Winter with a Vengeance

Winter has come on this year with a vengeance, starting in November with lots of snow, and continuing on from there.

Lately we have been living through bitterly cold negative-number temperatures as we deal with this Polar Vortex that's been hovering over pretty much the whole country.

It's only the first part of January - how do I face the notion of getting through at least two more months after this one?

This is the view from my third floor studio at the Box Factory for the Arts in St. Joseph, Michigan. It's looking over a river and a marina that's completely devoid of boats.  The black specks in the sky is a flock of birds that took flight just as I snapped the picture.

It's hard to whip up enthusiasm for things this time of year in Michigan.  But we are planning trips for the summer and trying to get involved in new projects - and somehow we'll get through, just like we do each year.

The Empty Room

The other day I was sitting in my living room with my two friends, Judy and Sue, who make up my writing trio.  We take turns meeting at each other's house for dinner once a month and this month it was my turn.  I made salad with pears, walnuts, blue cheese and mustard vinaigrette. Then I served spaghetti. Then for dessert, we had cherry cobbler with vanilla ice cream.

Comfort food eaten in front of the fireplace on a cold, dark, autumn night when we all needed a little comfort.

I told them a little bit about how over-whelmed I was feeling. How I had way too many obligations to do things I simply didn't want to do. How I had no time to work on my writing, which was the whole point of rearranging my life and maintaining a writing studio.

My friend Judy suggested this:

Think of my life as a room.  Imagine taking everything out until it is completely empty. Then, after much consideration, start letting things back in - but only things I truly love and feel passionate about - nothing can come in if "obligation" is the only thing it has going for it.

Later, after they left, I did quite a bit of thinking about this.  What exactly would I let back into my "room?" Family, of course, writing and managing writing programs at my studio, teaching at the local college and occasional volunteer work.

What didn't make the cut?  Committee or board work of any kind. Intense sewing to deadlines. Freelance work for somebody else. Projects or events that require me to do the planning.

Tom and I have about cornered the market on being helpful over the years - we want to have a period of time when no one counts on us for anything (except our family).  No one should plan on us attending any function or managing any problem. I don't want commitments or deadlines.

We just want to work on our own art and plan our lives around that.  Once I got that figured out in my head - it truly felt like there was a light at the end of the tunnel and I should be able to make it to next summer, when the timeline for our commitments comes to an end.

Things are looking up!

Restless

I'm feeling restless.

Suddenly all the things I've loved to do for years are just too annoying to continue.

I'm tired of quilting, I'm tired of all my writing projects, I'm tired of volunteering. I'm tired of my hair, my clothes, my shoes, my house. I'm tired of this place I have spent my whole life and will likely spend the rest of it until they put my boring, adventure-less body into the ground.

I want to never go to another meeting. I want no one to count on me for anything. I want to throw caution to the wind and buy a whole new wardrobe. I want to get in my car and drive without worry about where I'm going and if I'll have enough money when I get there.

 I want to buy beautiful expensive shoes and not have them hurt my feet. Perhaps they would even look like the ones I show here. These are the shoes of a baby who will never be boring or invisible. She will dance through life and travel the world. She will never be stuck in the same place, following some pre-determined life path. I have never owned a pair of shoes that could do that for me.

I know that half the secret of being happy and content with life is to make the conscious decision to be that way. But what happens if the time times when, no matter how optimistic a person tries to be, it just ain't cutting it?

I had such high hopes for accomplishing so much with this life I have - I felt sure I was on that path - but right now I feel in serious danger of going out with a whimper and barely a sign that I was here.

And if I feel that way now, in November, what's it going to be like in February in the dead of winter when it really feels like life will never be interesting again?

I think I'm in attitude trouble.

typewriter update

I  realized that I had not updated the wish I made for a typewriter for my birthday last May.

We looked around for the little black Royal typewriter that the company still makes, but it could only be special ordered and I couldn't see it in person.  I was a little concerned because the new typewriter was all made of plastic.

Then, I remembered something that was sitting on my bookshelf in the office among the Hemingway books.  It was a typewriter someone found for me years ago at a garage sale.  At the time I just wanted it for decoration, so I put it on the shelf and sort of forgot about it - especially after Tom propped one of his photographs in front of it and was using it as an easel.

But when I remembered it, I pulled it down and took a look.  It is a metal portable typewriter, just like I was looking for.  It was kind of grungy, but Tom cleaned it up for me and we ordered a new ribbon on-line for a few dollars and there it is!

Tom looked up the model number and found out it was made in the 1940's and this model was one of Hemingway's favorite typewriters.

Although it has a very "soft" touch, it's still difficult for these fingers who have only used electric typewriters and computer keyboards to push down hard enough to get a good strike.  But I use it for what I had originally thought I would do, type an occasional poem that I want to look old-fashioned and aged.

Slow writing is a great thing.

Family First

Sloan, heading off for her last year of college

I talked with my daughter, Sloan, yesterday and we discussed my feelings about her moving away. This wasn't new to her, but perhaps she didn't quite know how deeply I felt.

She told me that she would always keep in mind the idea of returning home and she wouldn't put herself in a situation where that simply wasn't an option.

That made me feel much better, but so did acknowledging to myself that I had the right to feel the way I do.

I talk to other women and it seems that everyone has some story about how their children moved away and they were just fine with it because, of course, they "only wanted them to be happy." They imply that I don't want that for her and, because my other two children live nearby, I should somehow be satisfied and stop whining about missing the third one.

Nope. Doesn't work that way with me.

There are many things I love and appreciate in this life, but my family is the only thing about which I am passionate.  I worked very hard; emotionally, financially and physically, to pull this little family of ours together and will continue to work at it until the day I die.  If I lost every other friend in this world, as long as I had my family, I would be just fine. They are the people I most want to spend time with. It is "us against the world."

So, I give myself permission to feel like this. I give myself permission to miss my daughter, dote on my grandchildren, prefer the company of my husband, and put all of them above and before anything else in my life.

Now, I feel happier.

Lost?

Sloan

On August 2 we moved our beautiful daughter to North Carolina where she had taken a job as a special education teacher.

It has been two full months now and during that time I have kept myself extremely busy and tried very hard not to think about it too much. But, last night I was driving home from my writing group with a dear friend, Judy, who is kind and spiritual and understanding and I began telling her a few things.

I haven't wanted to talk about it, and I certainly haven't wanted to write about it. It just felt like, if I let down my guard, it would be like opening a vein and the hemorrhaging would begin.

I know that lots of people's children move away and they cope just fine and I should just grow up and stop being so dramatic about it.  But the fact is, I'm not like a lot of other people and,  although I'm not really a dramatic person, I have very deep feelings when it comes to my family.

For one thing, our family doesn't move away. They just don't. Grandparents, parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins - alive or dead - they are all still here in Michigan. Why does it have to be my daughter who decides she must leave?

I have an acquaintance who constantly complains about how her daughters are scattered all over the country and I always think to myself "Good Lord! If you were my mother, I'd move as far away as I could get too!"  Is this my punishment for thinking such unkind thoughts?

Now that my mother has passed away, I am surrounded by males: husband, sons, grandsons, brothers. I have two daughters-in-law, but they are busy with their work and families and they have their own mothers to dote on. I feel like I have no "soft place to fall."

I wanted a daughter so badly when Sloan was born and I delighted in raising her, but always felt it wasn't enough time. I am greedy for more. I was looking forward to relating to her as an adult, and certainly I know that I can do that to some degree even though she's far away. But there will be no casual drop-ins, no last minute lunches, no shopping trips just for fun. And when she has a family, I won't be the grandma the kids want to spend time with.

I know she felt she needed to find her own way in the world, and I was determined that I would not be the one to clip her wings. But, time is on her side and it's not on mine. I'm afraid that I will never again be able to spend any significant amount of time with her, that our visits together will be superficial at best, and time constricted at worst.

My heart hurts and I feel I have lost something irreplaceable. And this is why I haven't been able to write about it. For now I'll put on a tourniquet and think about it later when I'm stronger.
    

Time - the Speed Racer

Coach Max holding Weston at the soccer game

The other day I was babysitting two of my grandsons, Nolan (3 years) and Weston (8 months), who are my #2 son's children, when my oldest son, Caleb,  stopped by with his baby, Huxley (5 months). Max came to get the boys a short time later and I was in the unusual position of sitting there watching my "baby boys" sitting on the floor and playing with their baby boys.

This picture is of Max holding Weston while he coaches Nolan's soccer team. Tom used to do that identical thing with Max himself - hold him while he ran up and down the sidelines coaching Caleb's team. Sometimes when I cuddle one of the babies I find myself thinking that I was doing the same to my own babies only a couple of weeks ago ..... wasn't it?  But, when reality hits I know that, since the kids are 33, 27 and 23, it's been a bit longer than that.

I have reached an age when time has collapsed in on itself and is in a race to speed along much faster than I can stop and pay attention to it. It's really kind of scary and I look for the emergency brake handle to pull so it will slow down - but there is no brake to be had.