Two Parts

Part 1: Reflection

 Do you think this statement is true? I do. For various reasons I've been thinking about my life past and future. Probably because my Mother has died, probably because of the reality and likelihood that JB and I will soon move, probably because the world and politics and climate change and human affairs seem more discouraging by the day: I find myself leaning into the values I was taught in childhood. Honesty. Responsibility. Love. Compassion. Generosity. Simplicity.

My parents brought me up in this six room Cape, built by my Father and Grandfather. We lived modestly but never without food and clothes and Christmas presents. My Father was as simple as a man could be: he was a proud bricklayer, came home every night covered with dust, made jokes at the supper table, fell asleep watching television. Except for one incident when my Mother insulted his Father and he lashed out at her, I don't recall him ever worrying. Not ever. He accepted things as they were and he lived without questions. During the four months that cancer slowly killed him, even then he was at peace, trusting my Mother to decide what was best and never once questioning why or what was happening. 

My Mother died the same way. Both my parents had difficult childhoods. Neither made it past sixth grade. Both were poor. My Father's stepmother disliked him and my Mother was the youngest of sixteen. No pun intended, it seems to me that they built their lives and their family brick by brick.

They someone managed to give my brother and I grit. Confidence even. And values that even now push through.

Some who know me think I've had an easy peasy life. But really, is that true of anyone? Sooner or later we face loss, disappointment, worry, ambivalence. "But who in their right mind wouldn't want to live?" my Mother would ask off-handedly and she meant it every time. She was glad to be alive and that was plenty for her.

Why am I thinking and writing about this today? The weather's at fault. It's been an inside winter of thinking, remembering, reflecting. What now? If you're lucky or unlucky, depending, every so often life gives you a blank canvas. New decisions. New directions. But no guarantees, and that's a potential for sure problem because our minds crave guarantees and do their best to make us nervous when we don't deliver. Blank canvasses happen when people lose their jobs, lose their health, lose their bearings. And sometimes they happen just because the universe informs that it's time. For me, it's time: a new chapter's ahead. It's exciting, unknown, uncertain.  I have hopes and plans. I'm open to the unpredictable. I don't welcome change, but I know better than to resist. 

There is melancholy as I write this and I know it's obvious. All I can say is yup. That and hope too. 

How about you? What are you up to these days? How do you feel? Where are you headed? Surely I'm not alone.

Part 2: Weather Report  

 Here's a glimpse: Boston and Massachusetts in the midst of snow and more snow. Those are cars buried in those mounds. It's been kind of unbelievable. Not as horrible as the national news makes it sound, but the weather has definitely made havoc of transportation and plans and work and worries about ice dams and weak roofs and frozen pipes. 

I speak for most of the East Coast. We're done. Can't wait to see a crocus.

Meanwhile, I pick up my colors and words and begin again…..

love
kj

Mish Mash Snippets

1. Here it is: my house in the ever snowing winter of all winters in Massachusetts. For three weeks we have had one storm after another. The snow is as high as it looks. In Boston there is another 18 inches or so more than this. We're all sick of it but Bostonians are a gutsy lot. I'm proud to be from here. 

2. The realtor called today with news. "A woman wants to rent your apartment. She gave me a deposit."

"What is she like?"

Hesitation: "She's from India."

"And…"

"I don't think it's a problem because she says she doesn't use curry when she cooks so it won't permeate the rugs and walls."

"I don't care about that. Is she nice?"

"Yes, very."

"Did you check her employment and finances?"

"Yes, she's employed and pays her bills on time every month."

"Okay then. That's great."

"Some people don't want to rent to people from India because of the curry."

"Not a problem."

"Great."

Me: Yay.

3. The hospice center called today with a message. "We want you to know we're here if you need help in grieving." I don't need help. The thought I keep having is that I was loyal and present for my Mother for all the years she needed me. So this is what the absence of regret feels like, and it is a feeling as valuable as love. 

4. This book I am writing: here is mother-of-four Christine talking about her sister Louise and their childhood. 

Anyway, when Louise returned from the convent, things got easier for me again although my freewheeling privacy came to a halt.  She kept track of my homework and curfews and had the audacity to read my diary about Anthony and my breasts.

“Absolutely NOT!” she hollered downstairs, ordering me to leave the breakfast table and appear before her in my no longer private bedroom.

“Listen to me, Pip. Not now at thirteen, not later at sixteen. Your body is a vessel of God. You have to keep it chaste until you get married.”

“What does ‘chaste’ mean, Louise?”

“It means nobody touches your privates.”

“What about kissing? Because Anthony kissed me with his tongue and I liked it. Are you sure you know about this, Louise? Anthony told me if I let him touch my boobs I will feel it down here and it will be great.” I pointed. 

“NO, NO, NO” Louise screamed. “You’ll go to hell.”

The hell part was enough for me. I admit I kissed and humped my way through my teenage years but no boy got under my clothes until my first husband Norman and he must have been no Anthony, because even when I managed to stay awake, it was all pretty iffy.

5. So what else is new? Nothing but more snow. :^)

love

kj

The Turtle and the Duck

Not that I don't have reason to worry. 

It's a fierce winter and pipes can freeze, roofs can leak, power can fail. 

And I'm swamped by real estate matters: caring for our dream house in Provincetown in a blizzard, caring for our house here in Western Mass when we're there not here, my mother's house, should we sell it?, a little condo I bought as an investment years ago that now needs a new kitchen and new windows and a full makeover--$$$ I hadn't expected.

And the Income tax return for last year.

Re-applying and testing to renew counseling license.

I could continue.

It's a time of transition all right. Big and small and many decisions ahead. I am working and and I am yearning and trying to see my Jessica and the kids at least twice a month and I am writing a book. 

And I should say I am going to the gym a few times a week, because I should be doing that, but I can only say that's barely half way true.

Still, last year I made some fine decisions for myself. 

The biggest and best was to start living like a turtle. Turtle Living. This means I still get things done but I no longer let them overwhelm me to the finish, because I do a little here and a little there, sometimes more, trusting that in time I will finish. And I usually do finish. But I don't angst over the weight of the finish line. 

I took care of the garden and the yard and the bills and my work assignments and my chores and my travels this way all last year and I've done fine. So I'm turtling my way through life, officially.

This morning I to my surprise have added another approach: living like a duck. Duck Living. 

This means I do what I can, or not, when I encounter people or situations that upset me, but then I let the upset roll off my back, like a water off a duck. I am not (as often) holding on to stressful people or events, officially, as of now. I will be polite and forgiving to even difficult people, normally, but I'm moving on from stress or confusion if that's what's best.

I should probably include one other thing that seems to help me humongeously. Each morning, first thing, I spend at least 30 minutes sipping my coffee and reading the newspaper and sometimes just sitting, staring out the window. This sets the tone for my day. Unlike my old way of jumping right in to whatever greets me.

Finally, I am cooking and baking uncharacteristically. And I still feel good about my book. I'm writing and researching and organizing and forcing JB to listen to me read chapters out loud. I have a plot :^)

In a couple of months, I will know more about where I will live and when and why. I will know more about the role of $$$ in my life ahead, and whether or not I will lose the weight I shouldn't be carrying.

In a couple of months, I will still be living like a turtle and living like a duck. It works for me.

And I may add another animal or two.

love

kj

A Partial Rant

Hello, it's been a while. It's a new year. I hope you are well xo. I've been busy settling into the person I've become and am becoming, Note the present and future tenses--a bit of a magic trick involving parallel time. 

My Mother died a month ago and I have been given incredible comfort by how gracious and loving her passing and everyone around us was to her and to us her family. My days are now very different, mostly because of what I no longer do. I am now free to travel distancesl, to stay in Provincetown, to be out and about however I want without trips and visits to the nursing home. I had a silver thread connected to my daughter Jessica until I knew she was happy and protected by her husband, a good man; and that same sliver thread was then extended to my Mother, who needed me. Now it's different. I am still willingly tethered to the people I love, but there's a freedom too.

I've been grouchy. Here at my blog I have always welcomed diversity and differing perspectives. Heck, for several years I loved someone who loved Dick Cheney. But I've had it. My tolerance is gone. If you are reading this and you truly believe that the likes of George Zimmerman and the Ferguson police officer and the choke hold in New York and several other incidents involving black people were not and are not directly or indirectly connected to  racist behavior, and that these kinds of acts are not harmful--dangerous even--to our society, I'm not the girl for you. I'm disappointed, bewildered, and often infuriated by the racial prejudice in all kinds of communities and I can't help it. Of course you can comment if you disagree but I may not respond. I don't seem to have the will for persuasive discussion. The reality is pretty clear to me. And I'm glad I'm not alone in seeing that. 

This is not the only area that has used up my tolerance, but I'll save my feelings about the US Republican Congress and its  positions on just about everything for another day. 

Meanwhile, I am writing my novel and getting close to the polishing part.  Putting some of the chapters in the order of a readable story, reading it out loud to JB and myself, and making the effort to let these characters be themselves.   

What else is new with me? JB and I and Jess and Mike and their four kids and Jess' mother-in-law and sister-in-law and her husband and their three children and another sister-in-law and her husband have booked a week at Disneyworld  for next Christmas. We've rented a big house. With a pool. Everyone's excited.

And I'm working. From home and with great flexibility. I have clients again and I like that. Unlike my work in the poorest inner city of Springfield MA, my present clients are doctors and executives and folks with high earnings.  But the human issues and needs are the same. Involving Love. Purpose. Independence. Forgiveness.

I'll end this by saying I may come back and delete the paragraph above about race. It's not my way not to listen to all sides and it's not right to be rude to my friends and visitors who have taken the time to come here. But on the likelihood that I will leave this post as it is, all I can offer is my belief that we are all created equal and come on--George Zimmerman stalked that boy. Can we just start with that fact?

Love

kj

Sweet Too

My days are different. I still notice when it's 4:00 and I still have waves of emotion when I think about my Mother, but there is relief and freedom too. My daughter is content, we currently have no pets, my work schedule is as flexible as I want it, and I can almost see my way past paperwork. I'm free to zig and zag.

We had a pretty nice Christmas. In the midst of it arrived this remembrance lamp from Jessica's friend, Janna, and boy do I like the warmth of it.

 JB sewed and I painted this rocking chair for our little grand daughter.

And Christmas day was filled with very fun children--many boys and one little Reese. 

JB and I headed to Provincetown the next day, opened our Christmas stockings to one another, and took in the sunsets at the land's end. 

In 2014 I operated with a mantra that helped me enormously: WAIT TO WORRY. I also adopted a different approach to accomplishment: I called it TURTLE living.  Instead of becoming overwhelmed I just did a little bit most days and trusted that would be enough, that the whole would end up complete or complete enough. Both these approaches have cut down my worrying by 95%. My overwhelming yard work got done this way, and so did my normal chores. 

Last weekend Mr. Logan age 3 had an overnight with us, by himself--no grabby brothers to compete with. The whole event was just charming.  He slept in a big-boy bed for the first time.

You can tell by his expression how proud he was of himself. 

Last post I mentioned how many cards of condolence I've received. Dozens.  I keep staring at them. Inside is the love and caring of my friends and family. Lucky duck, I am. I won't forget.

I made ravioli for New Year's Eve. By myself. From scratch. My Mother's recipe. For JB and our friend Liz. I was proud and they were good.

What does it mean to lose your Mother? In my case I feel a softening taking place, as if her kindness and grit and joy of life has taken residence inside me. They'll be no resistance from me. 

 And finally: yesterday was my Mother's birthday. She would be 99. JB wisely suggested we celebrate by going to my beloved casino. It was a joyful day.

I hope in 2015 to see my second book published. It is an honor to be writing it. That must be a good sign.

Happy New Year. WAIT TO WORRY! And don't be afraid to TURTLE your way along. 

love

kj

The Pocket Books

from ryan

Her black fabric pocketbook. With two handles and three compartments. I made sure there was always a few dollar bills and a small container of change in the middle fold, besides my Mother's wallet with her driver's license and social security card and charge cards from the 1990's, several small color photos of her two grandchildren, and a stunning black and white one by one inch photo of herself when she was barely in her 20's. 

That pocketbook was my Mother's true North. No matter what was happening in her life, even through the last few years when she had no need for anything in it, when she was the slightest bit lost or confused or on the imaginary move, that pocketbook grounded her. She sought it, searched for it, asked for help in finding it, took comfort in it, and then forgot about it until the next time.

The pocketbook has stayed on my couch until yesterday, when I moved it five feet where it now sits on top of the box of my grandchildren's lego-type all colors plastic wheels, tucked into the side of the bookcase.  I'm searching for some use for it so I can keep it. I'm desperate enough to think about planting my jade cuttings in one of the compartments. (joke). 

I have been embraced by sympathy and condolence cards. I started hanging them up on one of the hall closet doors--across from our holiday cards spread across the inside of the front door, but there are so many. Maybe 30. Or 50. They say wonderful things: 

"We give comfort

and receive comfort

sometimes at the same time"

and from the little prince:

"In one of the stars

I shall be living

In one of them

I shall be laughing 

And so it will be 

as if all the stars 

were laughing

when you look

at the sky at night."

JB says the number of cards and calls and connections and offers of help is a bit amazing. It feels amazing. I figure there are probably 1, 2, or 3 reasons for so much caring and kindness:

1. It's so easy to feel and understand the loss of a Mother so it's easy and comforting to offer solace.

2. I'm actually blessed by the quality of the people in my life and by my efforts to connect and be kind to others. I'm not perfect by any means but I am sincere and when I care I care. Like my Mother did. 

3. The song, "You Raise Me Up," played at the chapel as my Mother's casket was carried in and I and JB and Jessica and my brother and sister-in-law walked behind her--that's my Mother's doing--raising me up so I can stand on a mountain and  catch kindnesses in the sky.

My family gave a card of thanks to every aide and nurse on the floor at the nursing home, with a surprise holiday $ inside. Today we received a card from one of my Mother's aides; one of the women who was the last to touch her and prepare her after her breathing stopped. She wrote us a note:

"It was easy to care for you and your Mother, and I'm in awe of your show of appreciation and love you gave us on a daily basis. It will forever stay in a small corner of my heart. My w(h)ish is to clone that mold in humanity."

Whatever we did to have even one person feel that way, to feel our appreciation, it "gives and receives comfort sometimes at the same time….."

Aha! It just hit me. I can gather all these cards and store them in that pocketbook; maybe in the compartment with the zipper. Maybe in all 3 compartments. And then, as I wonder where the heck to put that pocketbook, I can remember that I have somehow managed to be found and be loved; that I have inherited even more love; and that I have a duty to pass all that love around.

happy new year, my friends. Thank you most sincerely.

love

kj

the love story

We said goodbye this week. I'll let these photos speak for themselves. I'll only add that my Mom died comfortably and in peace. She left us with no regrets and with family and friends we celebrated her life through service and song. I will miss her forever, and my memories are wonderful. love kj

What Love Is

The last few days have been unreal. My Mother is dying. We have been given a private room at the Nursing Home and I have slept on a roll up bed near her for the last two nights. I woke from a fitful and interrupted sleep the first night telling myself I couldn't continue to sleep here. But at 5 am she cried out and my presence made a difference. Then today, although her communication with us and ours to her has been a hundred times 'I love you', she said, "please don't leave me alone." So I'm staying. I am surprised to acknowledge that I consider comforting her a high privilege. 

Despite her four children a her good husband traveling on business, my daughter Jessica arrived yesterday and stayed until mid-afternoon today. That's her hand entwined with her grandmother's. We cried so deeply. My Mother is almost 99 but it still feels too soon. We will miss her so much it hurts so much already. I watched Jess caress her and calm her and kiss her and I know yet again that I have raised a wonderful wonderful daughter.

And I'm feeling that my Mother has also raised a wonderful wonderful daughter. I am proud of myself.  

The staff here feels that the process of dying will not take a week now. They assure me my Mother  will remain peaceful and without pain. This morning, around six am, I put my iPhone to her ear and played Perry Como singing "Till the End of Time" and the soundtrack of "Some Enchanted Evening." And then Bing Crosby's "White Christmas." Her eyes were closed and she didn't move. We held hands and my tears fell. These tears are so much about love I almost welcome them.

My Mother has every reason to be proud of her life and her passage. She spoke my daughter's name. She kissed JB, she told my sister-in-law "I love you four times." She told us she is comfortable.

And me: she struggled but she got it out: "Karen, I've always loved you. I worried about you because I love you so much. I love you. I love you."

There will be heartbreak in this family. But there will be no regrets.

What a blessing.

love

kj

Sad

I took this photo about two weeks ago. This is my Mom. We didn't know then that her liver was failing; that today she would speak for maybe two minutes at a time and then fall back into a comfortable sleep.

We didn't know that today the nursing home and her doctor and hospice would be preparing us to lose her, any day now. 

My Mother is 98, a month short of 99. For almost a decade she has operated with a faulty memory that has held her smack in the present. And in the present, she is fully present. She is kind and fun and very dear. How anyone without a working memory can be so with it is beyond me. But she was and is. Ask anyone.

The head nurse at her nursing home told me tonight that all the staff is taking this hard. I know that must be true because they are coming to us, some crying, others volunteering stories of how much they care about her. They are checking in on her and fluffing her pillow and massaging her shoulders and legs and holding cups of ginger ale with straws for her. To a person, they are so kind.

In the next week, or perhaps two, I'm told to expect that my Mother's body will slowly shut down; that with the help of Morphine she remain comfortable and without pain. Today she is able to say I love you and to squeeze my hand and smile and say thank you to everyone who so lovingly comes in her room to care for her. 

I am both prepared and unprepared to lose my Mother. I am aware of the deepest love within me and I will have no regrets, a gift in itself. But god will I miss her. I won't miss the nursing home or doing her laundry or deciding to put off that trip to Italy, but I will miss my Mother for all of my life.

I know how lucky I am to have the privilege of loving her so much. 

If you don't mind, would you pray with me that she will die, if she must, in the gentlest way, hopefully with me with her, both of us knowing that the whole of her life was everything a good life should and could be.

I keep telling myself these tears are solely due to love. Which is true.

love

kj

Part-Time

Part-time. 

The word has meaning for me.

First off, I'm consulting again doing what I last did 10 years ago. From home, on my own schedule. Mostly I like it.

Next, for the last few weeks my Mother has been 'present' in our conversations only about half time. The other half, she's in her own world. This I don't like.

And then I'm juggling my strong love of these holidays with my desire not to stress. I'm not sure how to  coast into and out of making presents, spending time with family, baking cookies, hanging  lights, visiting friends, fitting in all that I hope for. 

And finally, I am writing a glorious (to me) book, lines and paragraphs and sometimes even chapters tucked into moments mostly when I have enough time. 

What does it mean to teeter in part-time? Does it mean I'm avoiding full-time? As in Full Time?

I could never complain. I have leisure moments far greater than ever before in my life. I have choices. Gardens. Books. TV shows.  Farms and oceans. And grandchildren. Children!

But sometimes I wander from one thing to the next, kind of sputtering instead of flowing. I know flow is important. 

And I'm not sure I have it.

Do you?

love

kj

Words about Words

Violent riots in a southern American town. There are reasons, not that I think destroying a downtown is the right thing to do. 

But what is happening in Ferguson MO separates what should not and cannot be separated. It may sound or be hokey, but all of us are a human family. A community.  We are all connected. Even basic physics confirms that. 

There are lessons that must be learned. But seeds do grow. 

I and most of us are very disturbed about what is happening. Profiling and disempowerment are real. If I were black and had a black son, I would resentfully be teaching him that the most important thing is not to antagonize in order to stay alive. To stay alive. That is so wrong. 

And yet. Come on poor black communities. Start working for power. Get your voices on boards and in government. Invest. Work more and rely on welfare less. 

No doubt it is politically offensive for me to say this, but I have credentials. I know poverty because I have been privileged and trusted in the homes of poor families. Too many people who can don't work, and it's passed down by generation. I think material things don't matter so much if you for whatever reason have to move around a lot and don't have a car to transport belongings. I wonder about the looting last night: if you don't have much, or you don't work for what you have, maybe you don't know what it feels like to lose something materially important, to lose this kind of a fabric.

I deplore the looting. I don't fully understand it. But I read this on Facebook and I understand it:

"If we refuse to hold accountable those who speak with bullets, how dare we stand in judgement of those who respond with stones?" Starhawk

I think this quote is super important.

Change of subject: I am prepared food and head-wsie or Thanksgiving and I like it. A significant first snow is expected so who knows: JB and I may be roasting a 16 pound turkey for ourselves. (Oh dear.) But either way it will be okay. I can cook and bake and do just about whatever I want tomorrow. I'll see my Jess and the crew on Friday. I'll have reason to feel grateful.

I leave you with my highly recommended turkey stuffing. Do yourself a favor and read the recipe. 

Happy Thankgiving to you, my friends.  xoxoxo

Love
kj

Decisions…..

I love the Christmas holidays to the point of absurdity. I am ready to go already, thinking about presents I will make and give; planning who I will see, what and how many cookies I will bake, who I will give them to. This year I've planted cuttings from my Jade plant and that makes eight little present pots to give away. I also have my godmother's recipe for walnut orange loaves and I'll bake a few because I figure that's a good present too. 

I know the holidays are rough for many people. I don't know how it is that I've been spared that. I think for most of us the memories from our childhoods form our feelings about the holidays as adults. I must be lucky, because my Mother created a good memory for me. I had an overflow Christmas stocking, and toys and other presents under my father's too-squatty tree. My family of four sat at the dining room table only twice a year, and Christmas was one of those times. Several of my cousins and my bossy aunt Sophie and mousy but dangerous Uncle Mike (children: beware) would come with hot homemade butter rolls and fresh loaves of bread. My Mother's gravy and mashed potatoes were nothing short of orgasmic. 

 I've begun my favorite rituals. Every year now I make our holiday cards from photos I've taken. I will take my time writing out cards and if I have time I'll  doodle on the envelopes. This year's card has been decided: it's one of the following finalists:

the window of WA in Provincetown

a store window but I don't remember where

our dining room table last year, complete with my grandparent's wedding day

a winter view from Jessica's house

Our Provincetown bedroom, compliments of the night light turtle

barb and rudi's vermont barn

Can you guess which one JB and I chose?

Anything of interest that you'll be doing?

And, how are you feeling about the soon-to-be holiday season?

love
kj

Life at the Linda Manor Nursing Home

The nursing home was nervous today. Three women each asked me how to get home. They were concerned about being late, about missing their ride. 

These are women, like all the residents there, who are not going home. They can't go home. They are not able to live without supervision and assistance. Like my mom. 

There are about twenty-five residents on my Mother's floor. All have have dementia or Alzheimer's or a consequential problem with memory. It is a nice unit and the staff is nice and kind and no one is  overworked. Today my favorite nurse there told me he's noticed as I have the decline in my Mother in the past few weeks. She is more tired more of the time, she is especially relieved to see me, and she has trouble saying the right words. All of this is new and I'm told it's simply the combination of dementia and age. I think that must be true. My Mother will be 99 on January 5th.  I know she could not live at home with me. I'm glad I know that. 

I find myself staring at most of the folks on this unit until I can see their younger selves through the lines of their faces. They've had children, jobs, homes, spouses, gardens. I've come to understand their confusion and resistance because where they are now is not their life. 

This week my Mother has been thrilled when she sees me. With relief she says, "Oh good! How did you know I was here? Should I get my coat? Are we leaving now?"

It's a heartbreak, but I don't make it a heartbreak. I reassure her that I am always close by. I stay longer. I tell her jokes. This week, uncharacteristically, she said 'bullshit' when she couldn't say the word she meant. I told her the problem was called a 'senior moment' and we both laughed. 

There is something very noble and very sad about living in old age in a place you don't know, with memories that don't always work, with a true north sense that this place may be okay, but it is not home. My Mother does her absolute best to adjust and thrive there. She is very much liked, with good reason. Often she tells me I don't need to worry about her. But I think her resilience is waning. Because it's hard to be resilient when you don't have context. 

She knows and trusts me. Sometimes she thinks I'm her sister Betty but mostly she's safe with me because we have deep love for one another. These days I want her to be okay, whichever way old age turns her. I don't want her to become afraid or wildly unable to be herself.

To be Herself. That is what we all want. Now. And even when we may become too old to know who that is.  

love

kj

What I've Been Doing

I have to write about my Blog. I know that the longer my posts, the less likely they will be read. I understand that fully because I have to make the same kinds of time decisions about the blogs I like.

For years I had a  clear sense of this blog of mine: my personal essays, clever and cosmic attempts at wisdom, stories and poems, and too, a sharing of my frailties and spunk.  For a long time, I had many many more visitors, friends, commenters, than I do now. For a long time a community was apparent here. 

So am I upset that so many people I so enjoy who used to blog don't blog anymore? Yes I am. It's a loss. I loved keeping up with them so regularly and I loved their attention. I love sharing comments. That said, these days I just feel like writing, if only for myself. I am tickled for every single person who stops by.

 Thus:  I am going to post this long post even if only a couple of people read it. Read, by the way, with my appreciation. It's a new day in Blogland, yes, but it's still an awesome place to be! 

:^) Here goes:

First of all, if I say what I've been doing lately, will you say too?

Okay, good. Thank you.

1. I have been alone all week. JB is in Provincetown in part so I could push myself to work. I have a research project (about Physicians ) that hangs over me. I want it done before Thanksgiving so it won't hang over the holidays. So I worked a good bit this week; not enough yet, but there is progress.

2. JB and I have been economizing (never mind why :^) So no lawn service to pick up our many many many fallen leaves. For a couple of months now. with JB's help,  I have been successfully employing my turtle approach to gardening. I do what and when I want, hoping in time it all gets done enough. Our yard is big, 4 or 5 different sections. This week I hired a young guy, from an agency, to help me for 3 hours. It was near perfect: I raked and he lugged the trash cans of leaves across the street, dumping said leaves in nice place. The tail end of the # 9 clean up is near. It feels good. It even looks good.

3. Jeez am I writing. In the last 2-3 weeks, the bones of two big chapters are done. I am writing about a character, a Mother, Christine Macabee--who I just love. Either I'm fleshing her out or she's revealing herself to me. She is so resilient and trustworthy. I know it's a good story, about a good family: I just hope I can write it well enough.

4. The roof in Ptown leaked into the kitchen ceiling (drip drip) last weekend so that's a surprise repair and expense. I wrestle with managing money these days. (Do you?)  I think I'm on top of it all and Bam! But I'm fortunate that I can usually fit in extra costs somehow. But still--Jeez # 2.

5. The election. Is it as bad as it looks? Is the USA really so starkly problematically divided? What can be done? I think about this.

That's what I've been doing.

And you?

love

kj

Another Sweater Tale

Whoa! I wrote this several years ago when I didn't know that time and distance would give me a broader and more nuanced perspective.  But still, for me, there is truth in this complicated allegory. We all know life can get complicated .

FYI: I wouldn't know how to  interpret this for you, so  I'll be interested in what you may or may not get from it. 

Love
kj

Because

 I know the most about this, I have to be the one to fold it over and inside out so it still looks and feels like the same soft sweater that fits in every nip and tuck but the trying on and taking off stops for once and all. It’s too late to side step the price tag-- imbedded charges with accumulating interest—but still, I wouldn’t change the cost even if I could, which I can’t .  

There are certain steps that must be taken today. There is no return-of-goods counter—just a “you buy it, you own it” policy with fine print I didn’t read then and don’t want to read now. I know I must hem the predestined pleats and complicated seams, iron out past and future wrinkles caused by sitting still too long, air out the fabric so it remains pure and air fresh.  Meanwhile, even though I’m dressed to the hilt, I’ll still carry those tarot sticks near and far, carry them because I freely picked them up to begin with, and I want to hold onto even the smallest  branch. I’ll be taking one step after another on my way to town, even though the one-day- all-out tag sale is for naught.  

If destiny has another plan, I’ll be there, waiting first in line for the doors to open.  But there is no special sale on this day. There is no discount or resizing that can make this anything other than what it is. It is not that. It is only this. And what it is is so inestimable I will spend the better part of my life on the budget plan, making regular payments into an account where withdrawals will be scarce, (but worth every penny?) I can purchase only what I have paid for, and I can take home only certain sizes even if they’re wrong for the circumstance.  I came here freely and knowingly. I knew then there was no warranty, but the fit was so exquisitely perfect I made a deal with destiny. I would carry the sticks and accept the conditions in exchange for the moments when the fit came straight from God’s designer.

Meanwhile, under a canopy of shining stars, we dance and then we linger. And then, always, once more, we are  free.

My Provincetown

I took the first photo, a house just up the street from ours in Provincetown. But the rest: ah--sit back, relax, please enjoy this most beautiful place captured by these beautiful photographers. These photos are from the Provincetown Photography Page on Facebook. I am a member and can't hold a candle to most of these folks. But there's no competition: just pure enjoyment and abundant sharing.

I apologize that  I am unable to give proper attribution to many of the talented folks who took these photos, but you can follow the Provincetown Photography Page on Facebook yourself. Have a look: you most certainly will NOT be disappointed. 

love

kj

xo