mindfulness – Waiting for the Karma Truck

aging, anxiety, friendship, life lessons, mindfulness, politics

A Positive Note

September 17, 2025 mimijk

Hi my friend,

These days I hold my breath after asking how you are. My hunch is that you are as frightened, stressed and as quasi-fatalistic as me. There is so much horror and division; it feels like decent conversation has gone by the wayside. We see the direction this beautiful experiment is going and shake our heads, shudder, and manifest peace only to hear the universe respond with ‘leave a message at the tone’.

I promise to turn this musing around – watch this…

I have been a domestic diva of late, reminding myself that my name is not ‘Hazel’ and Andy is not ‘Mr. B’ (yes, I’m dating myself and grinning because I hated that show when I was a kid). Doing laundry, cooking, food shopping – I’m finding these day-to-day activities comforting in a way. These are all repetitive actions that give me moments of calm. After all these years, there is a mindlessness to doing the mundane, while also needing to be a little bit present. In the haze of that limited awareness, I’m pretty calm. (Note to Andy – do not in any way read this as a paean to domesticity. Definitely not the intent).

There is something about bookstores that I gravitate to, as an oasis in a desert. A cup of coffee and the time to look at every aisle, breathing the smell of book and coffee is irresistible. It’s my happy place. I never leave empty handed, which to me is reflective of a positive outlook. Between my kindle and the growing pile of books on my desk, night table, ottoman and any other flat surface, it will take a really, really long time to get through them all. Let’s keep in mind, that every time I go to a bookstore, I leave with some written work, and the piles grow. If that’s not optimistic, I don’t know what is. I have every intention of reading them all and will likely continue to increase the books in the stacks. Kind of like Sisyphus, but I enjoy the trek.

I don’t have to say this, but I’m neurotic enough to do so. These are times of incalculable tension. It is true that I have not seen anything this fraught ever. There air reeks of acrimony that isn’t handled as reasonable people would prefer (on both sides of this huge divide). And it’s scary and it’s isolating and elicits feelings of generational trauma. I only inhale deeply when I’m in my cocoon of home, hearth, dogs and books (and Andy too). This isn’t the way I thought about getting older. Naive, I suppose. But I’m holding on to hope – desperately, perhaps. Jean Kerr defined hope as “the feeling you have that the feeling you have isn’t permanent”. I think I’ll go read.

Have a good day – sending love,

Mimi

friendship, grace, honesty, inspiration, life lessons, Loretta Rothschild, marriage, mindfulness, Uncategorized

Another Musing

August 19, 2025 mimijk

Hi my friend,

Yes it’s been too long and I have no excuse. I feel like the state of our country has become so markedly different than anything reminiscent of a democracy. I race from one thought to the next, without a brake. Thoughts converge into some unappealing casserole. I’ve been thinking of hanging up my blog – for no other reason than feeling I’ve got nothing to say. Emotional impotence doesn’t foster enthusiasm; it sure makes one feel unsteady. And that has little to do with what I wanted to say. I recently finished a book ‘Finding Grace’ by Loretta Rothschild, and yes there’s a happy ending, though there was a lot in there to cry about as well. At the end of the story a character defines love.

Not too much to love these days – yet within the context of Rothschild’s words, there is far more than I realized. I have to put a little more hope in my day-to-days and recognize the exquisite moments that just happen without fanfare. And there’s the soppy side note, that Andy and I celebrated our 33rd wedding anniversary (though if we had gotten it right the first time, we’d be celebrating our 43rd). And so we celebrated love. The days, the months, the years that feel like they’ve moved faster than the speed of light. That’s where we find it – irresistible moments that deserve some attention.

Anyway, I offer up this beautiful excerpt – I took her words to heart – how can you not?

”But love wasn’t measured by endings. It was every cup of coffee, broken broiler, empty crisp packet and train ride. It was every hangover, stubbed toe, high temperature, nasty splinter and burned tongue. Every morning cuddle and blunt pencil. Every kiss good night, every lost key, sore throat, afternoon nap and sip of tea. Every birthday, hot shower, cold swim, paper cut, chesty cough, mosquito bite and bee sting. Every lost bookmark, orgasm, funeral, traffic jam and bite of cake. Every missed flight, snarky comment, haircut and unmade bed. Every first step, endless holidays, mediocre film, sunrise and poo-bag. Every missed connection, miscarriage and uneventful walk. Every wobbly table, broken heart, treasured photograph and lingering kiss. Every wedding, toothache and waiting room. Every school drop off. Every single day.”

The rhythm of life, the basis upon which love is built. I needed the reminder and perhaps you do too. Whether to blog or not too blog is a question for another day. Right now in this moment, there is love.

mimi

duality, faith, life lessons, mindfulness, music, sisters, Uncategorized

Oxymoron

October 26, 2016 mimijk

Hi my friend,

The night was sleepless and I’m wide awake…and the co-existence of contradictory realities seems to prevail. I am a contradiction in terms – held together by the small inhalations between words. You’d think that living within duality would at least offer up some deep slumber at the end of a day. Ha.

Here’s one for you – I stopped believing in atheism a long time ago (yes, an oxymoron with a little hint of humor). About the time I stopped writing everything in lower case and pretending that I was a potential hybrid of joni mitchell and e.e. cummings. That said, I still belief in disbelief, if disbelief equals wonder and incredulity and stuff that’s just really hard to believe.

I believe in God. I believe that there is something that I can’t adequately explain and seek daily, even though I know it’s there. We have conversations (ok – I do all the talking, but given my profession and personality, that’s not too common). Perhaps as my sister notes, the older we get, the more comfort we seek – whether it be in a more spiritual grounding, greater connections with others, opening our eyes and arms a bit wider – or all of the above. One’s world may become more circumspect while one’s outlook widens….see what I mean?

I believe in humankind despite our reiterative behaviors of intentional cruelty and deplorable injustice. It exists within the same construct as acts of graciousness and generosity that I witness everyday. I cry over both. And a sunrise can be as comforting as a sunset. Go figure.

So much for the theory that it can be absolutely one thing or another. Life is beautiful and unforgivably ugly. We seek forgiveness when we find it difficult to forgive. We ask for people to be held accountable and shy away from personal responsibility. We’re a funny species – which makes me wonder why we came up with ‘oxymoron’ – it’s not a particularly appealing word.

And yet –

Faith is unassailable. Small wonders are unassailable – the magnificence of a child delighting in the way a flower yields to its touch; the silliness of dancing while taking a walk (me, with my earphones on, and yes, I did make sure there was no one around); those kinds of hugs where you feel completely surrounded by love and warmth; sunlight on spiderwebs…

And somehow it is through that prism that we look everyday – how we hold our days, each other, our lives. Through its angles we are fractured and we are gorgeous, a spectrum of dualities that make no sense and yet belong together. So I repeat, go figure..

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anxiety, grandparenthood, mindfulness, parenting, Uncategorized

Holding On

October 16, 2016 mimijk

Hi,

It’s been too long, I know – most of you have understandably moved on to more reliable (and probably far better) musings. What can I say that you haven’t read before? Transitions are not seamless for me – that’s an understatement. Cognitively I recognize that every beginning requires a transition to something else, movement is far preferable to stasis, new adventures are uplifting – yada yada yada…Internally, I ache for breath, tiptoe around my life until I get my bearings and slip through the day as unobtrusively as possible. For all of the bravado, I stand before you – a wimp.

I have found it impossible to write, for I find the current climate so negative, toxic, skewed to the vitriolic that I can’t find my voice in this cacophony. I don’t want to contribute to the noise; if anything I would like to turn the volume way down. Waaaaaaaay down. How about if we whisper for a while? We might listen to each other more attentively.

Which brings me to my quiet, sacred moment of grace. I have the gift of watching one of my granddaughters once a week. I don’t write about the babies often – suffice it to say, I am every besotted grandmother who finds her grandchildren magical, perfect, amazing; every mom who marvels at her sons as adoring, devoted, gentle dads who are awed by their own children. It’s hard to write this stuff without hyperbole

Bu that’s just the segue – sorry if I went on too long.

Sophie will soon be eleven months. We get a kick out of each other, we really do. We make each other laugh, hold each other tight, she places her head in the crook of my neck and I place my nose to the crook of hers and I tickle her. She’s starting to walk and toddles with determination – stout of heart, if not necessarily equally strong of leg. Up and down the stairs, slapping each step with little hands that grab and clap and point and propel her up, up, up. When she laughs at the Sirs, her nose wrinkles. Between cruising the house and the neighborhood, reading (of sorts), engaging the dogs, and her ‘learning’ toys – we’re pretty busy. And when it’s time to nap, there’s no negotiation – she can fall asleep in her high chair.

She wakes a little disoriented and as I lift her up, she places her head on my shoulder. Within a moment she has found her spot, falling back to sleep and I lie down on the couch. I place one hand on her head, the other rises and falls with her breath. I try to count her eyelashes, trace the little pucker of her mouth as it drops open. I feel the pads of her fingers, softer than cotton. And in her breath, I find the breaths that I find so elusive these days. In this moment, we breathe together. Perhaps she can feel my heart, as I let mine adapt to the rhythm of hers. There is a reverence to this kind of quiet. This is what we’re here for. And if we’re fortunate souls, we dial it down so that we can feel it.

She wakes and we look at each other – my eyes wide and grateful, hers dreamy and a little unfocused. And then she sees it’s me and smiles, rubbing her face against my shirt and receiving kisses from the Sirs who are ready for her to chase them once again. Our little respite is done, the awe lingers.

Soon, Sophie will start day care, for it will be time for her to hang out with her peeps and engage with the world. We will still have our time, our moments. These little girls and the generosity of their parents have given me my breath, in these times when it can be so hard to breathe. And they offer the greatest grace of all – to love, to love, to love.

anxiety, friendship, grandparenthood, leaving home, life lessons, love, mindfulness, moving, Uncategorized

Lost In Thought

May 20, 2016May 20, 2016 mimijk

Hi,

How have you been? I have been remiss in writing to you timely; the thoughts in my head refused to make themselves apparent when I sat down at my laptop. True, I could have sent you some jumbled, free-form excuse for a post, but you would have seen right through it.

“Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted, contradictory, pausing, bending and stopping” — Nicholas Sparks

Yeah, I’m good…thanks..

So – we have moved. Not just around the corner – go big or go home – we moved to another state. Renting a lovely little house until our new home gets built. Ostensibly, this should be completed before the end of the year, but something tells me that’s a concoction of hope combined with good intentions. Looks delicious to drink, with a surprisingly bitter after-taste.

I have found my toothbrush, coffee, hairdryer…the Sirs have found their favorite spots in the backyard, though their enthusiasm is tempered with a bit of anxiety. Andy discovered his sweatpants, iPad and softest t-shirt. All that we’re going to unpack for this temporary stay has been unpacked (let’s not talk about how much remains unopened). I’d say we’ve made progress in a week.

I have found the supermarket, Target and HomeGoods.

I’ve had the delightful company of my almost-six month old granddaughter who discovers the world around her with a contagious delight. We’re learning as we go. My appreciation for the warm welcome from my son and daughter-in-law and her family is greater than my facility with the English language permits me to articulate.

So, I promise you it’s all good – remarkable really, given that we just threw our lives up in the air a week or so ago. And yet…

I’m so lost right now that if someone pointed the exit to a paper bag, I’m not entirely sure I’d find my way out. Directions have never been my long suit. I miss my other son, his wife and yummy daughter, I’ve lost the familiarity of faces that graced my days for years, the enveloping comfort of driving down a street that welcomed me for decades, the subtleties that define ‘home’ and gently imprint themselves on your heart.

Don’t get me wrong – it was time to shake things up. Learn a new neighborhood rhythm, find alternate ways to embrace being lost and learn how to find one’s self (my GPS never seems to have those coordinates). Grab onto some newness to life in a way that one is forced to in situations like this. I’m going to learn how to play the ukulele, start moving these arthritic hips and see if I can at least make them a bit stronger. Slowly wind my way around the maze of uncertainty and trepidation, bump into some privets along the way…I’m going to sit down and have a good cry some days and I’m going to get up and keep going. And one day, we’re going to have a new house, and it will shelter new memories, its walls will contain laughter and love, and family get- togethers will be enhanced by the miracles of two little girls who will define their grandparents’ home in ways I can only imagine.

But right now, I need to figure out where the light bulbs are…

friendship, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Dear Universe

December 6, 2014December 6, 2014 mimijk

I’d write this to Santa, but being way over the age of majority and Jewish, it would seem remarkably disingenuous to do so. Instead, I’m sending this to the universe, because based on my calculations, it’s large enough to handle a few requests from me.

Hi Universe,

How’s it going where you are? Hopefully well, and you’re approaching the holidays with both anticipation and delight. I hope you get all that you ask for and realize that you already have all that you want. I’m not a big one for lists – I’ve been blessed too many times over to look at a gifted life and seek more.

And yet.

There are some things I desperately want this year. You see, we’ll be welcoming our first grandchild into the world in February, and while I spend a ridiculous amount of time wondering what our relationship will be like, I’m spending more time perseverating about the world she will be joining. And there’s some work we really need to do.

– This year I want the world to work on forgiveness. If we’ve done something wrong – to the world or to an individual – let’s own it, apologize, forgive and learn the lesson. I feel emotionally assaulted everyday – whether it is the horrific senselessness of murder and ill-defined parameters of justice; too many homeless for my extra coats to warm; so much vitriol and judgment and too little shared compassion and faith. Anonymous haters spitting venom in virtual environments where pain is the currency and absence of accountability is assured. Can we have a body politic that agrees that a good foundation is one predicated upon us not hurting each other and/or this fragile earth we are only borrowing for a short while? Can we eliminate the ‘yeah, but…’ and replace it with ‘maybe we can’?

– This year I want families and friends to recognize that we can be extensions of our best selves to those we love the most and reflect a better self to those who we may never see again. I want memories to be filled with limitless possibilities that we inspire with the merest of actions, the most innocent of exchanges, a smile.

– I don’t want any more children to be hungry, or cold, or denied the feeling of being held in love and safety.

– I want gratitude to be as contagious as kvetching and just as colorful.

– I want the world’s religions to remember that the shared predicate is love. I’m no scholar, but I’m no fool either. If there is no love as a foundation, what is there to believe?

– This year, I want this whole growing up thing to be a little easier. I thought I’d at least know what I don’t know instead of finding the list increasing and expanding each day…Universe, I ask that we give ourselves the gift of the better part of who we are. Chicken soup for the world, I guess.

“It’s funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools – friendship, prayer, conscience, honesty – and said ‘do the best you can with these, they will have to do.’ And mostly; against all odds, they do.” — Annie LaMott

inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Compulsory Cocooning

November 26, 2014November 26, 2014 mimijk

Well, Bogey navigated us to the mountains yesterday, and despite his insistence on looking behind or beside us, we made it.

And now comes the snow, with no estimates even suggested for those of us at ‘higher elevations’. Clearly this ain’t no gamblin’ town.

It’s a cozy Thanksgiving this year – one beloved son and daughter-in-law, Andy, four Sirs (one grand-dog included at the Round Table) and yours truly. One cherished son in Toronto; the other adored one, with his in-laws. My sister is up in NY; Andy’s family in CA. I’ve never prepared Thanksgiving for four. And since I’m not sure how successful I will be at re-calculating measurements, there will be plenty of leftovers. It feels a little strange – and yet it’s ok – for everyone is where they want/need to be. And they’re fine. Let’s move on.

Something about the silence that accompanies snow forces one to pause and listen. It is right to pay attention at times like these. When the world continually reminds us why we’re angry, impotent, righteously indignant and not righteous enough, the snow blinds me to all of this vitriol. It provides a day of muted noise – a compulsory moment to feel something other than head-shaking disillusion.

Gratitude and giving thanks – it’s as white and clean and pure as snow falling. Despite some chronic pain stuff (yawn), which has compromised aspects of my life lately, I am choosing this moment of grace. To be thankful. Thankful for family and friends who are generous with their love and laughter; meager with their criticisms and callousness. Thankful that I’m going to be a grandma in February and hopeful that I may be a vital part of this little girl’s life. Thankful for new friends who expand my view of the road ahead, and old friends who have rejoined my travels and have myopic vision that forgives much of history. Thankful for giggles that cause stomach aches, tears that cleanse and puppy kisses. Thankful for books that transport and bring me home again. Thankful for music that accompanies all my moments. Thankful for featherbeds and drool-y naps. Thankful for t-shirts warm from the dryer. Thankful for those spaces in between – when my breathing slows and I bow my head. ‘Please. Wow. Thanks.’ – to paraphrase Annie Lamott. That is the prayer; the alpha and the omega. We are blessed. We love and we are loved. We have limitless capacity for a limited time. Gotta get your grateful on. And I do. Before I get to the chestnuts that will be roasting and sweet potatoes baking and turkey brining…before the smells begin to infuse the house with hints of tomorrow’s yumminess. Get to that place where the greatest tradition is observed – where you go to whisper ‘thank you’.

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.

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.