Playing like a Child

I've been having the best time, re-learning to play. ThursdaySweetTreat, which you can link to from a button on my blog's home page, is a wonderful opportunity for writers and artists to play and explore and create new beauty. Many of the artists there produce items they then sell. Others of us are just creating for the sheer love of it.

I had no idea how very much I censored myself, until I started responding to these weekly prompts 4 or 5 weeks ago. I'd have an idea, have it not work out, fuss a bit and then just say "Phooey" on the original idea and begin putzing around with whatever "mistake" was before me. Soon I stopped fussing, stopped labeling anything a "mistake." Those negative assessments were very quickly replaced with "hmm, that's interesting . . . I wonder what would happen if I . . ."

Not surprisingly, a lot more giggles started escaping. A few loud whoops were heard. Many smiles silently bore witness to the birth of beauty and spontaneity and joyful expression.

Anybody out there want to give it a try? Just click on the button to the side of my blog . . .

Transitions

Had the family over tonight . . . my aunt Marge, 88, survivor of a pretty rough life. My oldest son, in the midst of his divorce, and deciding it would be better NOT to have his soon-to-be-exwife at G'ma's memorial in two weeks. My other son and his wife, who will host the gathering at the clubhouse at their apartment complex. My daughter and her new husband. My ex-husband.

We all ate. Potluck. Daughter made potato soup. Son brought cheese and crackers. Other son and wife made a cheesecake. Aunt brought drinks. Ex brought salad. I made biscuits. We ate and remembered G'ma. Made plans for the gathering in two weeks.

I'm grateful for the peace I feel, yet even as I type those words, tears well up and spill over. I'm not feeling too good right now, so that probably makes everything seem bluer than it really is. But this time of my life is so far from anything I ever imagined. I would so love to be able to cultivate a sense of adventure about all this newness--to try to see the positive in all these opportunites for new choices, new directions.

Well hey. Why don't you just CHOOSE to do that? Spread your lips out into a smile, right now. . there you go .. . well, THAT looks more like a grimace, but with a little practice . . . there, that's better. Even with the tears not quite dry on your cheeks, you are smiling.

Hey, punkin . . . I love you. You are a brave soul and you haven't given up on love, not by a long shot. I'm proud of you.

Good night. Sleep tight.

Goodby, Sheri

This morning my mother-in-law died. She's been in my life since I was 18. I'm in my 50s now. Sheri has been my "mother" since my own died when I was 26.

Our relationship was strained a few years ago when her oldest son decided he no longer wanted to be married to me. He and his girlfriend became two of her caregivers when her health began to fail. Despite these complications, she and I could still share moments that were just the two of us, when she and I would look straight into each other's eyes and she would tell me, "You are my daughter. You always have been. I love you."

Mom, I love you, too. I always have. Always will.

Does it matter?

Baby steps, really.

I just pried myself out of my oh-so-comfy chair, set aside my oh-so-comforting reading material, and got ready to go out into the oh-s0-cold, dark night to the Rec Center and walk my two miles around the track.

Warm coat on and zipped in anticipation of the snow-laden night, I walked my bare feet over to a tumble of shoes. At the last minute, instead of slipping my second foot into a matching red clog, I watched my foot slide into a pink one. Hmmm. Who says that a pair of shoes means they match?

Did it matter to the universe that I set out into the dark, one foot red and the other pink? I don't know. But it mattered to me.

Brave New Thing

A few weeks ago, my daughter introduced me to a blog devoted to giving artists and writers a place to explore creativity, not necessarily for profit, but for the sheer fun of it. When this week's prompt was offered, "Where the wild things bloom," something sprang to life inside me immediately. The finished product was not exactly as I'd first imagined, but even better, because the end result came about as a result of unrestrained play.

If you'd like to see more entries, visit Thursday Sweet Treat.

Who'da thunk it?

I'm happy with today.

I still feel totally at sea concerning relationships with men. Never imagined in a bazillion years I'd be single after my kids were grown. Never imagined I--once a confirmed teenaged wallflower--would find myself dating immediately following an unwanted divorce. Never imagined that in one year I would connect with someone, break up, then reconnect, only to have them fall and hit their head and die. Never imagined I would become involved with two other men with so much emotional baggage a semi-truck couldn't hold it all.

Never imagined I'd feel so open and honest and real. Never imagined I'd think seriously about drinking. Never imagined I'd pray so long and so hard and feel so close to God.

Life's full of surprises.

Renewal

Fresh start. What an incredible feeling. Much prayer the last few days. Deep sorrow layered with a heart open to God. The scraped rawness was also tender skin exposed to healing warmth.

I made some decisions about relationships. Played with colored pencils and tissue paper and glue sticks. Helped my mother's sister celebrate her 88th birthday. Helped teach a dance class. In the middle of a very long and sometimes bitter winter, sat outside today in the winter sun and smelled hope on the breeze.

I will never give up on love. Never. No matter what.

Amen.