Tag: empty nest

Theme Party

Do you ever have the sense that each holiday season seems to have a certain universal trend or vibe or energy to it? I suppose the holidays, in one sense, are really an end cap/recap of the year gone by. To me, every year, the holidays seem to kind of summarize the year, in a very general sense.

This year’s holiday feels a tad more subtle to me than the last couple of years, so far. The parties which we have attended have been nice and warm, but nothing too outlandish. People seem to be “calling it a night” a little bit earlier than usual. The Christmas cards that we have received so far, seem a bit simpler, too. They seem to be less newsy and to contain less pictures. The outdoor decorations didn’t go out as early this year, as they had been put out in previous years, on many homes in our neighborhood. I’m not sure if it is just my own projections, but the holidays just feel a little more toned-down, a tad more introspective, in a broader sense, this year. It’s not a “sad/worried” energy that I am sensing, but more of a quiet, inquisitive, slowed down atmosphere. Is that what you all are sensing?

I notice and analyze quirks all of the time. I suppose that is part of being an observer/writer type person. Last year, about 90 percent of the Christmas cards that we received, had pictures of our friends’ pets on them. Pictures of pets on holiday cards are not unusual, but last year it seemed to be the complete norm. Last year, I was surprised when I opened a card that didn’t include a picture of a pet. I said to my husband, that indicates to me, that people were needing to feel warmth, and comfort, and unconditional love more than ever, last Christmas. Last year’s holiday season seemed to have more of outwardly frenzied neediness to it, than this year seems to have, to me. So far, anyway. This year’s holiday, thus far, seems to have more of a universal theme of acceptance, relaxation, and introspection. Tell me what you are sensing. I would be curious about everyone’s unique observations. And if you think that I am completely “off my rocker”, go ahead and tell me that, too. It’s often been suggested that I move to the beat of my own drum. (Don’t we all? Some of us are just better at hiding our drum beat under the cloak of conformity than others, I think.) My current calm presence can take any suggestions, right now, I am sensing, with a semblance of light bemusement. It’s just something in the air, this Christmas. Right?

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B-E-B

Today is my youngest son’s birthday. He is still away at college. He doesn’t have any final exams today, but he does have two tomorrow, so he’ll spend his day studying. We laughed together this morning, when we talked about that fact. Adult birthdays aren’t quite as magical as when you are little kid. Real life still has to happen, with a cake break, if you are lucky.

It is strange not having him home for his birthday. I have been through this now, with both of his older brothers, but it still feels strange. Is there anything more intimate between a mother and her child, than her child’s birthday? On the day of a child’s birth, the child gets the blessing of life on Earth breathed into them, and also, at that very moment, the mother has already begun the gradual, painful, yet affirming process of releasing her child and letting go.

I asked my son, “How do you feel about it being the last year of your teens?”

He answered, “How do you feel about it?”

My real unsaid response was this – Oh, honey, you don’t want me to unleash the storm of feelings that I feel on every single one of your and your sibling’s birthdays. The torrent of pride and love and bewilderment and fear and memories and giggles and gratefulness and giddiness and pain and hope and guilt and amusement and joy and awe would probably be too much for both of us to handle . . . . but maybe not. Maybe that torrent of emotion is what we both felt, on the crescendo of that beautiful winter day, nineteen years ago. And I think that we have both turned out pretty good, so far. We weather well. I know that I love our relationship. I know that I love you from the deepest wells of my heart. The relationships that I have with you and your siblings and your father, is what my makes my life sing its very song. Thank you for the gift of my sacred song.

Instead I answered, “I feel great! I’m proud of you. I love you. Have a wonderful day!” And then we hung up, and I let go, just a little more.

Life With Gusto

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“You’re in my heart, you’re in my soul
You’ll be my breath should I grow old
You are my lover, you’re my best friend
You’re in my soul

My love for you is immeasurable
My respect for you immense
You’re ageless, timeless, lace and fineness
You’re beauty and elegance

You’re a rhapsody, a comedy
You’re a symphony and a play
You’re every love song ever written
But honey what do you see in me”

You were probably singing along to the above lyrics from the song “You’re In My Heart” by Rod Stewart, as you were reading them. (Admit it. I know you did. You are fun like that!) I have always thought that those lyrics were the best that I have ever heard in a love song, and what I really enjoy about the song, too, is that it is encased in such a fun, upbeat, easy-to-sing melody. It’s the kind of song that 25 people will belt out together, at a bar or a party, all looped together, in shoulder slung arms. I did some research and I found out that Rod had written that song, mostly for the Swedish model/actress, Britt Ekland. Having always been quite the “player” in romantic relationships (he has had three marriages, and eight children by five different mothers), Rod doomed their relationship to last only about two years, but the song will go on in popularity, for quite some time. The lyrics and the tune are timeless.

I think that Rod Stewart probably has a big heart . . . . a big heart in the sense that it is filled with a lust for life, rarely witnessed in other human beings. I just read that in the 26 years that Rod Stewart (now aged 74) made 13 musical albums, and went on tour 19 times, he was also creating a masterpiece. Rod Stewart just put the finishing touches on an epic model train railway city. This is how it is described: “a 124ft spread depicting an entire US city and inspired by the view from his childhood home.” (Twitter) So, while writing songs and rocking it out on stage, womanizing, being a dad and a husband, and a grandfather, and a knight, an avid car collector, and at one time, having given it a go at becoming a professional “footballer” (in America, we call them soccer players), Rod Stewart was working on his model train set. Apparently, though most of this awe-striking creation is kept in his Los Angeles’ home’s attic, he would bring parts of it on tour, keeping the part that he was working on, in its own separate hotel room, so that he could work on it, in between shows.

There must be a connection with musicians and train sets. One of my best friend’s boyfriend is an avid musician, who also faithfully attends his model train club meetings, at least once a week. Apparently, Roger Daltrey, Phil Collins, Neil Young, and Ronnie Wood, also share in the hobby.

Miniature train sets, are fascinating. When I was a kid, we made several trips to The Miniature Railroad and Village, owned by the Carnegie museums and now housed in the Carnegie Science Center in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The Ringling Museum in Sarasota, Florida also houses a magical train display, depicting the circus in the 1920s. My favorite part of both of these attractions, is how they simulate night and day, so when it gets dark, all of the the warm and twinkling lights on the buildings and street lamps start to glow.

I kind of got wander-y and meandering in this post, much like a charming little model train, making its way through towns and countrysides, and bridges and tunnels. I’ll park my post back in the station, of the point that I was trying to make all along. Life is grand. Life is full of possibilities. Life is so interesting because we are so interesting in the ways that we are INTERESTED. We all find ourselves attracted to different fascinations. What if we all started this upcoming new year (and new decade, for that matter) with an agreement to go after our interests, our hobbies, our passions, and our curiosities, with gusto? With wild abandonment? With unbridled enthusiasm? Can you imagine how great that would feel? Can you imagine the wonders that would come from that excited frenzy? Take the shoulds/what other people would think/judgments on level of “cool” or “sophisticated”/our somewhat limited beliefs on time constraints/worries that we aren’t talented enough/comparisons to others, etc. etc. right out of the equation and in the forever truism made popular by Nike – JUST DO IT.

Friends, in embarking on a whole new span of time – a new year, a new decade, in our decidedly short lifetimes, let’s throw the excuses out of the window, and get back on the tracks and see where they take us. It’s bound to be amazing. And much like a miniature train, it doesn’t have to end. It can loop around and around, reminding us, again and again, of just how damn delightful it is to be ALIVE.

Welcome to Soul Sunday

Our own little poetry workshop. Our safe space to toy with the words. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine. Today, mine came out to be a little more “prose style” . . . .

Chris

I just woke up and Chris is right here.

It’s just that there’s always Chris . . .

Chris is . . . . well, Chris is A LOT . . . .

When Chris comes, everything just seems to revolve around Chris.

“How does this relate to Chris? How does this honor Chris?”

Living your normal life when Chris is around, is almost impossible.

Chris always brings so much drama to everywhere and everyone. Chris is just one who brings out the best and yet also the worst, in everybody.

Chris seems to always bring that BIG load of baggage, every year. Every single year. And it seems, that every year, Chris just stays longer and longer and longer, always extending the stay. Chris is an expensive, messy, emotional, time consuming, exhausting house guest. Chris really should be named Great Expectations. Chris is the “Original GE.” OGE. That’s Chris, for ya.

Yet, everyone loves Chris! Everyone gets so excited for Chris to come every year! Everyone counts down, for the reliable arrival of Chris. And the truth is, I’m right there with them.

Chris is fun! Chris is colorful! Chris is generous! Always full of gifts and surprises! Chris has a way of making life feel just so much more rich and decadent and bright and hopeful! How can you not love Chris? Chris is just so amazing at connecting everyone and reminding everyone of their deepest bonds and fondest memories and greatest hopes and kindest selves. That’s just Chris’ way. And it is special to Chris. Truly, uniquely, special. Chris brings depth to life, in the ways that no one else can.

Maybe we are unfair to Chris. Maybe Chris just wants to be Chris. Chris doesn’t want to let anybody down. Chris just wants to be loved, just like the rest of us. Everybody loves Chris. Everybody hates Chris. But have we really taken time to figure out our own special relationship with Chris? Do we know what Chris means to us? Maybe Chris is different than our projections, or the many movies and books made about Chris, or even different than whatever anybody has told us about Chris or what they think that we should think about Chris. Maybe this year, I’ll spend some private time, some quiet time, just being with Chris, just observing Chris, just letting Chris show me the hidden depths and meaning of our own personal relationship with each other.

Chris is here to stay for a while, like it or not.

I love Chris. I truly do. Sometimes, I hate Chris. In the end, though, I know that there are reasons why Chris is in my life.

I think that I’ll really explore those reasons, this year.

Why not? Oh, wow, here’s Chris now.

I just woke up and Chris is right here.

“Hi Chris, what have you got planned for us today?”

Pounding Heads and Flying Reindeer

I have a migraine headache today. Migraines suck. For years, I had myself convinced that it was my sinuses, so on top of the unrelenting pounding on typically one side of my head (today it is the left side), I would force myself to inhale copious amounts of saltwater with the use of various ancient torture contraptions called neti-pots. I effectively water-boarded myself, on a regular basis, to add to the torment that my body was already going through and I never understood why it didn’t work. What can I say, other than admitting that I can be a very obtuse, stubborn, know-it-all? I own that fact. (all of my friends and my family are nodding their heads vigorously, and clucking their tongues right now) Anyway, I worked with a woman who told me that she gets migraines and she described them and it is only then, in my mid-forties, that I realized that I am prone to migraine headaches. If you think you have sinus issues and these issues are not getting resolved, look up migraines. It could be an a-ha moment for you, like it was for me. I have medication now, that is usually very effective in thwarting my migraines, but I waited too long to take it, and I have a hair appointment in an hour or so, that I can’t cancel, because my stylist is headed out of town. My hair is already looking “ombre-ish” (not on purpose) with unsightly greys melding into faded out blondish-brown, that could use a major dose of color and shine. I don’t do wigs, and we have the usual list of holiday get-togethers/command performances, so today’s experience will be reminiscent of my previous self-torture days of a pounding headache, with my head in the sink, for what will feel like a never-ending eternity. Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo.

Enough of the complaining . . . . yesterday, my friend texted our group chat that yesterday was the anniversary of the “Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer” Christmas special. The first one debuted in 1964. We got all excited thinking that we were the first kids to grow up, believing in Rudolph. We were the first kids to buy into the legend of a flying reindeer, with a glowing red nose. It turns out that the Rudolph song was written in the 1930s, so it was really our grandparents who were the first kids to have the red-nosed reindeer added to their Santa lore, but I don’t begrudge them for that, too much. They were the Greatest Generation and they deserve that distinction, and all the fun that Rudolph adds to the magic of Christmas. (I’m in Generation X. We don’t deserve anything – ha!) The Rudolph reminiscing got me to thinking about my children’s Santa experiences and that inevitable questioning that comes out, when their reasoning skills (and exposure to the outside world) start to become honed. My middle son is a scientist, at his core. He is the only person whom I have ever met who has used “Organic Chemistry” and “fun” in the same sentence. He likes things to be factual and black and white. He doesn’t like subtleties and nuances and philosophy and subjectivity. At all. So, when he started questioning the whole Santa scenario, he came to me, in a very serious tone. I think that he had been doubting the validity of the Santa chronicles for quite some time, but like every little kid that I know, he felt the need to hedge his bets. If, in fact, Santa was the real deal, and my son was a doubter, he couldn’t stomach the idea, of his siblings and friends, lavishing in their piles of shiny, new, exciting toys, while all he got was dirty, in his little pile of coal.

“Mom,” he said, looking me directly in the eye. “Look, to be clear, I still believe in Santa, okay, but, Mom, flying reindeer?!? I mean, come on?! I don’t believe in flying reindeer.”

Now I’m chuckling. Now my head is pounding even more. I hope that today, you get some chuckles from some of your fondest Christmas memories, minus any headaches. Now go do some decorating and jot down some poems to share, for tomorrow’s soul Sunday. Ciao.

Duel Bag, Baby

Years ago, JCPenney came out with this classic commercial entitled “The Doghouse”. It is one of those videos that you can watch again and again, and still laugh out loud. There is a lot of controversy about the latest Peloton commercial, where a beautiful, thin, seemingly already too “hard on herself” young woman is surprised by the “gift” of a Peloton exercise bicycle from her husband for Christmas. While the actress was paid to look thrilled, the backlash from consumers, seems to suggest most other women would be less than excited and might want that $2500 that a Peloton costs, in other forms, such as a diamond or a check. Perhaps the ad makers could have done themselves quite a favor and saved the stock price of the Peloton company, by looking at the archives of wise, old commercials from Christmas’ past. This Ghost of Christmas Past has a lot to teach husbands/boyfriends/partners, in the present and in my opinion, for the LONG unseen future. Words to the wise, gentlemen, watch the commercial VERY closely. If your special lady doesn’t specifically ask for something, by name, that is exercise related, or home cleaning related, for a Christmas present this year, steer very clear. Look around your house for catalogs with circled items on them and listen closely when she talks. She’ll tell you what she really wants and my bets are not on any type of exercise equipment from you.

It’s Just So Weird

One of our sons’ friends stopped by, over the Thanksgiving break. He is the youngest child in his family and a junior in college. His parents recently sold their big, suburban, family house and have settled into a smaller duplex in a charming, up and coming town, a few miles down the road. His parents originally planned to build a big house on the water, but scrapped those plans, as they found that they liked the freedom and ease and coziness, that the new condo provided for them. Our sons’ friend, having spent his first holiday in his parents’ new dwelling quarters, was decidedly unhappy.

“It was just so weird . . . just so, so weird . . . WEIRD!” he kept repeating to us, almost as if stuck in a mind-boggling loop of thought and agitation and confusion. Witnessing his friend’s obvious distress and disorientation, our middle son spoke out.

“Don’t ever do that,” my middle son ordered at us, in a very serious, firm tone. “Don’t move. Ever.”

I found my son’s edict amusing. It’s not like we are The Waltons who have lived in the same house for the entire existence of our family life. Our middle son has lived in three different states and five different homes, since he was born. Still, myself, remembering the first time that my parents moved into a home that I had never lived in (for me, that was even after I was married), I remember feeling that same zombie-like uncomfortableness that my son’s friend was feeling. For the first time in my life, my parents’ home was truly and completely THEIR home, and not really MY home anymore. And that signified more than just their physical dwellings.

It’s rites of passage like these, that clearly delineate the fact that our parents are their own people with their own lives to lead, and not just the designated heads of household, leading the family ship around the vast waters of our lives, while we “rebel”, but still hang on to the safety ropes, pretending to ourselves and to others, that our parents have handcuffed us to those ropes. It is a dawning moment when you see your parents move on with their own lives and experiences, because it is moments like these, that more clearly point out the hard and true fact that your own individual, independent life, is really just your own. While still being loved, and cheered on, and hugged from time to time, your rope has been freed. Sink or swim, your life is truly, your own. Your life is your own.

I think what got me into the same woo-woo, weird mental state as my sons’ friend, was the sudden dawning that the torch has really, really been passed. It is now our children that are no longer seeing us on our pristine pedestals of knowledge, authority, and leadership, but more fully understanding that we are just two people who co-created them, along with the Universe. My husband and I did our best, to give our four children a healthy, loving, secure start. Still, for all of our family members’ sake, my husband and I now have to put more of the focus back onto our own lives. We do this with the faith and with the trust that our deep, abiding love for our children and their own inner navigation, with guidance from Above, will carry them on with purpose and meaning and hope, in order to create the adult lives that they are now only just embarking on, with dreams and visions of mighty futures.

Another hard truth is, with as much feeling and meaning that we attach to a lot of our physical things, a house is just a house. It is just a safe place, a dwelling, a nest to come home to and to rest. Nevertheless, as we constantly grow and change in our needs and in our ways, the permanent fixture of a sturdy, firmly planted house, sometimes no longer fits our new selves nor our new ways of life. And as safe as a house makes us feel, a house is destructible. A house is in a constant state of decay and disrepair, and in decades to come, even the oldest and most well-preserved of houses, will no longer be here nor be remembered. What IS steadfast and what will never be destructed, is the love that created the family and the memories and the experiences and the growth and the support that was contained, all inside of the house. That love is carried on to every home that every family member will ever dwell in. After the initial shock of realizing that parents move and change and age and even pass on, I hope that all children, of every age, will realize that their true home and the true home of everyone who they care about and even people whom they just meet, dwells inside each person. Love is their real home, and it is kept safely and securely and deeply, in the beat of each of our own beautiful hearts. And it is indestructible.

Sunday Soul

After the Holiday

It is time for the introspection.

It is time for the resolution.

It is time for the digestion . . .

In the body, but also in the mind . . .

And in the soul.

It is time to clean up the messes. All of them.

It is time to post the happy moments in the memory books . . .

The memory books that you can touch and the ones that just echo in your heart and can be recalled whenever you ask them to, or even when

you don’t.

It is time for the integration of another full experience into the essence of the creation that you call your life.

Was it like what was in your anticipation and imagination? Or did you let the celebration be free to be whatever it was supposed to be for you?

The culmination has arrived and it has passed.

The rumination has begun. It will pass, too.

Completion. Resignation. Fascination. Satisfaction. Appreciation.

Ascension.

The old, but somehow also new and slightly different routine . . .

Awaits.

Okay, readers, you know the drill. Sunday is poetry play day. Please don’t leave me hanging up here. I am so new, unskilled, and apprehensive, messing around with this poetry thing. Yet, it intrigues the hell out of me. We are doing this workshop style, so please post in the Comments section, the words that you are hammering and mixing around, the very thoughts that are stretching and flowing in your fascinating, interesting, free-flowing minds. This is a safe place. I promise. I have veto power over any hateful comments. Plus, there are no hateful comments, because you are all so much more talented, creative, fun, giving, spirited that you ever give yourself credit for, ever. So give your ingenuity away to people who will treasure it, in a way that you can’t. It deserves to be acknowledged and enjoyed.

Happy December!!

Time for Roses

“If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves.” – Maria Edgeworth

I read an article recently that suggested that we overestimate what we can do in a year, but underestimate what we can do in a decade. I’ve been milling that idea, around in my head for a while, as we come to the close of another year and also another decade. I am not really sure if I agree with that statement. As a faithful journal/paper calendar keeper, I can assure you that we very often do so much more, in even a day, than we give ourselves credit for doing. Maybe it’s just that we judge a lot of what we do as meaningless or inconsequential. But is that true? It’s all in our perspective, isn’t it? If we were to become physically incapacitated, our daily routine items, the things that we do mindlessly, could all of the sudden become major triumphs and delights. And how many times in just your life, have people who “are just doin’ their jobs” made a noticeable difference in your life? The friendly cashier who cheered you up on a down day, the thoughtful delivery person who helped you carry something heavy into your home, the receptionist at the doctor’s office who was able to find a way to “fit you in” to any already packed schedule, because he or she just sensed that you needed to feel some relief and healing. . . . these people may not have seen any of these actions as particularly important uses of their time or movements towards their life goals, but for you, on that particular day, their doings were difference makers. So, wouldn’t it be a wise use of our talents and gifts and patience and time, to make life a little easier for others? Isn’t that a worthy goal in life? And if we do any reflecting, I imagine that we all do these very acts of kindness, on a daily basis. These are the little things that improve life for everyone. These are the little things that lift the energy of the entire planet. The planet is heavy, but if we all do our part in the lifting, our Earth is so light that we don’t even give the lifting of it, any thought or any merit. Lifting the world’s energy is something that we all do, almost every day of our lives. That is something. In some ways, it is everything.

The older that I get, I find that it is worthwhile to have life goals to pursue, but also every bit as constructive to savor the every moments. It is also vital to accept the surprises as part of “the plan.” Nothing is in vain. There is value to be found in everything, even in “wasted” time.

“Regret for wasted time is more wasted time.” – Mason Cooley

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.” – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince.

All is Well

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Happy Thanksgiving, my wonderful faithful friends and readers! You are appreciated and loved, more than you could ever understand. Thank you so very much for being part of the moment that I get so excited to experience every single morning. I love sitting down to pour out my heart and my inspirations and my ideas and my silliness and my reflections and my confusions. And you hear me! And you support me! And you nod along with me! And you shake your head at me! What a blessing and a gift that you give to me, by acknowledging my blog. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

This blog is not a chore for me. It is a big part of my heart. It is my blossoming of a part of me that was dormant for so long and is coming into the light, and everyone who has supported this blog has been such a crucial part of that process for me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

You are kind. You are caring. You are interesting and connected to life. I am blessed to have you come into my life. I am blessed to feel a sacred connection to each and every one of you.

Okay enough mushy mush! Go enjoy a wonderful day of family and friends and parades, and dog shows, and feasting (and the wonderful anticipatory smells that come before the feasting) and napping and more feasting! I have overheard it said, at least a dozen times this season, from various people who I have interacted with, that Thanksgiving is their favorite holiday. It IS such a wonderful holiday. Thanksgiving is quiet, peaceful, warm, unassuming, mindful, simple, cozy, comforting, loving, unpretentious, humble, virtuous, awe-striking . . . . what’s not to love about this holiday, and yet Thanksgiving does not beg us to love it or to even acknowledge it. It just soothingly invites us in, with arms wide open. In a world which sometimes seems increasingly faster, noisier, attention grabbing, glitzier, angrier, more isolated and divisive than ever before, Thanksgiving is the reminder that at the core of everything, there is a simple, grateful peace that remains steady. Thanksgiving is a reminder that life is abundant and flowing and pulsing, like a regular, soothing, calming heartbeat, enclosed in a warm, clean, soft blanket of the deep intuitive knowing, that in every moment of stillness, at the quiet center of everyone and everything, All is Well.