.

life lessons, love, mindfulness

Barely Breathing

July 11, 2014July 11, 2014 mimijk

It was her signature. Such a simple, innocuous thing. Her name, in her inimitable penmanship – which I always thought was wonderful for its illegibility and graceful European quality.

The government of Austria had requested documentation pertaining to her death. I made copies from the material sent to me from the lawyer who navigated my sister and I through the maze of trusts and estates. Walking upstairs to retrieve the documents from the printer tray, what was I thinking? Probably how not to trip on twelve paws racing between and around one’s legs.

I had to look at the copies to make sure they were complete. Death certificate, medical reasons which belied the possibility that she had just begun to feel lost in her days without my dad and it depleted her too quickly. More legal documents; a last will and testament. And her name, in her hand.

Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the house, in the world for me to breathe. Andy looked at me and all I could do was show him the papers in my hand before my gasping turned into a sob that came from a place in me – a waiting room for sobs I think. Deep, primal. Nine years already? And still. Her name, in her hand. I lost my footing; I wasn’t ready. I will never be ready.

My friend doesn’t believe that there is something after this life. I believe it, but don’t really know what it is I’m believing. In an interview on NPR, Mary Roach rhetorically asks, who is better off? The believer or the non-believer? We agreed, that one with faith – in all that one can’t see – is arguably better off. But there was little doubt that sometimes pain can take your breath away regardless of your position.

“It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer…and everything collapses.” — Colette

I drove to the post office with one hand on the envelope, rubbing the spot where I thought her signature might be. The postmaster commented about the address “Headin’ to Vienna, Austria, right? And here we are in Vienna, Virginia – funny, huh?” I think I smiled. I wanted to tell him that he was holding my mom’s name. In her hand. And that it was briefly in mine.

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, mindfulness, Uncategorized

July 4th On The 7th

July 7, 2014July 7, 2014 mimijk

I know I’m a few days off – we had friends with us over the weekend, and I have yet to figure out how to secret myself away to write, while trying to maximize time with our guests. Sure, I could get up earlier still – but that’s when I catch up on reading your posts!

A weekend of weather so perfect that remaining inside would have been an insult to Mother Nature. The wind whispered its secrets through the trees, the sun stood front and center, daring a cloud to engage in a game of hide-and-seek. The clouds knew better than to try.

We decided to watch the fireworks from a mountain overlook. Not exactly a novel idea – chairs were set up and ‘reserved’ before 9:00AM. Nonetheless, we had great seats. I brought my new (and first) camera – it’s point and shoot (because that’s pretty much the breadth of my talent). The pictures I took of the fireworks themselves are truly terrible, but I promised someone I would post at least one. Somehow the time between ‘point’ and ‘shoot’ is where I failed miserably.

My words won’t do them justice either. Our elevation was such that we were almost eye-to-eye with the fireworks. The whistle, the booms and cracks echoed in the air as thousands of stars exploded, raining down with sizzle and shine. Multi-colored or bright white mattered little; we were sitting in the sky watching magic happen all around us.

And it’s that ‘all around us’ that’s circling my thoughts this morning. To our right a group of young people were drinking a lot and talking too loud about tawdry topics that had Suz and I giggling – a lot. Behind us, people who were definitely AARP members (of greater seniority than yours truly) wore red, white and blue wigs and hats, neon necklaces and delight that a child couldn’t parallel. Children – yes, all over the place. Jumping, yelling, falling over each other and everyone else. Dads and moms, golf scores, shout-outs to kids; lovers young and old. Somehow it felt like we all huddled closer, as the temperature dropped and the winds made their presence felt. People in shorts, wrapped in blankets, waiting for wonder.

And there was the greater wonder for me. People who didn’t know each other, acting as if they did. Friendship exchanged without names or judgment or pretense. Nothing mattered except being there for a shared purpose and an air of collective anticipation. That’s the 4th of July. The stars on the ground – recognizing that at the end of the day, we can share moments of tremendous delight and pride, decency despite differences that ultimately are not elevated to a level of such importance that they dwarf the heights of people enjoying being a part of something bigger than dissent. Lucky for you, I didn’t even try to take a picture of that.

humor, life lessons, love

On The Occasion Of Master Bogart’s 1st Birthday

June 29, 2014June 29, 2014 mimijk

Well, the Boge-meister turned a year old this week. We’ve been looking forward to this day for about ten months now, confident that with each passing month, Bogey would mature a little, learn a bit more and begin to show signs of the amazing young guy he is destined to be. By his first birthday we were sure he would be knighted as the third “Sir” of the Round Table.

Let’s just say some puppies advance more quickly than others.

His Aunt Lori calls him ‘her little nugget’ – her love for him is one of his redeeming qualities. The truth is that there are nuggets rolling around in Bogey’s brain, like the numbered orbs in a power ball machine. Very few thoughts translate into a logical sequence of actions with this little guy. Jo has offered to put together a behavior management program for him. I’m thinking of taking her up on it.

He occasionally knows his name, although this is a variable occurrence unless treats are involved.

We think he hears voices.

None of them are ours.

There is something under the bed (the carpet) that inspires low growls and threats. The ripple created by the pool filter is reason enough to howl menacingly into the darkness (from behind my legs – one mustn’t take unnecessary risks after all). He debates with golems in his sleep; the golems win.

He has finally potty-trained us – as long as Andy remembers the 9:00PM walk. Should he forget, all bets are off.

I will say that Bogey is highly verbal, engaging in various conversations with real and/or imagined characters whether awake or asleep. He has learned that if he whines incessantly (and it really is a whine), the Sirs will forego any toy with which they are playing, and let him have it, so that they may enjoy a little peace. He may be a little short of brain cells, but he knows how to manipulate a crowd.

He is ridiculously cute – despite his apparent lack of smarts. And he adores Andy. In truth, wherever Andy goes, Bogey is right there. Andy is besotted and looks at Bogey adoringly while often commenting, “he’s going to be a terrific dog when he grows up a bit”. Um…ok sweetie, whatever you say.

When we drive up to the mountains, Master Bogey sits up front with Andy. I sit in the back with the Sirs. Never looking out the side window, or sticking his little head out to catch a breeze, he sits straight and looks at the road ahead, focused on…well, nothing probably. Occasionally he checks in with those of us in coach, sniffing with a certain snobbery I don’t find all that becoming.

Earlier this week, we sang “Happy Birthday” to our baby dog, and as he began jumping up and down, I felt this urge to break into “You’ve Got To Fight For The Right To Party”. He is definitely a party dude. I’ve always been a James Taylor kinda girl. Sigh…

And yet, as I write this he’s asleep on my foot. He leaps and pounces with a complete lack of grace. He loves everyone he meets – arguably more than they may want to be loved. Teddy cleans Bogey’s face with affection and Bogey in turn licks Archie’s face diligently. They’re a pack. They’re my fur-guys. And I guess we were due for a little crazy.

with one of our grand-dogs Henry... — with one of our grand-dogs Henry…

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, mindfulness

Advice On Aging? You Can Keep It.

June 25, 2014June 25, 2014 mimijk

I have nothing against “More” magazine – in fact, I read it and applaud its mission to publish a magazine specifically designed for women who have traded their concerns about thigh-gap for hot flashes. However, on the cover this month (in the largest font possible) is the phrase “Secrets To Aging Gracefully” and in smaller print “from real women like you”.

Please.

Let me tell you what the secrets are – exercise, eat healthy foods (eat vegan – or not), color your hair – or not, use injectables – or not, live in the country or in the city, moisturize and be happy in your skin.

Thank you very much “More” magazine. I had no idea.

There’s something ironic about using the adverb ‘gracefully’ when one has joints that crack, a back that is willing to debate the merits of good posture, and an ever-increasing awareness that you will never be carded again. “Ha”, I say. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

There is nothing graceful about aging. There is grace in aging. And there’s a rockin’ big difference between the two.

I spent a good part of yesterday at a local hospital receiving an I.V. infusion (for osteoporosis – I share this only because I don’t want you to think darker thoughts). This will be an annual trip; it’s nothing compared to some other unpleasant medical moments I’ve had and none of them come close to the challenges others face every single day. I may feel a little off today and I know that tomorrow will be far better. This doesn’t even qualify as a roll in the barrel -it’s a jostle.

The infusion center is where people go to receive their chemo treatments. On either side of me and all around me were patients watching hope as it slowly dripped into their ports.

To my left was a 67-year-old man who cheerfully told me about the hardy qualities of the liver, much of his having been removed a year ago; the 70-something woman on my right was laughing at the nurses who had to come and adjust her Taxol drip every two minutes. These two knew each other so they just pulled me into their conversation. They talked about their children, books, the cupcake shop in Georgetown. Significant others and good movies. Oncologists and naps when it rains. Joking with the nurses and occasionally closing their eyes as the minutes dragged. Just as I thought we were going to take a break, one of them piped up with a thought. I kissed them both when I left. The nurse and I hugged. Don’t know why – it was right though.

This post isn’t about cancer. It’s about moving forward in and with life, holding delight and intent in one hand and awareness in the other. It’s about fighting for your life like a street brawler while handling it as a newborn child. There’s nothing graceful about it – it’s scary and messy and fraught and unfair and arbitrary and clumsy. It’s also magnificent and wise and proud and freeing and luscious. Aging with grace? It’s those moments in between the extremes when you smile and weep and whisper ‘thank you so, so much’.

life lessons, mindfulness

Let’s Hear It For The Fog

June 22, 2014June 22, 2014 mimijk

You think I’m kidding? One of those Mimi-epiphanies yesterday as I was driving home from the mountains. I watched the fog descend from the tops of the trees, resting its covers on top of the valley. I was going to drive home under that blanket, so to speak. Windshield wipers would flap intermittently without rhyme or reason. Headlights would appear from nowhere; the air swollen and impenetrable. I already felt a sinus headache coming on.

Better to get it over with and drive. Packed up the Sirs, found NPR on a station I didn’t recognize and off we went. We tip-toed down the mountain, acutely aware that every sharp turn is not yet second-hand, we gently rolled through small towns. Respectfully and quietly. You’d never know we were there.

Once on the highways, the sun began to challenge the density of the air. We were good to go. And I realized that fog is really given a bad rap.

When in fog, one can only focus on what is in front of you. There’s no looking for the next curve, anticipating the alternatives that a clear vista provides. Your primary requirement is to get from point A to point B. That’s it. There’s not too much to consider, your eyes don’t look around with wonder and mild confusion at all that is in front of and around you. No sense looking in your rear-view mirror very often either, for you can’t see anything back there. True, you can pull over and just succumb to the opaqueness – most keep going. And get through.

It isn’t the clarity at the end of the journey that I celebrate though. It’s the process of moving in the mist. Recognizing that in all that murkiness is the greatest focus one may ever have. Nothing else teases for your attention, no one can distract you from your purpose. And it is in those moments of uncompromising concentration, priorities get distilled to the most fundamental. What matters is only what is before you. The eye candy, plans for later, the expanded vista of possibility are irrelevant. Just focus and feel the strength of getting through. There’s something to be said for that.

friendship, life lessons, mindfulness

Hiding In Plain Sight

June 18, 2014June 18, 2014 mimijk

Hi everyone,

It’s good to be back – though I was never really gone. I tinkered a bit under the hood of the karma truck, checked all its levels and kicked the tires. And since I know absolutely nothing about cars, I’m assuming we’re good to go..

Live and Learn (davidkanigan.com) gave me a figurative kick in the butt the other day with a post containing this cartoon from Calvin and Hobbes.

I get it – there are some who feel it could always be better. Life is acknowledged first and provided with a caveat after (‘everything’s ok – but…’). But. Dangerous word I think, and one I consciously seek to avoid in my thoughts and actions. Of course things could be better, but how flippin’ self-indulgent to diminish the reality that in and of itself it’s pretty damn good. This morning I listened to the unscripted conversation between the trees as the wind traveled through their leaves, watching how one would nod, and another shake its leafy head. I am sitting outside as I write to you, looking for bears from my safe perch (haven’t seen any yet) and laughing to myself as I wonder just what I’d do if in fact I really did encounter one. The Sirs and I have been exploring the road, the foliage, the wildflowers, before returning to our aerie for a nap (them) and a bunch of books (me).

Is it perfect? Of course not. I can provide you with an impressive list of things that are not okay. I’m just not sure why I would want to do that. There are people who spend an enormous amount of time considering what wrongs have been visited upon them by others, listing shortcomings and offenses with righteous indignation. I’ve started to re-frame the thought – what kind of person am I to others? Am I bringing a little bit to the table that is more about others than it is about me? I’m trying. Because if I intend to live a good life – and I am and I do – it’s less about the injustices or pain that I have known – and far far more about the good stuff that happens every time I step outside myself.

Thanks for waiting for me to get the truck in gear – we’re heading to points north, south, east and west – though which way first, I have no idea. There’s no GPS in this thing. Have a great day – see you soon.

anxiety, friendship, humor, life lessons, mindfulness, motivation

Pick A Card, Any Card…

May 4, 2014May 4, 2014 mimijk

I always wonder how magicians do it. Being quite naive and slow to track a sleight of hand, I’m one of those excellent candidates that others shake their heads at, wondering how I could have missed it. I miss it every time. So when in the audience, I never volunteer. I’m too easy. Andy figures out all of these tricks – it’s part of that male mystique of his that requires the provision of an acceptable answer.

Lately I feel like I’m the one trying to figure out the scheme. And as usual, I’m not exactly blinding anyone with my brilliance. Rather, I’m letting each moment happen and have surrendered to the limits of my intellect.

In the past few weeks, there has been a health scare with my son (he’s totally fine – but if you think I could string two coherent words together at the time, you’d be giving me way too much credit). I stayed awake – certain that if my vigilance failed for a moment, something awful might happen. I’m not sure I was breathing, yet I must have been, ’cause I’m writing to you now. As soon as I heard he was ok I saw myself as a puddle on the floor. No longer with any form or substantive thought. It doesn’t matter whether or not he understood my reaction for it wasn’t/isn’t about me – he’s the child (even though he’s an adult), I’m the mom.

One of my sons completed his MBA. This is his second Master’s degree – both completed while working full-time at one of the most unforgiving consulting companies when it comes to time and billing (let me take that back – all professional service firms are unforgiving when it comes to time and billing). Yes, I whooped when they called his name (but at his request, I didn’t yell “Go baby!”). These men o’ mine are no longer men o’ mine – they are husbands first. And I wanted my mama lion role back (with no disrespect to either one of my lovely daughters-in-law), mourned the loss of the role I know well. Chuffing at the opening of my lair…

Andy’s parents are moving to CA to be closer to their daughter and her family. The weather will be kinder. the opportunities greater for my father-in-law to golf, my mother-in-law to get involved in some activities. Andy’s up there helping them get organized until he makes it home today. We’ll go back up together on Wednesday. I’ve been here before; there’s nothing about it that’s easy.

My cherished friend going through the ebbs and flows of possible transitions – not knowing from one moment to the next whether she’s going-along-to-get-along or passionately caring about the life choices ahead.

So I wake each day with a hint of worry attached to my coffee cup. My shoulders a bit more bent. Roles change all the time, relationships morph because that’s what relationships do. The earth always moving beneath our feet and relying on our sense of balance to remain upright.

And yet…I am acutely aware that everything is ok. I caught two blue jays yakking it up yesterday afternoon (wow are they loud). The early morning stars shone with such clarity I wept at their beauty. I gratefully accept the morning’s invitation. Somewhere inside I am as full and fortunate as any one person can be.

I am going to take a page from some of my fellow bloggers and take a bit of a hiatus. It’s not good-bye of course, just some time to fiddle with the idea of blogging, maybe change the paint on the karma truck, rotate the tires, shift gears so to speak. It’s time – we’ve been on this road together for a long time and rather than lose the company, I’d prefer to pull over and park this baby for awhile. Get outside, renew, re-think, restore.

And maybe, just maybe when I get back, I’ll be able to tell you just how the magicians do it. See you soon. Much love…m