Mommy, what colour will they be?
Every colour you can imagine.
How tall will they grow?
We’ll have to wait and see.
How long will they last?
As long as you can remember them.
When will they start to grow?
They already have.
But I can’t see them.
You have to have faith.
What’s faith?
That’s what makes wildflowers grow
[on Patience. This is an oldie, patiently waiting for its turn in the sun.]
Some of it in black.
Most of it is stunning,
with statuesque trees and
brilliant calligraphy,
wildflowers,
and a peaceful melody.
That’s where I linger.
Oh I’ve tried to scrub the drab corridors,
to paint over misspellings,
and horrible intents.
But what’s the point?
They tell my tale
It’s all of me.
So I carry it lightly,
visiting occasionally,
to feel the contrast.
And look out over the blank canvas,
still aching to be adorned.
That’s where trust lives.
[on acceptance]
My time is merely an instant.
I look like all the rest
until you get close enough
to see my edges
and the places I sparkle.
When the fog rolls in
to take me home—I will remember you,
and come back another day.
When the sky is filled with clouds
and there’s a chill in the air.
And I land on your cheek to say hello.
[on impermanence]
This sandbox.
With its dreamy, pristine white sand,
untouched by the weather—soothing and
full of possibilities.
No lumps or stray grass.
With rakes and buckets to create castles
and tear them down and start again.
Over and over
until they are just right—for today anyway.
I want to protect this with a glass dome
so passersby can adore it too,
without spoiling its innocence.
I want to protect this.
[on friendships]
The world will take its shape
and we will all float through it thinking
we somehow manifested our wins.
Aren’t we clever?
The losses we blame on the wrong place
at the wrong time—or the right place to ensure
we don’t grow too tall in our britches.
The ones we were given when we were 8.
We carry fear and love and a longing for
meaning and connection, not realizing we are
already entwined.
Our deepest desires are seen only by the moon
or the brazen stars that streak by to get a closer look.
Our thoughts are not who we are, they tickle and terrorize
us into movement and stillness—ever waiting for that
moment of grandeur. To throw their arms up in
celebration—See, I told you I could make her cry.
I just want to sit here and be ok with what is
and call it happiness with or without a witness
And come through the inevitable drama unscathed—as if
that’s the medicine for a gentle life.
[This came out today. It seems a little sad. I promise to share the fun stuff once I clear away the dust.]
Three months into retirement. I’m finding my creativity again, although this is my first stop back here. I’ve often had the thought to plant a new post each morning after my meditation. You know, when my head is a little more clear. I haven’t done it. Not sure why, so perhaps I will put that on the back burner and see if it starts to boil. So far I’ve noticed I eat the same thing for breakfast everyday. Sprouted bread toasted with nut seed butter and organic (not sugar free) jam – strawberry, from Costco. It’s delicious. I wake up thinking about. I’m keeping myself busy with the digital engagement for the bar. It’s fun and rewarding because it’s working. It’s not always easy and it is time consuming, but it’s a family thing so there’s love there. And speaking of new love, my great nephew was born the other day. He’s beautiful. I love him.
Today I said farewell to my teammates and headed off into retirement. Some of these people I have worked with for nearly 19 years. This is the second time in my life I’ve slipped out at the 19ish year mark. The first time wasn’t my choice but it all worked out. I’ve been working full time since 1986, so that’s 40 years offering my time and talent. That’s enough. It’s been fun. I won’t bore you with the details but my inner child is pretty proud of our success, in a humble happy way.
When my son was young and watched tv before bed, he’d ask, “What’s next comin on?” “The backs of the eyelids,” I’d tell him. I’m looking forward to that show tonight.
The only way to find your voice is to write and see what comes out. Something I’ve used in the past is a site called OneWord. It’s still around, I just checked. I’ll do that tomorrow, but tonight I’m signing off to say that it was a good day. I went to Costco with my sister, always fun! Always expensive.
I bought a new printer for my post-retirement life and I went for the laser printer this time. No colour, and more affordable consumables. I now have three printers. Two that have run out of steam and one in a box.
I declared I was going to write a novel, and that’s why I needed auto duplex. I might, you know. Could happen, we’ll see. Maybe a novella. Let’s start with a short story. How about a poem. This is all you get tonight. A short little blurb.
I will leave you with this though: if there is a time in your life where you felt unheard or unseen or disrespected, know that those feelings are little frig nasties that stick to you and creep into your awareness to hold you back, usually at the most inopportune time. But here’s the good news. They are just feelings and feelings can pass. Take a deep belly breath, feel your heals on the floor. Every moment brings a new opportunity to be who you are meant to be. Repeat as needed.
After 40 years of Corporate work, I’m retiring on April 1. It feels nice to be moving toward something that could be less stressful; if I build it that way. Will I miss the stress? I’m sure I would have no trouble finding trouble anywhere. Life is like that.
Good advice is to take 90 days to just be and see what moves you. I’m already making lists in my head, and illegibly, in my notebook, of how I can make money. It would be just like me to overwhelm myself with 372 small gigs that never let me rest.
I need to remind myself it’s play time. Try and see what feels right. Find a balance and give back more than I’m taking. Listen to my body. Be active. Stretch, move, sweat a little, explore.
So, I came back here to write it all down. To turn inward once again. I’m sure it will be messy. I’m looking for my voice and I found it here once. Maybe it’s been waiting for me.
My last post was in 2012, 6 months after my oldest sister, Cathy, passed away. She’d be getting OAS by now, I’d be retiring and our other sister is semi-retired. We’d have some fun, I’m sure. Cathy was my most dedicated reader. She’s been on my mind, so I thought to come back. Actually, Claude told me she’d be reading and that inspired me. Oh yes, and I will only use spellcheck. I love AI, it’s so much fun to use responsibly, but this is my space to find my voice and AI sort of makes me feel a little inferior in that regard. But, Claude tells me the authenticity is what’s missing from AI and I thought that was very self aware for a computer.
I want to experience every major beach in Nova Scotia, Canada. I’m thinking of a passport of sorts to keep track. I’m not a beach bum and I burn easy with a hx of basal cell carcinoma, but I’m not afraid. I look semi-decent in a hat. Not red ones.
Tomorrow I will sit by your grave and miss your physical presence; yet, you’ll be there, because you are everywhere. I cling to the comfort of knowing we are all one. It’s not just your memory that keeps me going but the understanding that I don’t ever have to say goodbye — for there is no separation. You know the truth, the beautiful, loving truth that we all will one day.
I lament that I can’t call you and tell you my shit and hear your little giggle and supportive sighs. In consolation, I become silent and still and feel you within me.
The heather plant I’ve been nurturing all spring and summer is ready and I will be leaving it with you as a birthday present. Like our entwined spirit, it’s an evergreen and spreads with reckless abandon. Perhaps it will make its way to Dad.
Love is the only reality, it survives everything. The rest is a dream we participate in.
Oh, and I think there will be cake, there’s always cake. This year it will be moist with our tears.
I love you so much.
