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