We refer to him as Red between us. It's code for Jeff, my friendly neighborhood contractor, who has bailed me out on more than one occasion. I referenced him in my early blogs. Red has nothing to do with the color of his hair because he is a blond-blue eyed Adonis. It has to do with the number of red flags that only the shallow would see. Kind of like me. There are red flags all around me, too. Warning! Warning! Not last relationship material. But as you've understand, I beg to differ.
Have you ever been lying in the sun at a fairly empty pool or beach, when someone plops themselves down quite close to you, when they have the whole area to chose from? Well, that's how we met. I was lying at the pool, worshiping the sun and then suddenly he was there. Like he dropped out of the sky and chose to talk with me. Of course, I was one of the only people at the pool that afternoon.
After hellos were exchanged, and we began to talk, it was like we'd known each other for life times. Everything just flowed smoothly. Infrequently, we are fortunate to meet like minded others, and a new energy is released into the world around us. Sometimes the timing is good, sometimes it's not. Only time itself will tell, but the recognition of a kindred soul masquerading as a human being can not be denied.
He had just moved into the community on the hill. Now I feel he's moving. He hasn't told me so, though I've called to inquire. It is not like him to not return my calls. It's that sixth or seventh sense that kicks in with these special, recognized beings. They are not like normal humans. He glows with light and energy and perhaps a touch of healing magic. The sexual kind of healing magic. This is one funny and sexy man who is a delightfully dangerous flirt. If ever there was a cougar lurking inside of me, Jeff could bring her out. Fortunately, he hasn't tried. He's been nothing except a gentleman, a wide open, clearly communicating and effective gentleman.
Ironically, he has met two local brothers when I asked him to put a bid on the reconstruction of the house. It was a perfect opportunity for me to share some of my life and insights with him as we walked through the wreckage together. He asks good questions and has vision. I'm completely honest with him except about what caused the pipes to burst in the first place. On that one, I took the Fifth. Loyalty and all.
I can count on one hand, OK maybe two, the number of encounters we've had since that fateful afternoon one year ago. Our phone calls are few. He had a divorce to do. A family to support. A girlfriend and lots of friends to empower him. He is the father, provider type not likely to be without a woman for long. Jeff loves women and women naturally love him back. He is a rarity and should be shared with the world.
Did I mention his energy? How handsome he is? A charming Leo who's handy. I could go on and on like a schoolgirl with a crush. It's always like this with these special angel men. Their magnetism. Jeff simply has It.
And what about me? Can't you tell? I simply adore him. Romance with Red? Only in my fantasies which strangely align with his. Sometimes we just get lucky. Happy Birthday to Me!
The truth is I've not been myself lately. A people person in solitude does not make for health. Part of the problem, I suspect, is this lovely medication cocktail I take is probably off. I know which culprit it is. However, I know enough not to make any adjustments without consulting my doctor, because this culprit has the ability to set me into a tailspin if I take it out of the mix immediately. It has happened before but now has robbed me of energy and motivation and I feel frail. This I will tell my psychiatrist when we meet in a couple of weeks. This I share with you so you'll call or write or come by to get me out. A friendly nudge not a lecture is what I need. This is my out reach. Girls just wanna have fun, especially this girl.
This is a second try on this medication. For many, it has been a miracle for drive and motivation. It is heavily advertised and psychiatrists are writing some positive case studies because of it. Consumers are raving but not this consumer. After an initial boost of energy, it's left me flat, anti-social and unmotivated. No desire except to write and some of you may have noticed, I'm not doing as much writing as I was. My body feels tense, all wound up, my heart fluttering and I feel numb all over. My focus is a bit scattered. I've taken up cigarette smoking, which I detest, and can not afford physically or financially to do. The consequences leave me perturbed. This is not a description of a depressive episode but of side effects of medication. I've been feeling poorly for awhile now and that makes me damn unhappy.
I need a push, a nudge and a reason to get out of the house. This retreat has been too long and the beautiful weather is finally here. So is my birthday and I want to have fun. Not the forced kind, but the authentic kind. My mood naturally lifts in the company of others. I think this med actually accentuates loneliness in me. I imagine the loneliness in a marriage or partnership that is unfulfilled, must be the most tragic loneliness of them all. All this sickly isolation is coming to an end because busyness marks the preparation for a long Memorial Day weekend in Vermont. I'm going to visit with Nancy. There is no way I'll be alone or feel lonely with the crowd that's always around her. The only question is can I keep up with them?
Beibei is back from China and her daughter Vickie, whom I will finally meet, has graduated from her university. She is home briefly before she begins a fellowship. I can not wait to meet her. The only daughter of an only daughter of an only daughter; Chinese style. Here is a Chinese matriarchy in a very patriarchal society. But most societies are patriarchal. Do you suppose that is part of the problem with the world?
Arriving for tea a couple of weeks ago was Paula. We sat and drank this exceptional Chinese Oolong tea brought home from Taipei by my 15 year old nephew when he went to China last month. The exorbitant gift he bought for me was an abundance of Oolong and Assam teas, specially grown on Taiwan. The black tin contains the Chinese Oolong tea and the red canister, for special guests, contains the Chinese Assam. I'm amassing quite a collection of real teas now. No more teabags for me. I've become addicted to the real thing. The Chinese Oolong is beyond delicious. We feel its healing effects immediately.
Paula and I have known each other since freshman year in college. Neither of us had a choice about where we would go to college. Our parents made those decisions for us because both of us were needed at home. We laugh and call ourselves the governess and the nanny. We had to make the most out of our college years by working to pay our own tuition and expenses, and by helping our working mothers chauffeur younger siblings to and fro. It is what it was, but that does not mean for a moment, that it is what we desired for ourselves. Paula amazes me with her intellectual recollections. I studied for the
tests, period, letting my short-term memory and listening skills carry
me through exams. Paula learned, absorbed and studied.. She has a
prodigious memory and can bring out the lighthearted in me simply with
her recollections. She is happily married which is saying something in
this world, and is by far, the most level headed, grounded person with exceptional gifts, that I know.
She is quite simply, amazing grace in action. I treasure our
friendship.
We understand as educators, that any education is a good education. Ultimately, no one cares in the working world where you went to "finishing school". The only thing that matters is who and what you gain from those years. Congratulations to all of the graduates of the Class of 2010! You've made it. Best wishes to all the teachers and parents who made it possible! Smile, the eyes of God are upon you all.
I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I
am loved. I am not sure that you are of the same kind. But the realm of
silence is large enough beyond the grave. This is the world of light
and speech, and I shall take leave to tell you that you are very dear.
This quote was sent by Gloria, who as her name implies is glorious. That we both live with bipolar disorder ensures that we have a companion along the journey who understands, even if we don't see each other as often as we may like. That's the way of it. We are aging with this disease and the cumulative effects are daunting. A lot of time is spent alone, yet aren't we all alone with ourselves at the end of the day?
If you don't know where to look, your eyes may barely be able to make out the path that winds it way down the grassy field. So secluded is this spot that one may feel as if one is walking back in time. I've taken a few down this lovely path leading to one of the remote cemeteries scattered about. The trail leads through a thicket but the ruts from wagons have worn deep into the ground. Here the path is wide. There is no losing ones way here. There, just as you make a turn, is the bolder marked entrance to the cemetary.
These excursions are motivated by Spirit. Not everyone can appreciate the solitude and greenery that encompasses this potters graveyard. Here, beginning with the number 1, are the once nameless ones who lived here when it was an asylum. A wonderful movement by former patients and residents worked feverishly to put names with the numbers. Numbers. That was how they were buried. No names until this group working with the town and the state's department of mental health were able to piece together a name with a number. Thank God, Massachusetts keeps good records. Even so, there are many markers without corresponding names. A simple round pipe-like head with a chisled number marks the spot where someones remains have now fertilized the land.
The expanse is wide and a deep green surrounded by tall evergreens and large maples that have taken root. Off to one side are the abandoned, unused flat slates used to create markers with names. The layout of the plots are nice and orderly in perfect rows, going on and on, down a slope until it meets a boundary fence set among the trees. Substitute the iron markers for white headstones and you could be on a knoll of unknown soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery. This graveyard holds hundreds. However, what one sees is a lovely south facing hillside amid an empty grove. If you like mysteries and cemeteries then this one has a lot going for
it.
I love both. I've always found cemeteries peaceful places with surprises. I dragged one brother all through Arlington National Cemetery one beautiful day discovering an amphitheater with a throne on a dais. The photos of us on a marble throne make us look like an emperor and an empress. Arlington is a very large cemetery, also nice and orderly, like the military. The property once belonged to the defeated yet mighty warrior General Lee. It's present day use does him honor to this day. There has been a lot of blood spilled in the name of America. Maybe not as much as by the French and the English but they've had centuries more than us to get it right. Now we are the super power in decline definitely headed like lemmings off the cliff.
Memorial Day is coming upon us. It was a time chosen after the American Civil War to remember the deeds and sacrifices of soldiers and sailors. There were no marines or air force then. The movement for a national day of mourning was spearheaded by women but that should not surprise you. It is women, the women and children, left behind that had sacrifice thrust upon them. This is the way of war. Women giving birth to sons (now daughters) to be fodder for an insatiable, unrelenting need for war, blood-shed, and the ever growing sophistication of war making technology. Want to become educated for almost nothing and be employed, see the world? Join the military. Talk about line items and hidden costs in the national budget and debt but I digress.
Memorial Day is not celebrated on May 31st any longer. It is now in the US post-industrial, capitalist, secular world, the unofficial start to summer and a long weekend. That this year, the last Monday in May happens to fall on the 31st is a fluke. It's the weekend we chose to remember all of our dearly departed, whether they were military personnel or not. This is the way it should be. Not all honor and glory belong to those who lost their life in war. Their lives do not merit any special status that sets them apart from the nameless buried on the property of a former insane asylum or your own beloved ones laid to rest in cemeteries or the oceans of around our nation.
There is always a reverent silence in cemeteries. I love the sound of silence broken only by the call of the birds who find shelter and rest in the trees. Silence isn't very popular in our hectic, iPod world so we speak in hushed tones. Not so much as a fear of the dead and the shadow side of life but more to reflect and contemplate our own lives and motives. Here we are reminded life is a brief journey. Briefer for some than for others.
But eternal life, the life promised to those who are surrendered to the Divine Will, is an adventure beyond our wildest imagination. Or so I'm told and been promised. Who doesn't like a good adventure?
Tell someone you love them today. Mean it. Then see or hear or feel what happens next. Believe.
We all need routines and rituals in our daily lives. Being somewhat of a news junkie, my favorite thing to do before I go to sleep, is to watch the Daily Show with Jon Stewart. In fact, his program is one of the best sources of the news. He and his writers see the irony and hypocrisy in everything. Conservatives don't think he is funny but that fact, makes him more entertaining for me. Let's just say I'm a fan. I like going to sleep having a good laugh. It puts the cherry on top of whatever kind of day its been or mood I may be in.
This past week has been reruns of recent shows which normally might irk me. However, there was a string of a couple of weeks that put me down earlier than my usual 11:30 pm. Despite being able to catch the show at 7 pm the following night, my schedule doesn't always coincide with this convenience.
Last evening's show had Rosalynn Carter as the guest. She was promoting her new book and advocacy for the mentally ill. After 39 years as an advocate, she stated unequivocately, "It is no better than when I started". Nationally, the stigma is so bad despite the fact that 1 out of 4 Americans experience a spectrum of mental illnesses, she told him. We learn that there is no test, no antidote that works.
How was Stewart going to handle this dignified 83 year old former First Lady? This is a sensitive subject that she is passionate about. He did so with a compassionate heart and typical insight. He commented that knowing of people with a mental illness is like watching a rabbit go down a hole and never come back. Got that right. Some of us are doing our best on our comebacks, whatever way we measure them. She was hopeful about brain research and pharmaceutical breakthroughs.
What caught my attention was that she said we began to deinstitutionalized those with mental illness before a system of community care could be created. This led to re-institutionalization. Prisons and jails hold the largest number of mentally ill in our country. We have money for prisons but not community mental health facilities. She could of added, but did not, that the USA has the largest jail and prison system in the world. Who's going to get treatment in a prison or jail? After nearly 40 years of advocacy, she has written a stinging indictment on the US Mental Health system in her book "Within Our Reach".
The following is a quote from "Within Our Reach":
Americans think of ourselves as decent, generous, and compassionate people, and for the most part we are. But we treat a large portion of our own population as if they are second-class citizens. Ultimately, the way we treat people with mental illnesses in our society is a moral issue—to neglect those, who through no fault of their own, are in need runs counter to our core principles—the values of decency and equality that we hold dear.
This is a moral issue. This is why I write. Our national mental health is in a crisis. Do you get it?
Thank you, Mrs. Carter for your goodness, kindness, years of dedicated service and for being a voice in the darkness and wilderness for those of us with a mental illness. I wonder, grand lady, who will take up your mantel?
Rosalynn Carter Launches Book Tour - Within Our Reach, Ending the Mental Health Crisis
He was a long lost friend from my earlier promising years. The shock and compassion reverberated in his voice . "You've been living on Social Security for 15 years! I never would have imagined that would have happened to you."
"Well", I respond, "It has given me a different perspective on life that I was unprepared for, that's for sure." The ridiculousness of it all, even now, astounds me.
If there is ever a topic that gets everyone's goat, especially the "Boomers", it's Social Security. Everyone has an opinion. I'm aware that those doing the angriest and disgusted routine, which is just about everyone, haven't a clue about the lifeline that Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI) and Medicare are to me and millions of others. Without them, I wouldn't be here today.
I've heard all the arguments and belief systems of working people. "I'd pump gas for work"or drive a bus or a truck. The words sting but roll-off me. I've been pressed up against the pride of a handful, whom I informally counseled, when they discovered, much to their shame and dismay, that they could no longer support themselves as they were confronted with the crippling effects of mental illness. Caution, I advise, there is a long process ahead. It takes perseverance and patience.
Anyone who thinks it is easy to apply, to receive, and to survive on SSDI and Medicare, should be forced to live for 3 months under these circumstances. The strongest would become lame. I suspect that they know it because they protest the loudest. They also do not know their history.
Unlike the Chinese, we Americans have a short-sighted view of time. Memories of previous generations are wiped from our minds, our collective consciousness, but are encoded in our genes. Most American History classes barely made it to the 20th Century when the Boomers were in school. What we learned about Social Security, FDR and the New Dealers, we learned from the media, as well as differences in our regional, social and political persuasions. Everyone sees it in their paychecks. It is a sizable deduction. Many live in fear or anger that the system will be bankrupt when it's their time to "collect". Kill-off or re-haul the sacred cow is a popular political theme.
My own application for SSDI began with a waterfall of tears. This admission, that I was unable to work in a meaningful way, nearly crushed me. At first, my application was denied. This is common. In my case, at 40, I did not have an historic medical file nor did I have a spouse or partner supporting me, masking my inability to perform professionally or as a mere worker bee. There was no family trust fund to live off. I was on temporary welfare. More than anything, I longed for some semblance of independence again. There would be no quick fixes but I had paid more than enough quarters to be eligible for a benefit. I was destitute.
So when Gloria came for tea, we had a lot of ground to cover. For months, she has been procrastinating on her application for SSDI caught in the personal intellectual dilemma and debate. The desire to want to work confronted by the inability to sustain employment. May you never feel the remorse of these choices. Every story is different but when it comes to SSDI there are some commonalities that apply.
Relaying my own experience as a single woman is one thing, but relaying the stories of others in marriages might inspire her to take charge. Warning, taking charge is exhausting and taxing with a progressive mental illness. And if one is "high functioning", or can keep up public appearances, then the burden is even greater. Learn and educate yourself as much as you can absorb.
Bobby's case has commonalities. He almost had reached the threshold of early retirement (age 62) before falling short by a couple of years due to crippling depression. His body and psyche broke down. It helps to have other physical complications. His was diabetes. He had exorbitant medical expenses with medical insurance coverage due to terminate. It's very expensive to have a mental illness or any other chronic disease without medical insurance. It's impossible in many circumstances without aid from state government or a medical facility. He wound up in a no-tax state. He had a spouse that was unemployable. It's damn hard at 60 to find work or sustainable self-employment to support a household. As a couple they owned property. He was an extremely hard worker whose identity, like us all, is tied up with what we do. Who are we if we are not working?
Bobby's first application was denied so he shouldered on for another year getting weaker and weaker. There is something about needing help that us stubborn or independent types hate to request. It's the threat of the duo impending financial and medical disasters that motivates us. To be rejected, often is part of the process.
To make a long story short, Bobby reapplied for SSDI upon his doctor's advise. He applied for free care at a local hospital who was obliged to accept him. He waited. No need to appeal the SSA decision, his disability had substantial documentation and he was awarded a benefit that he was entitled to receive. Yes, it was much less than an early retirement benefit, but it brought in just enough to cover the basic bills. There would be no more movies, dinners out, travel or concerts. Their life savings was depleted. They lost their home. The cost to his marriage was an even higher price to pay. Bobby died on Christmas day this year from complication of depression and diabetes. He did not reach the age of 64. I suspect he died of a broken heart.
Cyndi, my dear departed friend, was motivated to apply for SSDI because she wanted to feel like she was financially contributing to her marriage. At least to have a little more pocket money of her own for gifts to her large extended family. Or at least, this was how she explained it to me. Her marriage was personally and financially secure. She was exuberant when her application was quickly processed. She admitted to having a psychiatric file an inch or more in thickness. The SSDI benefit gave her dignity, but could not prevent her from dying of complications brought on by bipolar depression. But for a short time, she had a bit of money of her own to spend.
So to Gloria and anyone else on the verge of the precipise, I advise to apply for SSDI. The clock starts ticking when you make a personal appearance. You'll find the employees of SSA to be consumer oriented and efficient. Bring a book or a magazine if you have not scheduled an appointment. SSA is always busy, but helpful. You'll be given a load of paperwork to complete. Just do it. Everything must be done in a timely manner. You'll need letters and medical files to be submitted by your doctors. The administration of this process is up to you though there are human service agencies and legal aid to advise and help you now. The task is daunting and overwhelming. It is not an easy process and the system expects quitters not to appeal. You really need to get going now before disaster arrives like a tsunami.
You'll be amazed to see your entire work history on a computer screen that will immediately calculate your benefit. What ever the number, it is much better than zero income, homelessness or defaulting on a mortgage or the complete deterioration of a marriage. Zero divided by 2 is zero. Divorce under these circumstances is futile even if the sacred bond that binds two souls together holds or is decimated by a set of circumstances.
My consistent advice is to apply in person at your local Social Security office. Do the substanial paperwork involved. Read the information materials provided by the SSA on SSDI. Make this your top priority and getting medical attention. If your medical condition is fragile, then it is more, not less advisable, to apply. Get help or clarification as needed. Put your ego aside. You are deserving. You've paid more than your fair share of dues. You've gone the distance and with the grace of the divine, will eventually receive what you've earned to date. Be yourself but be honest. Answer their questions, this is not an intellectual-philosophical debate. Don't be afraid to cry but hold yourself together in order to listen. This is the US, not Canada, or Europe or your home country. Citizens of these countries get better government support.
The purpose of SSDI is to be a life-line for the disable. Psychiatrict disabilities are invisible. The burden of proof is in the application and the medical documentation. Given any complicated hsitory and recent ailments, ther is no reason to believe that your application will be rejected. This is where your hope lies. You'll have income to support yourself in a smaller household. It will give you dignity and when you reach the age of early retirement your benefit will increase. In a year, you'll be eligible for Medicare or the new, little understood, US health care program. You have nothing to lose but everything to gain. Just do it, then wait. And continue asking questions and becoming an informed citizen-consumer. Praying helps and having others pray for you, too.
As for me, my monthly SSDI benefit has seen a cost of living increase of $200 spread over a 15 year period of time while the economy rose to unprecedented heights and then crashed becoming tragically dysfunctional. With housing assistance, I live in a luxury setting. Finally, after many years of attempted wage work that rarely exceeded three months, I have found happiness and passion teaching English to motivated adult immigrants. Their lives and quests inspire me. I've held this small, part-time employment for over a year now. That alone is an accomplishment. I am respected, liked and counted as an asset by my colleagues, students and administrators. It has empowered me with a renewed sense of accomplishment. I love my job even if it does take me into the ghetto. The extra money means the bills get paid without anxiety. It has expanded my social life and I took my first vacation in 20 years. I have a loving family and a family of friends who remind me in small and great ways that life can be good.
We got talking about Afghanistan. It's easy to see why this perverse place became the birthplace of al Quada. A couple of years ago, the novel A Red Kite was all the rage, on the must read reading list. Someone gave me the book and I made it about half-way through before the subject matter, the rape of a young boy, turned my stomach. I could not go on. The images in my mind were too horrifying to continue. Apparently, I missed the thrill the market loved about the author's style and a peak inside the Afghan culture. The novel was a NY Times best-seller.
We've been bogged down with an another unwinnable war in this harsh part of the world for too many years now. Afghanistan has little to recommend it and its culture is sexually exploitative. The rape, the taking of young boys, dressing them as girls and then ravenging them by a group of adult men leaves me wondering why are we are there in the first place. I seriously doubt we are going to influence or change their world or attitudes. Supposedly, we are there to root out evil but at what cost to ourselves?
PBS' Frontline has quietly exposed this little known but pervasive practice of sexual slavery of boys. Not surprisingly, women are totally enslaved with no voice or power of their own. Illiteracy is rampant and is considered the norm. Their only viable export is poppies for heroin derivatives. They are masters of the double-double-cross. Who do you trust? The media for squashing stories like these? The politicians for 'placing' an Afghan-in-America, as the leadership of primitive tribes whose lust for power grows? The military chiefs for their unending need for war and for expensive high-tech toys? The Afghan people? The American people?
There is very little to recommend this war as defensible. Even the President knows that. But we are still there. Today 16 people were killed in the capital of Kabel by an IED bomb. None of them were Americans, it will barely be a blip on the evening news tonight.
So how are we doing as the self-proclaimed rooters of evil on the planet?
Mother Earth is hemorrhaging her blood, oil, into the Gulf of Mexico threatening life in the oceans and delicate places where the land meets the sea. She is bleeding out in medical jargon. Entire regional economies and life are about to become extinct because of the carelessness of a few. Does any of this rile you up?
Four months and counting since the earthquake in Haiti. Millions displaced and homeless as hurricane season looms ahead. What more must these people endure while we spread ourselves thin? Our own economic news is dismal despite every attempt to spin it positively. Is your world being rocked by any of this?
Speaking for myself, this hardly seems like an earthly paradise. I imagine that it will take eternity to straighten itself out. The Daily Word is Free. "I am free and unlimited."
I want to be free of such thoughts and concerns. Gloria is coming for tea. I imagine her presence will stop such nonsense spinning through my head. Sometimes, all we need is companionship with another who gets it.
It's done. The house with a new beginning awaits its beloved owners. They are in route with excitement, I hope.
If you had walked along with me to witness it all in the very beginning, after the waterfall, and seen the terrible condition it was in, then you'd find the end result impressive. That's how I feel about the entire project. To call this a project is an understatement. It was a microcosm of a family in action. A family dedicated to the service of the Blessed Mother and Divine Father. Each in their own way called to serve. This house located, ironically, on Chapel Road, will be rededicated and become the headquarters for a new generation. It will call them like a beacon of light. "Come home. Come visit us. Come visit." it will say. And they will. As Dorothy said, "There is no place like Home." But it is to grandmother and grandfather's house we go.
I learned a lot about what's involved in construction and design of a home. First of all, its an intense business and is not meant for the faint of heart. Let's start with the guts and belly and the non-sexy elements. The electrical, the plumbing, and the heating system were all upgraded. The water issue was resolved after a lot of conflict about how to do it. We'll just blame the neighbors for creating the problem in the first place. The entire basement was power-washed-white, and now has an unfinished wine cellar instead of a 1940's bomb-shelter. The foundation, once-upon a time was overflowing with junk and water, is now empty, dry, clean and awaiting a new purpose. Take this as a sign of a clean slate from the foundation up.
Going up the basement stairs leads to the rear exit that has a new set of steps leading to the backyard. The yard, minus the dead and dying apple trees, is large enough now for a football game or a festive, large event. From the street, the house has been wrapped in aluminum siding with new windows to view the world going by. There is early evidence of landscaping and a garden taking shape. With time and nurturing this could become worthy of a garden club membership. It will take vision and no small amount of work. From shabby to chic with the right choice of plants and flowers.
Pick a door, either door, leads inside. The over-sized mudroom, once known as the breezeway, has actually become, a breezeway. In Florida, they'd call it a lanai. Its light, knotty pine finish and homey simplicity is a reminder that the old hideous knotty-pine inside is now covered over in painted sheet rock. Here's the official smoking room during inclement weather.We would be well advised to adopt the Asian custom of taking our shoes off before entering the house, for there is new hardwood flooring throughout uniting the downstairs space. The sisters have out-done themselves with the furniture and decorative items mixing the old with the new, things that are borrowed and the things that are blue. I snuck a peak last evening like a child up before dawn on Christmas. The ambiance is warm and welcoming and celebrates family. It's obvious the first time one crosses the threshold into the 2010 kitchen.
I am reminded of a little ditty my grandmother had on her wall. It was a plaque with a woman serving tea, I believe, and the verse was very simple. "No matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like my kitchen best." Mother will agree. We can all agree there is enough room to accommodate a large number of conversations and debates here. The only missing element is the music and dancing going on in the kitchen complimenting the occasion. Here the iPod generation is more knowledgeable than I. Docking stations anyone?
Check out the new full downstairs bath, the red living room and the front bedroom that's designed in blue and white. The "man cave" room, an adopted phrase, has a pocket door leading into the kitchen. From a chair perfectly located, one can see who is at the breezeway door or close it off for privacy. It was a compromise decision that worked out well. A win. Win.
Most impressive is coming through the front door. It's more common in New England to come informally through the kitchen door or back door. Some customs just are part of the culture. However, newcomers and guests usually approach the front door. Entering up the front walk way, the living room is to the right, the open stair leads quietly up the carpeted stairs. The front hall links to the kitchen while providing additional space for just about any kind of reading and/or listening to music.
And, ah, the man cave that every American male seeks for himself. It's not that he is unwilling to share it but it's 'his space'. This room is smaller than originally thought but looks great. There will be many, many sports games to be seen on the new flat screen TV. Father, should appreciate his end of the house with a new bedroom, an incredible bathroom with the sweet touch of hand towels, label "Nana" and "PA". This sister has the gift of executing class, sparing no detail. I knew she could do it and would do it with organization, teamwork, creativity, and panache. She thought of everything including food in the refrigerator.
I had forewarned everyone of the enormous amount of stuff returning to
the house, that overwhelmed the sisters and all. It must have felt
unending and a clobbering and an impossibility to behold. Stuff that did
not make it into the new decor is stuffed into the attic and garage. I
haven't checked the numerous closets.
Now upstairs where the bedrooms are located. The Master suite has opened a bit and looks like a comfortable place to relax as well as to sleep. The guest rooms and full bath upstairs did not really get damaged but
they have new walls and a mostly new bathroom. The small guest room now
is painted a spectacular color green that makes it feel like one's up in
a tree house. It would make a lovely office, study or nursery. It's
small and bright. There is room for guests, temporary stays and
visitors. Life will be good here. There is even a sign to remind
everyone. "Life is good."
I have more snooping to do, but it will take a couple of days to take note of all the interior details.
In less than 30 hours, mother and father will return to their extreme makeover, 48 years in the making, at least from my point of view.The outcome is grand and has exceeded my expectations on a number of fronts and levels. Some photo additions will be added to the collections as I take note of who and what is incongruously missing. There are many newly discovered images to choose from. This is just tweaking her-story and his-story but there is no real urgency to get them done.
We have time. Today is a day of rest. But not for me. I had mine earlier in the week. I'll attend the lawn and garden and do so with great joy!
However, this house becomes a home when two special ingredients arrive to take possession. Mother and Father. Husband, wife, son, daughter, parent, grandparent, family, friend and neighbor. It is love that bound them in the beginning, sustained them through laughter and sorrow, that they bring to transform this beautiful new dwelling into a home where love, forgiveness and faith triumph.
What are the chances of hearing the rock ballad "Alleluia, Alleluia!" come through the static that's attuned to 98.5 The River? It's the only radio station the Volvo gets and that's with regular irregularity. My world is so weird sometimes I can't stand it.
It has taken every ounce of my energy today to fulfill my obligation to water the garden. Yesterday, I found my joy in watering the trees and shrubs. I lost myself in time, clipping off the deadwood, and was an hour late for lunch. This is so unlike me. True and steady, Maureen waited. I almost nod off during our lunch. My anxiety is off-the-charts and that's with medication. Emotionally, I'm depleted. Afterward, my head hits the pillow and I sleep until this morning. This too is unlike me.
I tell myself, if I can accomplish this task, then I can conserve what energy I can muster, to rearrange this day, to meet two other commitments. This is how precariously I'm negotiating with myself, as my attention drifts back to the lyrics of today "Alleluia, alleluia".
Give praise for a job well done. Give praise. This I can do.
I've been up since dawn meditating on the subject of the day. There are so many to chose from, popping up in my head and space during a Mercury Retrograde cycle. That's when I really need to be careful about what and how I communicate. I have about a dozen lead off sentences ripping through my head as my fingers fly across the keyboard, then come to a quick, full stop.
I go to the Daily Word for guidance. The page is titled "Joy". Wow-wee, Yes, Joy! Let's add some joy into this retro cycle!! "Joy is only a thought away. I choose joy." is the magazine's affirmation for today.
Whatever works, right? At this point I'm willing to try anything. How about you? So I quote today's text to share with you.
As I look back on my life, I may notice how my spirits have ebbed and flowed. I may remember days of deep sadness and days overflowing with laughter. There have been periods of optimism and passion, and times of sorrow.
Awareness of my emotions creates an opening for change. As I connect with Spirit, I feel peace, love and happiness flow through me. I notice that when I change my thoughts, my emotions change. When I am feeling sadness, fear or anxiety, I remember that the choice is mine to keep my mind and heart attuned to Spirit. My every thought, word and action is an expression of the Spirit within.
