Addressing active issues

There were so many gifts & graces from Mom to me.  I like to think that one she got from me was the idea of only addressing issues when they're active, not long after they come up. 

Mom had this interesting tendency of bringing up hot button topics well after a situation had passed.  Days & weeks.  Or even longer, as part of another discussion.

Made a lot of sense, if the point was to keep things calm, non-contentious.  The same reason she'd bury super sensitive information in the middle of a sunny, social note.  The woman loathed confrontation.  

 

This whole "only bring up issues when they're active" approach radically changed her world.  It was fascinating in ways I never could have imagined, experiencing her give the idea value, then try to live it.  Her progress was illuminating.

It wasn't easy.  It meant that Mom had to be aware of how she was feeling, when & while she was actually feeling it.  That was a whole new, funky foreign idea for her.  She was used to feeling afterward, when it was safe.  But she stuck with it.  

First, she had to feel within an active moment.  Then, she had to understand how she was holding those feelings.  She had to let whatever feelings come up that wanted to, come up THEN, not later.  For which, I am proud to say, Mom was totally game.  In her late 80s & willing to upset the apple cart of her tried & true traits.  Epic!

It took a stunningly short time to register with Mom that this new way of experiencing was way less draining than the old.  She only had to notice & address - or not - stuff as it was happening.  Wow!  If she didn't notice, or noticed & didn't address, she didn't need to lug it around with her.  Liberation!

 

Mind you, it didn't happen overnight & parts of it probably always remained a challenge.  This was a woman who'd survived by NOT noticing, who'd never felt she had the right to have her own issues that deserved airing, who did everything possible to stay emotionally safe.  

Smiling, remembering how she learned to write letters that started out setting up an important share, instead of burying it in the heart of fluff!  

Oh, rats - am now in tears, remembering how happily Mom embraced the idea of doing something absolutely outside of her nature & nurture.  Well, maybe not so outside her nature as I thought.  

Am thinking about all of this today, sitting here trying to figure out an ancient family issue that's suddenly active.  My oldest brother is in the hospital down in Philadelphia.  I am outside of the information chain, not by choice.  Do I make a stink & find out what's happening, or do I respect what seems to be the dynamic the family finds works for them?  It's not like I'm someone Peter feels close to - he is as close as works for him & when it doesn't, we aren't.  

Finding myself mentally fixing a cup of hot tea, setting out some Girls Scout shortbread cookies, settling in at a table that for decades & decades was our roosting place (it's now out on the back porch), having a heartfelt mother/daughter, friend-to-friend talk with Mom about best next steps.  

 

Maybe doing nothing is the right answer.  Let people approach me, rather than bust in on them.  Give them their space, even if it feels like I'm being a lousy sister.

An ancient family issue is suddenly active.  This is what I talked to Mom about, all those years ago - a great opportunity to do things differently, hopefully better.  If only I knew what that is.



Credits
tiffany.com
psychologia.com 
mindingmynest.com
natureandnurture-ici.org
groupon.com

Unbalancing act

The older I get, the more astonishing it is how little is certain in my life.  And how poorly prepared I feel to create & maintain any semblance of sanity with all the disparate forces yapping at my heels.

Which ancient injuries should be left to self-heal in my psyche?  Which need a touch of salve, which require professional attention?  

Which issues touching those who matter do I let register on my radar, which do I let flit off the screen?  

Which friends do I see bleeding & help, which are beyond my limited abilities, which wouldn't accept a caring hand if they were hemorrhaging?

The hardest thing is deciding which life purposes that speak to my heart have to be tenderly tucked away, destined for other loving hands to take them up.  

One of the great benefits to composing - over how many years? - my still unsubmitted crowdfund request has been narrowing what I want to accomplish over the next twelve months, which to file away for future years, which are fun to dally with, without investment.  Differentiating between the many things catching my eye, the ones that capture my attention, the few that earn my energy, the select that fill my heart.  

Credits:
katerawlings.com 
funchun.com
123rf.com

Channeling Peter

It was well after 9:30 a.m. that John & I dragged ourselves out of our delicious bed & togged ourselves up in layers of warm clothing, ready to shoulder our shiny bright new snow shovels & dig out our driveway & sidewalk - and the daunting mountainous mass where plows repeatedly dumped load after load of the stuff.

We looked outside the front door - and behold!  What to our wondering eyes did appear?  They were clear!  

Which of our neighbors channeled my brother, Peter?  For a couple glorious, unforgettable years, he became the very model of the caring compassionate present brother I'd imagined.  When winter storms hit, he took pride in getting over here in the predawn hours, digging us out - with a shovel! - then vanishing before we could heap praise upon him.  

 

Was it Tony to our left, or Otto, two houses up, or an unknown neighbor?  Last year, I would have guessed Jay, from next door, but he is a newly wed & am pretty sure he stayed snug at home, several towns over from us.

It wasn't Peter, who's still in the hospital, snowbound like the rest of us.  

But whichever kind soul it was, however he - or she - did it, they have our thanks, along with my gratitude for triggering lovely memories of a precious time with a beloved brother.

Credits:
1 & 4) 123rf.com
2) yardwork.toro.com
3) goodnewsnetwork.org

Snowmageddon 2016

Perhaps it's because the Big Storm hit over the weekend - after rush hour Friday night thru tonight, possibly into tomorrow morning; maybe the fact it's been a dry (not wet & clinging) powder; but everyone seems to have taken a gloriously mellow spin on the 2+ feet of snow blanketing Greater Philadelphia.

If Facebook is anything to judge by, most of the folks I know are making the most of the snowy, blowy day.  Lots of reports of children having a ball, one young newly-married friend from Down Under is experiencing her first ever snow fall, LOTS of great food being made & shared.  One friend is up in NYC, hopefully getting to auditions for performing arts programs.  Several gal pals are in the Big Apple sharing a cozy weekend.  Lots of chili being made, from what I hear & "just in case" piles of blankets being stockpiled.  Thanks to neighbors who've dug out driveways & walks with mega appreciated snow blowers, other folks digging out doggie runs for trusty canines.  

Lots of folks slam Facebook for promoting "shallow" connections.  SO not my experience, especially on a day like this one.  Been in my jammies, robe & slippers all day, yet NOT alone.  Been all over my little hometown, up to NYC, down D.C., hearing from friends in sunny Canada & family in toasty Australia.  

Snowmageddon is here, but so is the world.  

Thanks, Facebook!

Credits:
1) starpulse.com
2) queenofpaws.com
3) creativepoems.wordpress.com
 

wanting wisdom

The first in a series of excerpts from articles about Peggy Freydberg .  This is from a great interview in the LA Times Review of Books by Betsy Borns with Laurie David, who brought Peggy's poetry to the world's attention:

Laurie David: We have this huge baby boom generation, and we’re aging. We’re in our 50s and 60s now, and I think Peggy’s message is relevant to us. At 90 she felt an urge to express herself. She felt that she hadn’t said what she wanted to say — and started writing the most powerful poems at 90.

Creativity has no age limit, and I think, culturally, we have to embrace that. We have to stop thinking that our lives are coming to an end because we’re over 50. Or even over 70. I’m 57, so it definitely resonated with me. Who knows? My best days could be ahead of me.

Betsy Borns:  I think it’s strange that most products are marketed to people younger than 35, but the people with all the money are over 35.

Laurie David:  And those people want wisdom.

 

 Credits:

1)  ChilmarkWritingWorkshop.com

2)  MariaShriver.com

3)  VineyardGazette.com  

dream reweaving

Throughout my life, I've had dreams that seem to fill in the blanks on my family, provide possible answers to the great unknowns that once ate away at me.  Had such a one this morning, just before awaking.

It was about Dad & my sister, Mim & - sort of - me.  I didn't actually come into the dream, not at all. Which is how I was included.  Because I didn't actually come into Dad's life, either.  Not in the way that Mim did, not as a daughter to protect.  Not sure how he saw or experienced me, but it had nothing in common with his feelings & sense of responsibility for my older sister.  And the dream gave that a unexpected sense of...  balance is the only word that seems to fit.  

How my parents felt about me will always be a mystery, how they interacted - or didn't - forever weird.  But the dream gave me a tender sense of the relationship that did seem to exist between Dad & Mim.  Instead of making me sad & forlorn, it made me smile & feel, "Yes - that's what always seemed to be."

 

I am usually lousy at remembering dreams.  The early part of this morning's is more snatches than a cohesive recalling.  What is a vivid image in my mind, something unusually precise & truly precious, is of a book belonging to Dad that - in the dream - had just turned up in Mom's library.  
 
Between its pages were notes & cards from Mim, at different ages, and some pieces of paper that revealed Papa's feelings for her. They were loving, so father-daughter, so heartfelt & authentic & sweet.  Without any agenda, just a devoted daughter & her equally smitten papa.  

My take-away was his heart & energies were completely engaged in keeping Mim feeling safe & loved;  it wasn't personal, there wasn't any room for another girlish heart. No judgment, just acceptance & acknowledgement of what had unfolded around me.  

 

Mim was complex by nature.  I've long felt that something happened to her when she was young, before she was eight.  Something spirit-ripping.  I've no idea what, but I suspect that it made Dad forever super protective of her, while Mom - who simply could not process complex - would have rejected it even happened.  And along I come, Little Miss "Let's Get Everything Out in the Open" - from the perspective of keeping hidden things safely tucked away, a potentially disastrous addition to the clan.  

That part, I understood.  But seeing the sweetness revealed in my dream, demonstrated through discoveries tucked into a book - that gave a new depth, richness, compassion to the interplay between Mim & Dad, loving father & adoring daughter.  

This blog is called Dream Reweaver, an apt description of this morning's dream.  "Fresh fabric from many strands" - fresh perspective from an engaging imagining.  Have never been much of a dream catcher, but what joy to have caught this morning's gift.   

Credits:
medicalnewstoday.com
blog.cremationsolutions.com
quotesgram.com