My Lovely, Tangled, Life

I noticed the box next to the dumpster at work, a "present" left by one of our tenants. Of course I looked inside.

Ribbons, spools of ribbons, unraveling and intertwining, their colors mingling.

I walked back into my office, grabbed a bag, and pulled that cacophony of colored ribbons out of the box, creating an even messier array as I picked up the ribbons and their spools, putting them into a plastic grocery store bag.

(Treasures are everywhere, if only we keep our eyes open.)

It was a few more weeks until I took my camera and my rescued ribbons to another work site, where I also added the heart, a present from my daughter Amber years ago.

Concrete. A chain linked fence. Green grass. A perfect backdrop.

I turned 56 years old yesterday. 

And you know what I've grown to love? The messiness of life. My own tangled life. How some of my craziest experiences have taught me to embrace life's imperfections and indicators - like the laugh lines on my face, sure signs that I am aging, yes, but alive- and smiling. 

I am at a wonderful place. Humbled and mellowed by love. Surrounded by people who accept me for who I am.

Loved unconditionally by God.

A place to celebrate and know this-

The best has been, the best is now, and the best is yet to come.

By the way- 

I am untangling those ribbons, one by one, placing them back on their spools. I look forward to tying them, in the future, on special gifts of love.

    Thank you for the birthday wishes,
    the prayers,
    the large and small kindnesses,
    and especially, the love.

    I love you. XO

                    Grammy and Harper

A Tale Of Two Shells

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. (Thank you Charles Dickens)

They started out together. Two pieces forming one whole.

When I found them on the Florida beach, the separating had already begun. They sat, still slightly together, but now, wide open, suggesting change.

It was sunrise.
I snapped a photo. Picked them up. Took them home.

They fell completely apart.

I stored them in my drawer, tucked beneath my underwear and socks.

A few weeks ago I discovered them. I bought them out, feeling their ridges, holding each to my ear and hearing in each, their birth place, the Sea.

"Listening is only the beginning."

I took them to a special place, a walking trail, to remember.

There I made a wonderful discovery. 

Placed together they formed a heart. 

A heart with wings.

It has been over two years since my divorce, and I am continuing to heal. The aftermath has been grueling but also liberating.  

I have learned to love myself, nurture myself, care tenderly and gently for myself. I extend the same patience and compassion I have tried to show others now to me, as I continue to recover from the devastation divorce brings.

There have been so many challenges, but the greatest one has been to resist closing down my heart for good. I have often imagined placing a "No Trespassing" sign at its door. Protecting myself from hurt in the future sounds reasonable and appropriate. 

But...BUT, that would trap me in a world of isolation. I needed to go there to heal for a time, but I choose not to stay there.

I refuse to give up on love.

Reminders of the possibility of love find me in odd places. Like a cherry I was about to eat that looks like a heart, which I took to Valley Forge Park for a photo shoot. My daughter Lisa-Noel got quite the kick out of my subject as we hiked around together. (And yes, that's where the photo above came from!)

Then there was this poem. A reminder, that even when the world appears to be ending, love, quietly, prevails.

In Time

by WS Merwin

The night the world was going to end

when we heard those explosions not far away

and the loudspeakers telling us

about the vast fires on the backwater

consuming undisclosed remnants

and warning us over and over

to stay indoors and make no signals

you stood at the open window

the light of one candle back in the room

we put on high boots to be ready 

for wherever we might have to go

and we got out the oysters and sat

at the small table feeding them

to each other first with the fork

then from our mouths to each other

until there were none and we stood up

and started to dance without music

slowly we danced around and around

in circles and after a while we hummed

when the world was about to end

all those years, all those nights ago

The Sturdy Tree

I dedicate this post to women- past, present, and future- who refuse to give up, call it quits, or hide who they are, no matter what storms they face. The forest of your Sturdy Trees is a testimony.  

The tree had its beginnings like all trees do, in the form of a seed, joined with a sister seed in a whimsical green pod that looked an awful lot like wings. It was attached by the smallest of stems to the mother tree, and without even a goodbye the wind caught it one spring day, sending it pirouetting through the sky, twirling and dipping until it gently landed, eventually, in a field.

There, it waited, patiently.

The sun grew warmer, causing wildflowers to spring up all around, drying the pod to a crackly sandy brown. It disintegrated and became chaff, releasing the seed to tumble downward and land, with confidence, onto the dark brown soil called the earth. 

Many seasons came and went.

The tree grew large. The tree grew strong. The tree grew sturdy.

And a mighty wind blew against it.

Hurricane

by Mary Oliver

It didn't behave

like anything you had

ever imagined. The wind

tore at the trees, the rain

fell for days slant and hard.

the back of the hand

to everything. I watched

the trees bow and their leaves fall

and crawl back into the earth.

As though, that was that.

This was one hurricane

I lived through, the other one

was of a different sort, and

lasted longer. Then

I felt my own leaves giving up and 

falling. The back of the hand to

everything. But listen now to what happened

to the actual trees;

toward the end of the summer they

pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.

It was the wrong season, yes,

but they couldn't stop. They

looked like telephone poles and didn't

care. And after the leaves came 

blossoms. For some things

there are no wrong seasons.

Which is what I dream for me.

Hurricane force winds. Torrential soaking rains. Flash flood waters.

But the Sturdy Tree remained.

Steadfast yet changed.

Resolved to produce leaves again...

And produce leaves, it did.

It does. It will.

Leaves of glistening gold.

The season is never wrong. My dream, your dream, lives.

    
       Outside stands the dream...

On May 20th I celebrated my 54th birthday. Here are a few highlights:

Had an awesome vegan birthday carrot cake prepared for me by my daughter Lisa-Noel.

Went to dinner and gorged on Mexican food with my girls.

Went to Amber and John's for a "gender reveal" party, where, surrounded by family, I learned that my second grandbaby, due in November, is a boy!

Celebrated Pentecost Sunday at church, where I first caught sight of the Sturdy Tree.

Read Dale's sermon for Pentecost and had a spirited conversation with my son about the inspiring words of Romans Chapter 8. There is therefore now no condemnation...

Traded a stranger for some equipment to set up my very own black and white darkroom (coming soon- fall 2015). If you'd like to see some of my digital B&W work, please click on the link here.

And in a dream, I saw the roots of the Sturdy Tree growing deeper, even as I slept.

Those roots, four generations strong...