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anxiety, grandparenthood, mindfulness, parenting, Uncategorized

Holding On

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.

 

 

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anxiety, bias, friendship, life lessons, love, Orlando, Uncategorized

Disbelief

mimijk

Dearest Simon,

It has been too long since I’ve written – but if you knew how often I think about you and Jilly, you would feel overwhelmed with warmth, friendship and arguably quiet smiles.  You are so loved.

Your pictures have filled me with delight (and is there any way I can make copies of some of them – seriously – I want them in my new house) and comfort and hope.  Even when hope sometimes seems too ephemeral to hold.

This is going to be a bit political, perhaps more than a bit.  I ask that people refrain from posting ‘hate’ rebuttals.  At the risk of sounding harsh – you are entitled to your opinion as much as I’m entitled to mine.  But this is my blog, so perhaps you can begin your own if you want.

Audrey Niffenegger wrote – “There is only one page left to write on.  I will fill it with words of only one syllable.  I love.  I have loved.  I will love.”

I don’t understand what is happening in our world.  I don’t understand why we don’t hold our children in the highest esteem – so that we raise them in a world that doesn’t feel like it’s one breath away from self-implosion.  I can’t wrap my head around vitriol, hate, rage that foments more rage, violence that – like a cattle prod –  propels people to consider more violence.  Yes, this is about Orlando.  Yes, this is about insincere apologies (if they are offered at all) and veiled intimations that extremism is the best answer to extremism.  What can I say?  I’m an aging woman who marched after Kent State and was hit with lead pipes for doing so, who wore a necklace for too many years with the expression “war is not healthy for children and other living things”.  And yes, it turned my neck a hideous shade of green.

I wasn’t going to write about this today.  I was going to tell you a funny story about my new temporary neighborhood.  It can wait.

There is no comfortable way to end this – other than by sending love to you and your family.  To insist that I will just try greater kindness, find opportunities for compassion and work like crazy to make sure that my walk and my talk are in sync.  There really is only one page left – and we are writing it with our words and deeds.  I write to you because I write with the deepest, most loving conviction.  We have to stop killing each other.  We have to stop jumping from individual perceptions to massive generalizations.  One person at a time, one heart at a time, arms wide open.  So, with head bowed and heart hopeful and saddened, I send much love, Mimi

anxiety, discretion, friendship, leaving home, life lessons, love, moving, sisters, Uncategorized

Before The Sun Rises

mimijk

Hi Deb,

You have helped me through these last few weeks more than you know.  And my gratitude is inestimable.  Thank you for understanding that new chapters are exciting and daunting, bold and frightening, hopeful and rife with doubt.  That I swing between these extremes from one minute to the next, like the proverbial cradle in a treetop.  A precarious position from which to observe one’s days, let me tell you.  Have I snuggled in yet?  Hardly.  Right now I feel like I’m invisible in my own life.  My son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter know me, her family has welcomed me warmly.  And that’s all I know.

And that’s all who know me.  Well, my neighbor Mike – who has graciously welcomed the Sirs, despite Archie’s early morning sun salutations that arguably could wake the neighborhood.  Poor guy, he spent his life with acreage separating him from the rest of the world, so he and Bogey could greet the day with unbridled enthusiasm and only risk the ire of some late-rising birds.  He really doesn’t understand why I’m telling him to ‘shhhh’ at 5:00AM.  I’d like to know that someone knows I’m here, but not necessarily because my dogs insist on it.

Because of my geographical challenges, Andy keeps encouraging me to purposefully get lost each day and find my way back to home base.  Funny guy – his rationalization for my GPS not being updated, I guess.  I’m lost already – and I’m sitting at the kitchen table!  Oh, and did I tell you how I took out my side view mirror as I backed out of the new garage?  Yup – thought I saw a snake (it was an extension cord).  And you wonder about my hesitation to just go?  I’m intrepid in my imagination – it’s safer.

Ah well…life transitions.  I’ve never been good with them as you know, though I’m damn lucky that they happen despite my reluctance.  Just when you feel like you’ve got one aspect of your life down, fate yells “Plot twist!”.  Children grow before you’re ready to let them go; newlyweds get used to each other and morph into something familiar, but different from that frenetic excitement; our inside age begins to disconnect from our outside appearance; life laps at the shore as we’re standing on the boardwalk wondering what the hell just happened while we were looking for the concession stand.  I keep looking at everyone else and wondering why I’m not getting my feet wet.

The truth is this is the perfect time to wade in – because no one knows me, because I am not really visible.  I can try anything I want and it will make no difference one way or the other.  But for the fact that I tried.  And that’s what I’m slowly starting to understand.  I spend so much time fretting over what I did or didn’t do, wondering if I’ve pissed someone off, what I could do to make a situation better – it’s kinda exhausting honestly.  And I don’t have any power other than to try to be a decent human being.  To love wholeheartedly and let go when asked, try and be a little nicer to myself as I haltingly begin to walk to the shore.

And so I circle back to you – and your loving reminder that I’m not untethered, that I belong even if I’m not sure at this point where I am.  Your refusal to let me deflect the conversation away from me (and we both know I’m pretty good at that).  Maybe it’s just knowing that you remind me I’m ok, that you’re my sister,  and when one is loved, precise coordinates aren’t necessary.

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

Lost In Thought

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…

 

aging, anxiety, friendship, leaving home, life lessons, love, Uncategorized

Connecting The Dots

mimijk

Hi Simon,

I’m trying to find the better part of me, and when I engage in such challenging activity, I am always tempted to talk to you.  You see me as better than I am.  The truth of the matter is, you see everyone and every situation bathed in a light that softens the edges, mutes the glare, blesses the spirit. (If you don’t believe me, check out his blog windinmywheels.com – there’s just something about my friend Simon).

People spent their snowbound days differently.  Just as the snow began, we were meeting with a stager – a very talented woman who claims the professional mission of depersonalizing a home and transforming it into a space that others could love.  So, I have been packing and purging – nauseous and angry and and considering everything except the pictures of my family (in all its iterations) dispensable.  I’m not convinced I’m ever going to feel that sensation of ‘home’ again.

And yet you reminded me that ‘home’ has a far, far different meaning than I ascribe.  Your quote “Home is where your heart is.  It is your resting place” – my heart is everywhere, Simon.  It feels both full and far too diffuse.  It hurts.  And as stupid as it sounds, home could be anywhere (and has been, believe me) I felt my family around me.  And though we will find a place to rent here and a place there, I am less and less tethered.  Is love what keeps one from floating away?  I have no idea.  Clearly if one were to determine what ‘element’ I am, it isn’t air…

So how does this all connect – bear with me.  Our first dog was a little schnauzer named Demi (hybrid of my sister’s name and mine).  I loved that pup as only a child can (though I think the person who truly adored Demi was our dad – they even looked a bit alike).  Yet, when I was told that I needed to ‘share’ him with my sister, my response was to tell my parents that she could have him.  I didn’t want him anymore. A lie of course, indignant and self-defeating without question.  If I loved him so much and had to let go of him a bit, I would let go of him completely.  Just so you know – we shared Demi, loved him and his nuttiness and there’s no unhappy ending.

And here I am today – plowing through closets and rooms that held the people I love in various stages of growing up (which include some moments that one might want to forget) and railing – ‘Take it all. Give it all away – none of it means anything to anyone but me anyway’.  Hmmm…similar reaction to sharing that little dog all those years ago.

I guess I go to extremes, huh?

And yet my friend, if I want to extend a little kindness to myself, I could just admit that sometimes it’s hard to love – family, home, memories.  It’s hard to let go and harder still to trust.  It’s hard to be understood by the people who you think would get it, and then you are given the chance to cry with relief for the friends who do.   And that brings me back to writing you.  Thank you, Simon.  Thank you for being so selfless that from across the pond, you sat with me for awhile.  You let me go first as we sat and talked.  And you nodded and smiled.  And in that moment, I felt blessed.  Wherever I go, I will remember being there with you and perhaps I will rail a little less and relish a little more…

Much love to you and Jilly,

Mimi

 

 

 

 

 

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When One Door Closes…

mimijk

Hi,

Just checking in…this New Year is beginning – as most do – with ridiculously large amounts of hope and an almost equally impressive amount of anxiety.  It’s all about balance…

They say that when one door closes, another opens.  Whoever ‘they’ are, may I call ‘b.s’.  When a door closes, it’s shut.  There may not be another door, hell there may only be a window that’s been painted shut for years.  That kind of closed that is going to take some muscle, intent and a few tools.  And then prying it open can take some time.

No worries, I’m not going to suffocate.  I’ve got the window wedged open a crack, and I can smell the freshness in the air.  I check on that door every once in a while, but I’ve gotta tell you – the damn thing won’t give.  It’s not supposed to.

We’re putting our house on the market sometime next month.  And as every cliche attests – after twenty three years, it’s far more than a house – it is the keeper of secrets and memories, of hugs and arguments, firsts and lasts.  My sneakers are in the garage, placed there when we moved in so I could be ready to run and it is here in the quiet of the morning where I also planted my roots.  It’s where I checked on sleeping sons every night and/or waited in the family room for them to sneak in from wherever they weren’t supposed to be.  It’s where we worked to blend a family and succeeded and failed and succeeded and failed.

It’s where I could hide or choose to be found.

We moved here when I was young.  Now I’m not so young.  I had a new husband who looked at me in that way I had always imagined.  Somehow romance existed alongside emergency runs for Frosted Flakes.  I knew that marriages morph and change – but I had no idea how malleable they have to be to survive.  And we’re still here, shaped in no small part by the moments in this house.

I brought my boys here and even though I knew they would grow up and leave, I didn’t fully understand how the ground would shift when they did.  Their lives and loves and futures so fantastic and I stand proudly on the periphery.  As my sister reminds me – that’s the way it’s supposed to be.  ‘Go find the balance, Grasshopper’.  I’m on an emotional hover-board.  And I’m clumsy.

So over these next few weeks, you will find me in the throes of purging and packing, preparing for a stager to come in and completely de-personalize what I’ve held so personally.  It’s disorienting to pack up the pictures that crammed every mantel,  use too much bubble-wrap to secure the art my mom created and/or the belongings that once were in my parents’ house which provide comfort and familiarity in mine.

And that window?  Yeah, it’s there and I am sure that in time it will open wider and with greater ease.  It looks like we’ll be building a new house – an experience I’ve never had – in a smaller city where there is family who are happily anticipating our arrival, and some understanding of its rhythms from visits there as well.  It will be a new story line – Mimi & Andy’s Most Excellent Adventure – as soon as it begins.  It’s this interim period where one is not yet saying good-bye or hello which is a little tricky for the heart.  Where there are too many moments being packaged and memory-making days on hold.  Can you imagine some of the stories I will get to tell though?  The karma truck is going on the road – one of these days.  I’ll keep you posted as soon as I figure out the right GPS coordinates.

 

 

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Nothing More Than Time Passing

mimijk

Hi Dave,

Yup, the first post since April must be written to you – for you demanded I write  again.  You didn’t forget that I had this blog (even though I pretty much did, and assume most others have as well), you kicked me in the butt in your typically unforgiving-yet-most-caring way and caught me pre-coffee.  No defenses properly caffeinated.  All rationalizations fragmented in the middle of the night when one has the freedom to forgive lethargy, holding one’s doubts as a pillow while huddled in the corner of the couch.  Your timing is pretty damn good.

So what’s been going on in eight months?  Nothing.  Everything.  I’ve been graced and damned, overwhelmed with love and had my heart broken a little bit, thinking it would never mend and bowed my head until I felt it beat again.  I celebrated new life with such awe and humility, that I remembered what it felt like to be drunk with love.

Details?  You want details?  Not this first go-round, pal – the words are swirling around in my head arguing about which should be written first, debating how transparent I will seem, when my preference is to remain a bit opaque.

I can say this – I remain grateful, yet I no longer feel that I can write about it without cliche or some really sickening elevator music playing in the background.  The karma truck was becoming a paean to gratefulness.  Not a bad thing – but a personal thing.  It’s not a commodity.  I’m not selling it.  You are gifted with it or not.  You are blessed with the frightening awareness that there is nothing more ephemeral than this moment and you’re either going to foment some goodness in it – or not.  Your choice.

When I last wrote, I introduced you to my magnificent granddaughter Sienna Reese.  Almost four weeks ago,  my other son and daughter-in-law welcomed Sophie Ida into the world.  She is miraculous and magical, beyond beautiful and/or adequate words.  As I marvel at Sienna already exploring her world with determination and a smile that can change the hue of the sky and the color of one’s day, I watch her weeks-old cousin already turning from newborn to little baby, eyes alert, fingertips with special powers – as they curl around a finger she enters the bloodstream. Two of my sons now have families of their own.  And when I’m not in tears, I am laughing a song of life.

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Balance shifts, roles change, rhythms are re-calibrated.  Andy’s mom passed away in May, and though not unexpected, it is never expected.  Each of us responds to this part of the journey differently – and his story isn’t mine to tell.  But I watch, I wonder, I ache.  I marvel at his dad, who at ninety years of age, gets up every day with the intent to engage himself in his days.  Golf, bridge, speakers’ series, synagogue.  He has taught me how to grieve deeply and not turn one’s back on life.  How to open your arms to the day and those people who fill it.

Life – that’s what’s been going on.  What you do with what you have when you have it; what you choose to do when you don’t.   I guess in the span of one moment and the next, so much happens in the space in between.  The stories we get to tell depend upon the traffic in one’s head, the road maintenance on one’s heart and how close the image in the rear view mirror appears.

“We ain’t anything more than a name and some likes and some distastes, and a story we tell about ourselves.”  (M.T. Anderson) – And what others say about us too, I think.

It was good to write to you…let’s stay in touch.

 

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Today’s Quote

mimijk

My draft for today paled in comparison to this … Ring in 2015 with presence and delight and may the new year bring you golden days.

Soul Gatherings

new year's eve

A New Year’s Eve Blessing
~ Teo Bishop ~

May you look back on the year,
and feel a sense pride.
May you remember the strength of your character,
the resilience of your spirit,
and the inherent worth of your being.
May you know that you are a part of an ecosystem,
and that your life is sustained
by countless other living things.
May you have gratitude for what has been;
for all that you have lost,
and all you have gained.
May you laugh at your mistakes.
May you forgive yourself, and love yourself.
May you be resolved to be more fully alive in the year to come;
more present in your body, in your mind, and in your heart.
And most of all, may you be blessed with unexpected joys,
undeniable happiness, and unending compassion in the year to come.

___________________________________________

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2014 in review

mimijk

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog…So this was the year that was – in numbers and comparisons.  Perhaps more critically,  whether view by one or a thousand – I’m grateful that we were here together.  Happy New Year all..

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 15,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 6 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.