Hello, again

Hello out there, to whomever might be dropping in to visit me. November has turned out to be sort of an odd month for blog postings. Had some emotional ups and downs regarding family stuff. Prayed my way through and feel pretty peaceful.

[here's one of my geraniums, brought inside a couple of winters ago and blessing me with neon-pink blossoms all year round.]

I'm glad to feel peaceful--however, the aforesaid mentioned ups/downs played havoc with some of my plans, like more frequent postings here. And my personal Writing Challenge . . . oh dear . . . I am now officially 14 days behind in the daily writing. But hey, hope springs eternal, at least here in my home. I fully intend to catch up before year's end.

[I trimmed a plant and stuck the cuttings in a pitcher. Doesn't the sun make them beautiful?]

And yay for me, it's Day 29 of the Poem-a-Day challenge, and I am current through today. Writing a poem every day, to someone else's prompt, and then posting that rough draft for all the world to see: that is QUITE a brave feat, as any writer will acknowledge. So far, I have noticed a definite change in my whole relationship with writing poetry. It seems much more like breathing. I can summon the muse and not wait, endlessly, for her to visit. And I can be less attached to each poem, more ready to slice and dice if need be. December will see several of us working together to edit our work. I'm really eager for that.

Here's my poetry wall--each day's offering gets posted here as well as on the official blogsite.

Another great accomplishment was getting my roof replaced. It was a task with emotional entanglements, my having received my house in the divorce over two years ago, along with its needed repairs. It feels very good, on many levels, to be going into winter with a new roof over my head. Lots of new beginnings.

My love and thanks to all who visit my blog and read what I have to say. A special thanks to those who leave comments. It means more than I can express.

Day 5 of 100

Hard day today.

When I headed downstairs this morning to begin the day, tears blurred the way. Yet something way deep inside me was glad to hear me growl, "I gotta paint." I fumbled my way to the dining room table--it seems very appropriate that an area designed to feed people is now my current and primary place to paint.

Anyway, I picked up my favorite round brush and slopped the paint really wet and just splattered it on the page. Teardrops. Throughout the day I've splattered more, different colors. If this day was gonna have tears, then let them make a rainbow. Different times I also used one of my favorite techniques: blowing on the wet spots through a straw, which after a few sharp puffs actually ends up spitting on them. I like the bursts of color, especially the surprise when I'm sure a spot is dry but then: ptooie! and the drop bursts and runs.

Yes, this day has been hard. Letting go. Of stuff. Of people. Of dreams.

Going out now for a walk--a committment I thank Lauren for. With every step I'm gonna stream out all the stuff I'm grateful for. And there is plenty of it.

This sadness will not defeat me.

[also it will not de-feet me . . . as in keep me from walking . . get it??? hahahahahahaha. Well, if she can tell really bad jokes, she must be okay.)

Hanging onto Joy

This morning I am hanging onto joy. It's been a liquid few days. By that I mean that tears have flowed freely, with resulting puffy eyes and slimy snotty upper lip and chin (ewwwwwwwww!!)







But through it all I keep finding my way back to a smile, a laugh. True, these start as a grimace and a rumbly grumble, but eventually, within minutes (okay, within hours sometimes) they are almost recognizable as signs of a heart growing lighter once again.

What caused this recent descent into the valley of the shadow? I reached out, finally, to a friend who had been out of touch with me for several weeks, asking why there had been no responses to my previous efforts at contact. Was he okay? The response was, in essence, that he'd moved on, found someone else "better. "

Half my heart said, "Well, poop on you." The other half said, "Why wasn't I good enough?" Yet another half said, "What can I say or do here that will promote healing and growth for both of us?" Still one more half moaned, "Why me, God? Why me? What's wrong with ME???"

Yes, I'm well aware that all my bits of hearts add up to more than one whole. But that's the way I feel. God has given me a huge heart with which to care and feel and ache. And sometimes I want to give it back to Him and say, "Take back my heart. I don't want it. It hurts too damn much."

And then I realize: giving my heart back to God is precisely what He requires of me. Oh.

In my prayers lately, I've come across many Bible verses that tell me to give my "whole heart" to God. I always assumed that in addition to meaning "entire," "whole" also meant a heart in one piece. What God breathed into my sadness yesterday was that it simply meant ALL of my heart. It's okay if it's broken. Just be sure that when I hand my heart to God, I give Him all the pieces. Every single shard. Okay.

P.S. The pictures accompanying this post are more of my beautiful flowery friends. They remind me to keep blooming, no matter what. Blooming is NOT a choice for them. It is what they are designed to do.

Amen.

Hold on to Hope

My heart is overflowing right now. My morning was filled with the sweetness of seeing progress in a personal relationship. That joy was tempered this afternoon by news of a suicide. A dear young woman who sponsors an artists' blog (ThursdaySweetTreat) shared on that site the loss of a family member. Comments on the site offered comfort, also revealing how many of them had also been touched by "the echoes of suicide."

My desire here is to reach out to anyone struggling, either with their own thoughts of suicide, or in the aftermath of someone else's attempt or successful act. Whoever you are, know that you are loved. I send my love out to you right now, right here.

I'm sharing some photos of my flowers here. That might seem silly at first. But we've had a really harsh winter, and I would have expected these little guys to have given up. But they didn't. Today was the first day they finally bloomed. Let their persistent beauty wrap you in the warmth of love, in hope, in the promise of a brighter day.

Hang on. I love you.

late at night

I just composed a fairly lengthy entry . . . and for the first time since I started blogging in January, it would not post and was lost. Oddly, or perhaps not so oddly, I had questioned from the beginning whether or not I should publish that post. I guess that decision was taken out of my hands.

I'm not gonna try to re-create the entry. Instead, I'll trust that the sadness in it was NOT meant to be given any more air time.

I'll do what I had decided to do at the end of the post, and follow the example of my daughter and rouse myself from whatever I'm currently mired in via involvement in something artistic: before heading to bed, I'm gonna slosh some swipes of watercolor over the next open pages in my journal. Then, tomorrow morning, when I get ready to write, beautiful color will underlay whatever I say.

Goodnight.

yet another fresh start

Taking a deep breath. Exhaling gratitude. Doing the best I can to just BE in this present moment.

Friday's disappointment over leaning on another human for support was mitigated by hearing from him Saturday and being able to set myself aside and feel compassion for his challenges.

Saturday was preparation with family members for my mother-in-law's memorial the next day.

Sunday was the memorial, scattering ashes, sharing a meal, then dividing up some of her belongings.

The peace I felt at the end of that day was nothing short of miraculous, especially since the time was spent with members of a family I am now disconnected with because of my husband's leaving me.

The next day--yesterday--was my birthday. It's never mattered much to me to celebrate "birth"--that's just a biological event years ago. But it does matter to me to celebrate a person's uniqueness.

And that's where I'm dragging a bit, right now. It's a struggle for me NOT to define my value in terms of how I think others perceive me. Having my dad leave me when I was two, and then my husband leaving after 33 years of marriage, and choosing to be with several other women during our marriage--I have a hard time shaking a sense of worthlessness. [To the people who love me who read this-don't freak out. Deep down I KNOW I'm worthy and loved and lovable]. It's just this darn persistent sense of being left. Of wondering WHAT it is about me that is "leaveable."

I want to get my sense of worth from God, from inside myself. And I'm working on it. And despite the thoughts shared here, I have made tremendous progress. But sometimes the pain just hits all over again.

But then, all over again, I fight back. I make a fresh commitment to bloom like my favorite peony--with all my might, not holding back, not saving any beauty for another day, or even another hour. Just live and bloom extravagantly. That's my plan.

Yeah, I slipped a little tonight. But I'm back.

rode hard and put up wet

Oh boy. I did it again. I trusted somebody, asked them for help. I leaned on them and they weren't there. Ouch. Double ouch.

So now I'm picking gravel out of my face, nursing my bruises, cursing my weakness and stupidity.

I am so damn tired of crying.

But look at that giant sunflower. Beat down by hail. Gnawed on by grasshoppers. Does it stop? Does it let a building get in its way?

No way. No how.

Straight for the sky it goes. It grows.

As do I.

As do I.

Hearttired

Not really sure why I'm writing now, but feel the nudge to do so. I'm due to leave the house to attend a function at our local Opera House and I'm likely going alone. And I don't want to. My daughter encourages me to be brave, telling me that who knows? I might meet someone there . . Yeah . . .

I have put my whole heart into being loving and open and tenderhearted, almost defiantly so, in the aftermath of an unwanted divorce. I've been insistent that I could not be deprived of the opportunity to express love, just because my husband decided to exit our marriage. For the most part I think I've done pretty well. But oh, at times my heart and soul and somehow, the inside of my skin, is just tiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrreeeeed. I want to be at the END of the journey. I want someone to love. I want someone to love me.

I know. A whole of of "I wants" there . . . sounds pretty self-centered, doesn't it? I don't mean it that way. I just have so much love to share . . .and I still hurt so much, thinking that there just isn't a man who wants to be with me. So hard to not think there must be something WRONG with me.

I know. Be grateful. Find something to be grateful for. I'll do that. Gotta go now and get dressed. Yes, I AM going out tonight, alone. And the smile on my face will be genuine, not forced.

What a difference a few days makes . . . actually, my mood lightened the next day. I've just been too busy having fun to post an update here! Having the daily project of posing a question, listening for an answer, and recording it in a big journal, has really been working for me. Since the point is to let the day unfold according to the answer, my thought (and resulting actions) are pulled back to that spark of inspiration, all through the day.

When I was low and discouraged the other day (when I last posted) the project was there the next day, tugging at me pretty darn persistently. My year's question--What if . . .? --was there to revive my spirits and urge me on. So far, different responses to the "what if" have led me to holding a certain thought for the day; a certain action, like "smile"; or a particular activity, like "put on music and 'dance' while cleaning the utility room." I'm pretty wide open to the sorts of urgings that come.

Starting every day with wondering "What if . . " really opens my mind, directs my gaze far beyond the horizon of what surrounds me right now. I can feel so solidly mired in the rubble of a past life--parental abuse followed by broken marriage--and even though I have claimed that I am "moving forward," and have many delightful new parts of my life, I can still feel like the smell of the fire is on me, pervading everything.

But. And yet. This new project--this time of wonder every morning--is really lifting me up and out of feeling still stuck in the past. Yes, it's still scary, allowing the door of possibility to swing wide open every morning. Yes, I might find great stuff Out There. But I also tremble, thinking Monsters might come in and find me.

But. I don't think that all the time any more. The sweet little girl hidden inside me for far too long is coming out to play more and more. She has surprised me with flowers drawn on the journal page . . . with silly gooey kisses pressed all over the page after my adult's hand has smeared lipstick across my lips . . . she has made giggles spurt out of my grown-up's mouth . . . and this bubbling, unconfinable joy starts my day, dresses me with laughter, sends me out into The World to do my lists of Stuff, just like before, yet different. I giggle. I grin. For no other reason than I'm me and I'm happy.

I still live in a wilderness. I still get sad. Mad. I still cry a lot. But as always, those tears water flowers of hope. Wildflowers. Wild hope.

It's past bedtime, but I just gotta take a minute or two to touch base here. Haven't posted anything here in a few days. Have also lightened up greatly on the time spent on my What If project . . .granted, the last several days have been busy, but I still end up feeling like I do so often--that I have a great idea and start strong and then poof! I stumble and fall.

You know, I'm worried that this blog stuff will just end up sounding like whining. I have a roof over my head, I have enough to eat, I'm reasonably healthy--so what am I fussing about? I guess I'm still mad, madder than I realized up until just now. Mad that a marriage I spent so much time on and effort on behalf of, is just gone. That I am starting over now, just at the point I thought I'd be exploring the next portion of life with a loving, life-long partner. I look behind me and expect to see the "house" (marriage/family) I spent all my adult life laboring to build, and instead, all there is, is rubble. Yes, I know my story is all too familiar, but actually, that is not a whole lot of comfort most days. I don't really care that the club I've been forced to join is overflowing with members. This is my only life. I gave my all to my marriage--I was faithful, forgiving, deeply prayerful. And still, despite all that, my partner was able to pull the plug and that was that. Didn't matter what I wanted.

Yes, I guess that if that is what my partner would do, then I'm better off without him. And yes, technically, the rest of my life is wide open and I have the luxury of being able to consider choosing a new partner. Well, right now, all I can say is: whoopee.

Maybe this is just tiredness and late night talking. I hope so. I do my best to stay realistically positive, to be honestly grateful. But right now, I'll tell you . . . starting over sucks.