auld lang syne

 

Ok, I’m going with, I’m posting the syrupy mawkish mess of diction that describes how I feel right now and judging from some of the FB entries, I am not alone, some of you guys are feeling "it" too. I guess it’s part of the “seasoning” package.  "It" all started yesterday morning; these surprise feelings that come with being human. I walked into the living room, the front room, the room where Christmas morning happens and “it” was over. It was already gone except for a few boxes to recycle and some red ribbon I wanted to keep. The people were gone; people that came from faraway places and places nearby, the Christmas lights on my dried out tree were even over, a fuse blew. The day went on and the evening came and I found myself in my studio painting and listening to Classic Country on the Dawg (just like I do every Saturday night) and the Highwaymen came on, Willie started singing and I suddenly realized my four sons are gone too. I know that sounds really silly because they left a long time ago but it was one of those moments where something that seems very obvious isn’t really and all of a sudden it registers.It re-registers with the heart, this thing that the mind has known for a while, now the heart knows and it doesn’t have the linear reasonable thoughts of the mind. It doesn’t care that that’s how life progresses and all things are as they should be – scheduled and precise, no the heart doesn’t think those things, it just feels those little bits of sadness when a mom realizes her children are all gone, even though they physically left a long time ago.

 

sweetheart rose from my mother

 These feelings transcend time; they just show up in seemingly random spots triggered by something – a fragrance, a picture, a conversation, or a Willie Nelson song. Then the heart takes a tumble and there you are in this sentimental mush missing someone. I think it’s necessary though, this random passage through mush,because I want to remember all of the people in my life past and present and this time of year is a hotspot. My mother died on August 20, 1997 – right before the holiday madness. I thought I would not be able to get through Halloween- that’s where my kids trick or treated and she dressed like a witch and how could we have Thanksgiving, she prepared the tom turkey and we sat in her dining room as a family and forget about Christmas Eve, going to her house each night before Christmas was the tradition. Obviously, I did get through those times; we pulled together as a family and it was okay. Whew! Well, at about 11:00 New Year’s day 1998, I was walking to the wood pile in my yard and it hit me – this sentimental feeling that is hitting me now. There was no warning, no real cause, just a flood of emotion hit and it was all about her – it was all about beginning the first year of my life, 1998, without my mother in it. It brought on a stream of tears and a consequent river of memories, all tied to her. I spent most of the day there in that soppy place but after it was over, I felt much better. These bouts of extreme sentiment are here for a grand purpose – they cause you to reflect and remember and that is how we keep people with us - through reflection and memory.I call it a spiritual visit. 

I suppose nature knows how to bring on these bouts of emotion when they are needed. We are too busy, it seems, to go there on our own. So, we run into situations that force us to get knee deep in sentiment and when we do, I think we need to just go with it and be there for a while. Anyway, just posting this because I can guess that everyone reading this has a sort of void in their hearts on this cusp of the New Year,we all miss someone, I get that from reading your posts on FB. Isn’t it beautiful to remember though and if it means stopping a bit and crying or calling someone and telling or sitting here writing, it is what we should do. It’s how we keep people in our hearts when they can’t be here physically. Or, like our children, when they have gone into their own lives, as they should, and things are not as they were, it helps to remember those times that were their childhoods and admit that this passage is both joyous and disheartening for parents. We easily celebrate the joy but the counter emotion of soppiness should be addressed also, for it is just as real.

 Writing this has helped me through this sentimental journey and I feel much better as I type out these last words. I hope to begin 2013 with a stronger take on how happy I am for my four sons, how happy I am that they are having their own lives. I know, like you know, I will always miss some of those moments when life was different. I will go with these seemingly random bouts of emotions that old songs and New Year’s Eve can cause and then I will go on into the “here and now” remembering that today will one day be yesterday.

there are so many memories to find inside of a fireplace...

 

 

"We drank a toast to innocence we drank a toast to time
We're living in our eloquence, another old lang syne"

dan fogelberg

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hearth, home, and art

There is frost on the roof of my neighbor’s shed and the fire logs in  from last night are embers in my fireplace – in this early morning, this house looks so warm and wonderful. Wonderful to me, not wonderful to any standard for it is a scattered mess of Christmas remnants, holiday leftovers and empty boxes but, for me, it is all as it should be.

I love the days after Christmas, the days that gingerly take us into the new year, into January, the coldest month. I love that I can be home and can piddle and explore this space that has contained my life for nearly 3 decades. I know exactly how the winter sun comes in through the back door and how the sunsets through the keeping room and glazes over the room with amber – it is a friendly cast, unlike the morning sun that reveals the dust and smudges that are always there beneath the chairs and along the baseboards. But the evening sun, that is my friend; it blankets the room in a glistening haze that makes it all seem magical and warm and no mind is paid to the dust.

 I am so happy to be here at this point in life , both physical and metaphysical,  where I see beyond, this place beneath the surface of youth and beneath the surface of "dust". I have been there. I have had my share of superficial moments and I am happy that I did; it enables me to understand it all a bit better. What I can’t seem to understand, however is getting stuck there – life is one big reveal but it seems sometimes some people don’t turn that page.

 Like you, I look ahead to the new year with hope for a better world and a new batch of goals for myself. I need to write then down this year so that next year I can read them. Not to check them off or to see if I was successful, life is not a “test” – but, hopefully, to see growth, growth in my interpretation of what is important. It seems life is somewhat of a funnel – our expectations and wants are so huge and diverse when we are young and as we get older they tend to funnel down and we want only the intangibles , we understand more about want and need and how true happiness only comes from within.

 

Anyway, nothing about that today on this crisp winter morning when the house is still, the coffee pot is full and the long December day is ahead. I have not painted in 3 days now and I am feeling the void. I have to start something today, just some paint on a surface, just a burst of color to give more purpose to my day. I wish more people could find the courage to create – art soothes your soul. In our art classes in the high schools there is barely a word spoken – all typical classroom problems disappear and the space becomes a zone, a zone of Zen, a space to be you and to reflect. I just don’t think enough people understand the value of art.

Vincent van Gogh got me through college and still lingers in my life – when I think of pure art, art for the sake of art, I think of him. One summer I was able to go to the south of France and through the windows of the train I saw the cypresses, van Gogh’s cypresses, and time transcended and I grew more appreciative of his work and who he was. His short life was filled with reveal and he turned pages rapidly, too fast, for he reached the end before the world realized who he was.

One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever came to sit by it. Passers-by see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way.
Vincent Van Gogh

 

 I end this post-Christmas, post season of commercialism entry with a quote from him that I hope may inspire you and become something to build upon in the new year. Remember art is not just paints and canvas, it is private words in a journal, a poem on the back of your lunch bag, a walk in the woods, a meal well prepared, a small garden or the just way you wear your hat…

If you hear a voice within you say 'you cannot paint,' then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.

Vincent Van Gogh

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looking within

The first day of winter is cold here, I am glad. Yesterday morning was not so good for me – there was an issue about too much money and the company we use for our charge card business. The details are not worth typing but the vulnerable and helpless feeling that eventually caused anger was something that barreled into my quiet morning and set the tone for my day – some high tech contemporary garbage that intrudes into our lives and we have to find resolve with some automated robo system- you know what I’m saying!  

At some point, I just wanted to drop out of this 21^st century hocus pocus, virtual, click click, digital, plastic world – I wanted to isolate myself from this insanity. I thought of ways to retreat – liquidate, find a simple house in a simple town and detach. All of this happened the morning after I had been to Lafayette to buy a few paints and a brush – I became witness to and part of the Christmas shopping mania in a big city/town. I really could not absorb how much stuff is out there for us to buy – I don’t have the mental capacity for that amount of volume - anyway, thus began the perfect storm – let me out of this century!!

 

Well, I’m still here…and today is much better. I have my new paints, the weather is Christmassy, my house smells like evergreen and I’m in Loreauville where there is no mall or big box stores – only my chickens and my patch of earth that I have lived on for nearly 28 years. I think the point of all this rambling (and venting) is that we all go through these little dust storms but then it gets better, the dust settles. But during this storm I was forced to reevaluate some things and I reached a higher level – and that’s what is supposed to happen. Is that what we call wisdom?

Today begins the winter solace the full cold Moon will be out on the 28^th - hopefully in a clear cold winter sky. I find so much opportunity for reflection and renewal in the middle of winter as I watch how Nature sheds her luster and her protection so nobly - how she is brought to her bare bones and survives it, she gets through it only to reintroduce herself in spring. She does this each year. I suppose this is some kind of cleansing, purging that is necessary to grow and, because of my beliefs, I feel it is something I should follow – unlike man’s decrees; Nature’s laws are consistent and non-discriminate. So, I begin this winter with that in mind – the season to purge – both my thoughts and my things and in spring I hope I have looked within and am ready for the awakening of another opportunity to bloom.

I don’t know that I will write again before Christmas so I wish you pure and pronounced moments during this holiday season that will become soothing memories in the years to come – moments that find you outside looking at the Christmas sky, moments that include hugs and warm smiles and moments that find you alone in a cozy chair stopping to think about yourself and what is really important while welcoming this starkness that is winter. For it is this nakedness, that allows us to find some answers exposed there against the bareness and beauty that is Nature.

Happy Christmas.

Walden

 

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"Where are you Christmas"

Today was warm here, not very Christmassy but kind of nice to go outside and find some December gifts. There is nothing as beautiful as nature, there is nothing in a store to buy that comes near that beauty.

 I am ending the day with a hot cup of organic coffee and a teaspoon of honey from my bees of summer – I can’t express how wonderful this moment is to me. I decided to cap it off with a blog post just to make it memorable. Unfortunately, however, I‘ve not much to say. I am waiting on a cold front to arrive early tomorrow and cause the Christmas spirit to stir – at least I hope so, for it is not here. I draw on childhood memories to help get me there. I have so many and so many different focuses.

 

 

The ones about Miss Sue are so pure and deep. They are connected to nature; they are about cutting cedar trees in the woods, trees with bird’s nests and moss in them, and getting sticky sap on your carcoat and gathering giant pinecones from a place near the bayou and bringing them home to just be. They are about giving her a gift of homemade food and a late December visit by the fire. Those memories stir me, those memories made me. She was untouched by the commercialism of Christmas.

 Another memory is about my dad and the colossal effort he made one year to put together a huge wreath made from cedar boughs from the woods – this thing was engineered and I’m sure, the source of much stress – for him. I don’t know why he did it – but I remember it.

 I remember my mother too, of course I remember her – the manifestation of Christmas for me – the giver, the miracle worker, the one who created the magic; she defined it for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 Of all the things about Christmases past, most are not about things.

Those people are gone now and so are the Christmases of   childhood but, as is evident with this post, their spirits remain a constant in my life.

I don’t have the tree up and I have not been shopping, instead, I wait patiently for the arrival of the Christmas spirit.

I gathered these gifts from the December yard today – citrus from the trees, camellias to put in vases that were a birthday present from a dear friend and narcissus bulbs dug up in my yard at Thanksgiving to be forced bloomed for Christmas.

Christmas is the day that holds all time together. 

Alexander Smith

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Time

my snowman from Berry Tales :)

I try to recall the details of early December of last year – what I was doing, what worries I had – funny, but I can’t remember much negativity. I know something was there annoying me, concerning me, but, I obviously got through it. This lack of recollection makes me think about time and its magical effect, its purpose, really. I think of the figurative concept of moving through time – it carrying you forward as it washes away the troubles and concerns, leaving behind the good stuff – like little pebbles on the beach after the tide rolls out – smooth and shiny and brilliant from a cleansing; that’s what’s left of December 2011. I think of the early days of last December and I feel happiness. The twins were about to embark on a wonderful journey then and I know I was filled with apprehension and worry, but now, I just naturally go to that place of happiness, omitting any negativity that was running parallel to the good stuff that went on and I attach myself to that state where I felt happy. Hmmm, those pockets of peace restore us and time protects us, perhaps time is Nature’s Prozac.

 

It seems time is a gift in many ways. It heals, we all know that - and it sometimes washes away the things that are not so pleasant, leaving behind those that are – those memories that we need to keep, the ones that allow us to go on in gladness, for we must go on. It’s built in, this spirit we have to move ahead, to get better and to look forward. Like I posted before, we all need something to look forward to, whether it is a big event like a graduation, a big move or just a simple moment like the green beans sprouting in the garden – something good to anticipate - that keeps us healthy and  makes us happy.

 

I suppose time tweaks our memories a little – those days of childhood were probably not as gleeful as we “remember” but those “photo shopped “memories give us happiness now and what could be wrong with that? The bumps and bruises will all heal and fade away and , hopefully, we will all be left with a rich golden resin that was our childhood, one that we somewhat mimic for our children. Time is our friend.

 

I write this because it is nearly Christmas; it is the Christmas that you will reflect on next year and in the years to come. These moments are so fragile and so over anticipated and in 2012, so over done – Christmas has become the biggest retail extravaganza in the world. We have come a long way since the gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh; now it’s diamonds, Apple, and Mercedes. I hope we can all disregard most of that hype and understand that those things will most likely be forgotten; time will not keep a list of material things. It will, however, help you to remember the warm wishes, the still and cold night when you look up at the vastness of the Christmas sky, the afternoon spent in the kitchen with a child, the smell of cinnamon and evergreens, the macaroni ornament from someone’s first grade year, and the fleeting moments with the people you love. Time will only leave behind that golden resin that was this Christmas.

 

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the little things

It is the first day of December now. I am just a bit curious as to why the months fly like days. I ask myself if I am too busy. Maybe. But there is nothing to take away, everything I do must be done so I suppose I need to not worry about the hasty passage of time and just enjoy the quick views I get and be grateful that I have purpose; soon enough I may find myself with time on my hands and I wonder what I will do to fill those long sought after slots of day – something I have thought of throughout all of these days of raising children. Who will I be then?

 Life shifts and transforms – each experience carries you to another level – hopefully a higher one. I am so much richer now as a person and an artist for experiencing all that I have and for most of this richness, I thank my children, for they have taught me more than they know; I hope I have much more ahead to learn. Anyway, I go forward with this gift of today and hope that by its end I will have answered the questions I ask, helped those I could help, and enjoyed the moments I have.

Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.

Robert Brault

 

 

 

postscript:

I looked back on my weblog, back to 3 Decembers ago and found this post – and I am reposting a small part of it. It is something I think powerful to read again at the threshold of this season of contrast – this season that “celebrates” spirituality with materialism and consumption.

 

Christmas gift suggestions:

To your enemy, forgiveness.

To an opponent, tolerance.

To a friend, your heart.

To a customer, service.

To all, charity.

To every child, a good example.

To yourself, respect.

OREN ARNOLD

 

 

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an early morning walk

I am here to post something much more delightful and positive than my borderline rant. I have asked myself if I feel better after saying what I felt and I am not sure I can answer that. This uncertainty tells me, perhaps not. I think I stepped out of character for that post and not being "you" is never a pleasant thing. So, I'm back...pardon the detour.

I am off this week of Thanksgiving and the weather here is perfect. I was outside early this morning picking satsumas and newly ripened oranges off of my trees - trying to beat the squirrels and the birds. I stood there within the grove the citrus trees made and broke the fast of the night - it was so wonderful, pure, whole food from my backyard. I have to say, there is not many pleasures beyond growing your own food. I suppose it is somewhere in our DNA - a survival tool that we are hard wired for. I heard yesterday that one component of well-being and good health is to have something to look forward to. Well, growing your food gives that to you along with whole food that is free from chemicals and filled with nutrients. Just a small patch of land can do big things for your health. Just saying...

 

While in the woods, I was dazzled once again by the cobwebs that extended over the paths - masterpieces in the early fall mornings with dew outlining their shapes and emphasizing their details – little Rembrandts of the night reminding me of chalk artist in today’s cities – working so hard to create, only to be dissolved by an inevitable looming force of nature.

The day rolls out like a tapestry rug – each hour offering something different than the one before, like the chapters of our lives, unfolding and delivering little pieces of art that delight us and then disappear into the morning light of the next day where, if we look with open eyes, we will see yet another masterpiece beginning .

Anyway…I hope this post is back to normal and I hope you can find something to look forward to whether it is a child coming home for the holidays or a trip you may take or a ripe orange in your backyard – and when you do, I hope you are thankful for the masterpiece that was delivered to your door and know that soon, there will be another.

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sorry, just had to say it

 

I am up early on this Sunday morning and my emotions are playing tug of war - so I will write, I will try to sort it all out with words. This weblog is designed to be a place of positive postings – as I have said, it is my “Prozac” – it is a place I come to reaffirm the good things in my life and life in general, but today, I am being challenged with a reoccurring torment of sorts. I apologize, but I must deviate from my purpose.

This negative spiral downward began when I opened this laptop this morning. I have a love hate relationship with this computer. I love the accessibility of my friends, many I would have never connected with if not for this magical machine, and I love being able to look up information but the nemesis is the information that is force fed to me each time I sign in – I really don’t want to know all of that stuff – and I really don’t believe most of its sensation but it still affects me and I carry around its negativity like a ball and chain.

Like this morning – the headlines were “Driving America’s 85-mph toll road before the fun gets old” – well I knew that was south Texas so I skimmed the article and found this, “This strip, I realized, would soon lose its innocence. The state of Texas didn't build it as a go-cart track for gas-hogging Caddys. Austin and San Antonio are both booming, and the I-35 corridor connecting them shudders under the weight of extreme population growth. They built the 130 to ease the traffic pressure. It probably will, a bit, but it's also an open invitation to developers. That's some pretty country right there along the San Marcos River. The day is coming when South Central Texas will be one long urban megalopolis to rival southern California. At one end sits a sign that points visitors to the new Circuit Of the Americas race track, and at the other, the entrance to Interstate 10. TX 130, the fastest road in the U.S.A., heralds a kind of lost innocence.” – that leveled me, the hill country, soon to be corporate? For one, I fear that allowed rate of speed will be pushed to the limits of 100-mph and danger will set in and secondly, and what prompted this post, I’ve seen that strip of beautiful, authentic country and now, I predict greedy, non-caring developers will litter it with every chain known to us – it will look just like every town in America – chains lined up for “miles and miles of Texas”.

 I traveled a lot this past summer and from the highway, it all looks the same; I find that so disturbing. I can only imagine the ill effects of these big corporations to the interiors of these, once unique, towns. I know the population is exploding and we need to provide for that but why can’t each town and city make those accommodations from within – with character and distinction that is their own – why do we all have to look alike and why does every piece of land have to be developed? Have we lost sight of the importance of our natural landscape, of America the beautiful? (I suppose you expect to hear a violin playing in the background right about now because I am getting close to the “drama queen” border.)

 Anyway, I will stop here because, as I have said many times, I am not politically savvy and certainly know nothing about economics, I just know that I am always upset when beautiful country with history and distinctiveness is leveled by big chains and greed that are only there to fill their pockets and have no concern for the destruction of natural habitats and the heartbeat of that town.

I can't end before I ask, " Why don’t we just buy local?" I know it cost a few dollars more to shop local, but hey, how about we “buy less” locally instead of “paying less” for so much junk we really don’t need? I am guilty on occasion too, guilty of popping into Wal-Mart or one of the other chains – I feel so bad when I go into one of those places that used to be a farm or a place where the sun set or, heck, someone’s backyard – they do not care – they have no perimeters as to what cannot be turned into concrete, destroying the natural flow of the land, tearing down trees, destroying the beauty and running out the wildlife that has been there forever.  Oh and then, we get up in arms when a dislocated black bear or a coyote invades our “territory” or a raccoon turns over our trash – how dare it come into my space? Just kill it.

 I have no solution to offer and those of you reading this may not even see it as a “problem” but this is my space to vent and it’s obviously something that means a lot to me, so here it is. I am not writing this to be confrontational and I don’t really care to respond to anything, I write this to raise awareness – I just wish we could all maintain our originality and I see supporting local businesses as the only way to that end – if not, we will all be, if not already, cookie cutter towns with no character and our money will land in some far away place. And sadly, the art of living will be on the clearance aisle in Wal-Mart.

 

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art

Just a quick post on a busy morning... Today is our community artwalk - something I have been looking forward to for a long time. I have my little book ready today - Berry Tales - and I have some pieces of art to show. I have a cozy spot at our local bookstore, Books Along the Teche, and the weather is festive and perfect, but...I have a little problem. It seems my right eye is doing something weird and probably age related - it began with a floater and last night there was a flash. I am very worried and will see a doctor this morning. I am posting, not for drama or sympathy, but for obligation - an obligation to say to you how we should not delay our lives. We never really know what the next second holds. I am not trying to spread paranoia or create drama but this little (I hope) incident has made me realize that very thing, that sudden change, so graphically. Anyway, I am off to the doctor and I feel confident iIwill be okay but I am different now, I am in a state of more gratitude for all that I have in terms of "natural resources" and I want you to be too. I hope to be at the artwalk this evening with my little book and my family of snowmen.

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berry tales

This is a tough entry for me, but I have challenged myself to make this seemingly egotistical entry before the week ends, so here goes…I have a book I would like to sell. I have been writing a Sunday newspaper column for nearly 7 years and I have put together a little book of Berry Tales. The book includes the first 4 years of my column, from January 2006 through December 2009. It is just $14.95 and would make a great and unique gift for yourself and for people from here, New Iberia, that have since moved – buying local is good you know J.

 The reading is light and positive, includes illustrations, and I hope, in a small way, inspiring. Anyway, I am so happy that I finally did this – it was a bucket list item – and I hope I will do another at the end of 2013 – 4 more years of Berry Tales.

If you are interested in a copy, message me on Facebook or email me at wejamnla@yahoo.com. The life of an artist is wonderful and I would not want it any other way, but the part that involves that left brain business and marketing stuff is very hard and unfamiliar. This is possibly my most awkward and difficult post ever…

here is an iPhone shot of the cover:



 

 here is a small peek within:

 

November 2007

Winter Wishes

 

 

"… It seems most everywhere you look things are red and green and plugged in. You have to know Christmas is near. Tomorrow night there will be a parade on Main Street and I hear Santa will be there as well as floats and dancers and queens and princesses and Christmas music. Our Main Street is such a wonderful backdrop for Christmas pageantry. The shop keepers and store owners have created displays that are delightful and imaginative. I love the way Kimberly’s and Clementine’s have wrapped colored lights outside of their buildings, and  there is an old fashioned feeling when you look in the window at the old Wormser’s and the mannequins at Natalie’s are whimsical and fun. I also love turning the corner onto Iberia Street to see the marquee lights on at the old Essanee Theater. I drove by the other night, it was a bit chilly outside and I could see people inside. I suppose they were creating and rehearsing and doing what they love to do; it all seemed so wintry and theatrical, like something magical from Dickens.

 

I have noticed, however, something has vanished from this season of tinsel and treasure, the Sears Wishbook. It seems to have slipped away with the milkman, Tinker Toys, and fat colored lights that twist in and burn out."

 

And it goes on… Thanks to those of you who have encouraged me to do this – it makes me happy and motivates me to do more, to create more. Art is something I have retreated to my whole life, it’s a place I can go to be happy; I hope these little berry tales can give you joy also.

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"How did that happen?"

Life is very different for me now. I wake up on a Saturday morning and I am not scrambling a dozen eggs and juicing OJ; I am making coffee and writing. They are gone, far away gone, from Colorado to the Cresent City. Elizabeth is still here, finishing up the last hoorah but on this Saturday morning she is in Lafayette taking SAT – something she needs to move her on. “On”, will be far away too, it seems. Next year, they really will be all gone. Hmmmm. It is a strange, but good, feeling, kind of mellow.

 The first thing I ask myself on this morning of semi isolation is “How did I do that?” I cannot conceive of waking up to five kids every morning and getting this house in motion. It seems my instinct of survival has blocked that from my memory – too much to absorb, too much to think about? Funny about life, we go through passages almost blindly, doing what we need to do without question and then later, look back and say just what I have said, “ How did I get through that?’ I am not making this declaration in a negative light, it was great, it was magical, it was fulfilling; I just don’t know how I managed to see about all of those people.I'm really not a multi tasker kind of person - I am very, very laid back. I do remember cooking – alot. I also remember the seemingly endless pile of clothes in the laundry room.Honestly, I thought I would live my entire life in that room – forever!  And I do remember the conscious decision to put away my paintbox for those years. I realized early on that that would cause me frustration – to begin a piece and have to go deep into the night to finish it – not worth it. Instead, I think those years and my children gave me inspiration and I think they will manifest themselves in my art – it was the right decision for me.

Anyway, it is early November and I have the day to do as I please – this is a very new deal for me. I am going to enjoy this little piece of freedom for sure but I will always miss my busy home when they all were here and my day was filled with the most important activity of all, being “mom”.

I think of a quote by Jackie Kennedy and hope that I somewhat hit the target, but more than that, I hope they all know I tried my best on that one chance I got ,  just as all of you are…

” If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do matters very much.”

just a favorite pic taken on the 100 year old carousel at City Park in New Orleans  - a month before Elizabeth lost her grandmother, my wonderful mom. She was there on the little bench watching Elizabeth go around and around, each time waving as though the first time - this was a very difficult passage for me as "mom"...still is

 

So, whatever your stage in life is, I hope you are trying your best – no one is perfect, but everyone can be the best “them” (most of the time :)).

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another chance

I woke up very early this morning, just getting back from Boulder anxious to see how the east coast has survived the stormy night. I am saddened for those people and at the same time being reminded how in control of us Mother Nature is – we will never be that “smart”; she always has the upper hand. In contrast to the horror that is in the path of Sandy, I have just been amongst the beauty that is Colorado. The snow fall from the day before we arrived was still piled on the ground and the night sky over the Rocky Mountains was transcending. Skip and I were there for a wonderful occasion, Matthew and Andrew’s graduation from Auguste Escoffier, a happy occasion and a beautiful setting; my heart could not have been fuller and more grateful. I did not take one beautiful moment or vision for granted.

 I am writing this morning to try to find the words to pass on this karmic feeling I have, trying to find the words to make your day feel as thin and clear as the Colorado air and as new and pure as the snow that fell from that azure sky.

 Unfortunately, I have had to learn many things the hard way but here on this back side of 50, I so clearly understand that each new day is an invitation to start again and the yesterdays of our lives are lessons and inspirations not bogs to get stuck in. Anything can happen and each new day brings restoration. Even as the lights go out over Manhattan and the subways halt, people will come out of this, the sun will rise, the winds will stop, the water will recede – life also follows that same path, this path of nature, this tide of life. Every day we have another chance to be better, to do better, and to get better.

I don’t think Nature has given us these new days , however, to be self-absorbed consumers that have only the mere purpose of accumulating things, things that take from the natural resources, things that cost us a lot more than money. Instead,  I think nature is giving us these new days to use our resources, our natural resources to do good things for humanity – that must be the higher purpose, the other leaves me feeling so empty and shallow.

I watched a bit of the news last night and there was a piece on a 90 million dollar penthouse on 57^th street in NYC being threatened – all I could think of were the gross amount of resources that one person squandered to build a place to live. I suppose they were ego driven or just because they could. Anyway, there I went on a tangent, a rant – so sorry – that is being judgmental and that is wrong, there could have been a very honorable reason to use that amount of natural resources.This is a lesson I have learned along the way and I wish my footprint had been smaller - I do not mean to cast stones...

Today is fresh faced and scrubbed – I hope you find the miracles that are within and focus on the beauty that is there. I end with a picture of a pumpkin patch that is on the outside of Boulder and filled with pumpkins and families gathering presents from Mother Nature and capturing warm memories for their children – so much more beautiful and vital than an overpriced high rise apartment (had to say it).

 

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looking ahead without falling behind

The moon is somewhat of a sliver tonight and the air is heavy but soon there will be a front that moves in and tomorrow morning will be crisp and fall – like. I look forward to that.

 I felt somewhat discombobbled today. All day I had thoughts going on in my head, words I wanted to put together to tell you something but I was not here. Now, I am here and the words have vaporized. It is so difficult for life to align itself, for everything to be synchronized; components seem to be missing many times. Or are they? Maybe we just don’t see them.

The fronts are struggling to find their way into this delta but change is in the air for certain. The ground is mottled with intensely colored leaves and the woods are tinted with ambers and burgundies, all under an azure sky that darkens suddenly now instead of the slow dimming brilliance of the summer one– Nature is busy preparing this glorious season. It is the last autumn of childhood for me; next fall only Skip and I will remain here in this house, everyone will be far away in school and at work. It is just as it should be but somehow, so challenging a passage for a mother to go through. They were all just upstairs playing or sleeping, rumbling around through childhood, a safe time I thought would never end. Now, it’s a plane ride to see them and a faceless voice when I hear them. They are (wonderfully) grown. Once again, I think of my mother and something she told me. When the twins started Pre –K, I was feeling like this – happy but shadowed by melancholia – and she enlightened me by referencing her own path as mother and told me how she looked forward to each new chapter of our lives. I suppose it is the best way to look at life, to focus on what is up ahead and just use the rear view mirror for an occasional reminder of how wonderful those yesterdays were.

I go forward with that thought and share it with you while I fill my heart with the wonders of yesterday and wait to embrace the gifts of today. And like my mother, I will celebrate each new stage and try to keep my sentiment on the pages of this blog – I so thank you for sharing this place with me and allowing me to get soppy  sometime .

A mother's happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.
Honore de Balzac

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