Hi!
Well, now I know for sure that no one reads this blog, which is fine, it gives me a place to think by writing. I'm just about ready to rejoin the human race, now that it is 2019, and Justin has been gone for quite a while, now. He's always with me, in my thinking, in my doing, in my watching for hummingbirds (I'm pretty sure he sends them), in the rain that falls, and in the flowers that bloom on the last plant he gave me, and the fan-shaped leaves on the Gingko tree we planted in his memory.
I've been thinking, today, about what makes me happy. Pat fixed my hummingbird indoor fountain, today, and restarted the fountain I gave him eons ago for his workspace. Fountains make me happy - and now 3 of our 5 fountains are working. I added some glass candleholders and candles to one fountain, fixed the leaves/tiers of the other one, and realized that having things working, having things add nature to our indoor space, makes me happy.
I got up this morning and realized that Pat had gone to his Breakfast with Porsches (which makes HIM happy), and that the dishwasher was full of clean dishes; the sink was full of clean dishes; and the counter was full of dirty dishes. This did not make me happy; so I made a cup of tea and proceeded to empty the dishwasher, empty the sink, clean the dirty dishes and/or put them in the dishwasher, wipe the counters, clean the stove, fill the dish soap dispenser, and sweep the floor. A clean kitchen, it turns out, makes me happy; as does a made bed, a vacuumed floor, mail that has been sorted and/or thrown away, bills that have been paid and filed, cooking good food for family and friends who appreciate it, playing with my grandchildren, visiting with my siblings & mother, going out to dinner and the beach and quilting venues with my husband, and laundry that has been put away.
Other things that make me happy - tiny finches eating bird food in the back yard, hummingbirds sipping and flitting, flowers blooming, a quilting project going well, going to Zumba and watercolor classes, going to my quilting guild meeting, doing talks & workshops, singing & playing music, walking 5 miles a day (when it's not raining), reading and writing, traveling to family or Europe or unknown places, paying bills with money still in the bank, sitting in the front yard with Pat in the sunshine, and drinking wine as the world walks by.
I've decided not to list things that make me unhappy, because that would just compound the problem. The less you think about unhappy things, the better; which is why I do not read the newspaper or listen to the news, buy stuff I don't need, or allow stuff to clutter up my space. I was at a conference, once, doing a talk, and there was a speaker (the Fly Lady?) who said that one resolution she made was to always keep the kitchen sink empty. For me, that's right up there with making the bed, dealing with mail on a daily basis, keeping the garbage emptied, the kitchen floor swept, and emptying the dishwasher as soon as possible. Do those things, and you can go quilt with an easy mind.
Life is what it is. It's hard and it's easy. It's beautiful and sad and dreary and wonderful, all at once. There are my granddaughter's hugs (even though she's only 18 months, she is a champion hugger!), my grandson's amazing skills and smiles, troubles and tribulations and triumphs and losses - it's all part of life, and you just have to roll with the punches. True, we just lost a bundle of money on our GE stock, but we paid off my new car and a trip to Europe with it; if it had been doing well, we would have just kept it until we died. Life is a mystery, and you just have to fumble around in the dark the best you can.
Blessed be.
Linda
Well, now I know for sure that no one reads this blog, which is fine, it gives me a place to think by writing. I'm just about ready to rejoin the human race, now that it is 2019, and Justin has been gone for quite a while, now. He's always with me, in my thinking, in my doing, in my watching for hummingbirds (I'm pretty sure he sends them), in the rain that falls, and in the flowers that bloom on the last plant he gave me, and the fan-shaped leaves on the Gingko tree we planted in his memory.
I've been thinking, today, about what makes me happy. Pat fixed my hummingbird indoor fountain, today, and restarted the fountain I gave him eons ago for his workspace. Fountains make me happy - and now 3 of our 5 fountains are working. I added some glass candleholders and candles to one fountain, fixed the leaves/tiers of the other one, and realized that having things working, having things add nature to our indoor space, makes me happy.
I got up this morning and realized that Pat had gone to his Breakfast with Porsches (which makes HIM happy), and that the dishwasher was full of clean dishes; the sink was full of clean dishes; and the counter was full of dirty dishes. This did not make me happy; so I made a cup of tea and proceeded to empty the dishwasher, empty the sink, clean the dirty dishes and/or put them in the dishwasher, wipe the counters, clean the stove, fill the dish soap dispenser, and sweep the floor. A clean kitchen, it turns out, makes me happy; as does a made bed, a vacuumed floor, mail that has been sorted and/or thrown away, bills that have been paid and filed, cooking good food for family and friends who appreciate it, playing with my grandchildren, visiting with my siblings & mother, going out to dinner and the beach and quilting venues with my husband, and laundry that has been put away.
Other things that make me happy - tiny finches eating bird food in the back yard, hummingbirds sipping and flitting, flowers blooming, a quilting project going well, going to Zumba and watercolor classes, going to my quilting guild meeting, doing talks & workshops, singing & playing music, walking 5 miles a day (when it's not raining), reading and writing, traveling to family or Europe or unknown places, paying bills with money still in the bank, sitting in the front yard with Pat in the sunshine, and drinking wine as the world walks by.
I've decided not to list things that make me unhappy, because that would just compound the problem. The less you think about unhappy things, the better; which is why I do not read the newspaper or listen to the news, buy stuff I don't need, or allow stuff to clutter up my space. I was at a conference, once, doing a talk, and there was a speaker (the Fly Lady?) who said that one resolution she made was to always keep the kitchen sink empty. For me, that's right up there with making the bed, dealing with mail on a daily basis, keeping the garbage emptied, the kitchen floor swept, and emptying the dishwasher as soon as possible. Do those things, and you can go quilt with an easy mind.
Life is what it is. It's hard and it's easy. It's beautiful and sad and dreary and wonderful, all at once. There are my granddaughter's hugs (even though she's only 18 months, she is a champion hugger!), my grandson's amazing skills and smiles, troubles and tribulations and triumphs and losses - it's all part of life, and you just have to roll with the punches. True, we just lost a bundle of money on our GE stock, but we paid off my new car and a trip to Europe with it; if it had been doing well, we would have just kept it until we died. Life is a mystery, and you just have to fumble around in the dark the best you can.
Blessed be.
Linda
I haven't written in this blog for a long, long time because I just couldn't. My son killed himself on May 7th, and anything I could have written would have been drowned in my tears and just bummed everybody out. During those first few weeks, I created this quilt for him.
The laws around the inner border came from a poster on his wall. The image was from his website, My Body of Knowledge.com. I painted him using Setacolors onto fabric, then appliquéd it all onto a wild piece of hand dyed fabric. My son was a personal trainer, a world traveler, a good friend, a brilliant philospher, and I miss him so much every day that I feel I'll never be truly happy again. Most of my family and a lot of my husband's family, and many, many, friends came to celebrate his life on June 17, 2017. In the meantime, we had literally hundreds of cards, letters, e-mails, calls, flowers, and condolences from all over the world, including from Ratan Tata, one of his former employers in India. The celebration was full of color, movement, love, and testimonies from his dear friends and family, who will keep him alive in their hearts. We also celebrated the coming of new life - my two-week old granddaughter, Elizabeth Catherine, who will never know her uncle.
A mother should never have to mourn her child. It should be the other way around.
There is something helpful that my daughter sent to me. Perhaps it will help you, if you are ever in the position to mourn a loved one:
"Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well."
So I try. I take one breath after the other and keep living my life, watching the hummingbirds fly and the flowers grow, and have faith that's he's really just around the corner, but happy now.
A mother should never have to mourn her child. It should be the other way around.
There is something helpful that my daughter sent to me. Perhaps it will help you, if you are ever in the position to mourn a loved one:
"Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well."
So I try. I take one breath after the other and keep living my life, watching the hummingbirds fly and the flowers grow, and have faith that's he's really just around the corner, but happy now.