A Few Words On Forgiveness

Forgiveness is a heavy load.  Let's be honest.  Long before forgiveness occurs the burden has been hauled around for months, if not years, probably decades. It piles up like mold under walls, lingers like smoke accumulating in a small town bar.  It can't be washed out in just one super soak.  The stench roots in the fibers, deep with the fabric's weave where it sits closest to the skin.  Even if forgiveness is the next necessary step, pulling the proverbial trigger is not a simple act. It leads to a devilish debate of who is worthy, who has weathered the fight, who is willing to let go of pride.

 

I've had to do a lot soul searching this year.  Do I forgive the hit and run driver who nearly killed my husband?  What if the aortic aneurism had taken my Dad's life when so much had been left unsaid?  And reconciling with God over the loss of a grandchild while watching my daughter suffer through yet another tragic event in a year full of insanity.  Some would say this past year was horrible for my family, but I would say it has been full of blessings.  Three amazing people are doing well today and I can tell them every day how much I appreciate having them in my life; a feeling so amazing that granting forgiveness was an easy decision to reach in the preceding cases.  But when forgiveness reaches deep into past transgressions, the ones so vile they've taken on a life of their own, well those are a bit more tricky.

 

With so many life and death struggles taking center stage in my year I was struck with a sudden fearful realization: What if the people I need to forgive die before I can release them?  Seems rather ego-centric, I suppose, but the reality of forgiving is that it is a gift one gives to oneself. Holding back forgiveness is like holding your breath in a childish contest of endurance. You are the one who cannot breathe.  You are the one turning purple. You are the one putting yourself on hold while others breathe easy. To forgive is to live without anything to prove to someone who's not watching anyway. It's that first big rush of air taken in once you realize the contest is a ridiculous waste of time and decide to breathe again.  I know this because today I forgave someone whose acts have held me captive in my own soul.                                                            

 

Today, I released this person from the hold I gave him on my life, and in doing so found a peace unlike anything I've ever known. My greatest fear in forgiving was the possibility this person would minimize my battle.  After all, I had emotionally granted this person unlimited power over my emotions, decisions, and my opinions.  If he were to say that all I feared was unreal, or to deny his part in my hurt, I would be left with a bag full of ghosts. Moving forward without closure is the risk in forgiving.  But the reward outweighs this risk.  And sometimes the unthinkable happens: the other person needs this resolution as well.

 

With great anxiety, I sent my forgiveness and proudly accepted my bag of ghosts, never expecting a reply.  Surprisingly, I received an immediate response. This person accepted responsibility and wanted my forgiveness.  In that moment, I felt my soul break free of its cage.  I felt a rush of air in my lungs that knocked me off my chair. I cried as if making up for years of stuffed tears.  And, as my life pattern has been throughout this year,  I found peace in the most unlikely of places. So if you're holding on to pain, try forgiveness. It's not easy.  It doesn't mean you've given up.  It means, finally, you are willing to set yourself free.

Inner Moonlight

 August 2013- August 2014, has been a grand slam of life altering events. But, and I say this in a hushed breath so the fates don't overhear: life is back on track. I find my studio work is on course for Halloween and I am free to return to earlier projects halted.  For one particular creation, I am not so much "going back to" as I am bringing that work into the present and reassessing with a fresh perspective.  That is, of course, the elusive Secret Project. 

The Secret Project is the fuel in my creative tank.  It's the idea, the flame, that has burned longest and brightest among all my musings. Often, it burned so brightly I was often blinded by it, scorched even, and forced to put it away.  For many years I tried to wrangle this project the way animal control attempts to cage a roaming fox.  One way or  another things are going to get ugly and little will be accomplished. Inspiration ebbs and flows, flooding sketchbooks that span decades.  It is my inner moonlight that often feels like madness. A delicious flirt with the looney side.

 

Sitting with the Secret Project now feels like an amicable truce. After all, the last twelve months have been a surreal parade.  Frequent pleading with God and Death over the past year has mellowed my harsh self-imposed requirements that held me back from real progress on the project.  As humans we foolishly believe every day is a guarantee. We leave unsaid what we truly want to say. We leave unfinished what needs completion. We believe perfection is the triumph when it's the journey that reveals how triumphant we are. The Secret Project has been a work in progress since my late teens.  The roaming fox, once suspected to be rabid, has calmed with age, experience, and softened by fear of loss.  Finally I understand that inner moonlight is not madness; it is just truth waiting to be told.

 

LOVE  &  INNER MOONLIGHT

 

 

 

 

And Then There Is Silence

Silence.  That defeating distance between what should be and the reality of what is unfolding.  I've experienced this silent mystery too often this year- the slow motion dizziness of life as it turns upside down like a laundry basket emptying its contents tip-toppling to the end of a long staircase tumble.  There is no real remarkable noise.  It happens in hyper-speed and  leaves only blurry utterances of  actors adlibbing their way through the fall.

 

Two days ago family gathered for the excitement of my daughter's 12 week sonogram.  Even though there were only four of us waiting to hear the heartbeat, we were too much of a crowd for the tiny room and had to wait turns.  I went in first with my daughter and her boyfriend, all of us making our humorous cases for the boy or girl debate.

 The grainy image cleared into full view of the expected wee one. As the tiny picture flashed on the screen I saw my daughter's face.  Where I expected joy, I saw confusion.  There were a few questions, grasps for a different understanding, but like I said- the actors were stumbling;  their voices nearing inaudible as the room filled with the white noise of fear, desperate sadness, and loss. She knew in that instant that life had slipped away

 

There are no words to comfort a mother losing a child. The doctor's droll,  "I see this all the time" and "don't blame yourself" evaporate in thoughts of a sweet cuddled bundle already filled with a mother's, a father's, a grandmother's, dreams and hopes. And as my daughter pulled a brave face out of her pocket, I felt my knees buckle as I pleaded with the doctor to give me hope where no hope could be offered.

 

 

 

In my last post I wrote how some had thought my daughter too young to have a child.  She is 19. She has been to college. She has been across the US and Canada on a motorcycle with her Dad. She has played with tigers in a Thailand jungle. She spent her high school junior year summer recovering from open heart surgery.  Usually shy and quiet, she initiated a media campaign earlier this year to try finding the hit and run driver who nearly killed her father.  She has mourned the loss of more than a few key people in her life. She has the kindest, most gentle humanitarian spirit and her soul is an old one that will rise from this loss as well.

 As I wrote in my last post; we do not choose when life is to come and go.  Life opened the door in May, 2014.  On July 21, 2014, life left, closing the door as it went. 

~Rest in peace precious wee one.  You are loved. Always ~

 

 



Gratitude

 

Christmas is a time of reflection, appreciation, family, and love. This year my wee family decided to stay home; not to make the usual 1200 mile journey east or north to be with extended family that seems to scatter in more directions as the years go on.  Though I miss my parents, my in-laws and the familiar traditions of home, this year I am so happy to be spending these holidays with my two biggest supporters. My husband and daughter have taken this handmade business journey with me for the past two years and I couldn't be more grateful.

Living with a crafter, artist, or creative type has many hazards. Kevin and Emily seldom criticize or condemn. So in honor of their fortitude I am confessing my creative sins that they have so faithfully endured

 

For each of these aggressions, I love you all the more :)

• For every stray sewing needle you've found with your feet or as you sit on the couch
• For every household appliance I've turned into a studio purposed machine
• For every "in-process" creation that has cluttered the living room
• For the tower of storage bins that blocked a clear path to the bathroom
• For the wool lint cloud that blanketed every surface on felting days
• For every meal I forgot to cook because I was cranking out orders 
• For each road trip I spent in  the back seat stitching away the miles

 

Thank you for believing in my abilities, loving me through my bad days, and never doubting I can reach my dreams.  To be supported on this journey is the best Christmas gift of all.

LOVE & FAMILY

 

 

 

Lessons Learned

 

 "Sometimes the lights all shinin on me;

Other times I can barely see.

Lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it's been."

- Jerry Garcia

Connecticut, in my childhood home, was the last place I expected to be this summer. Especially in the midst of so much change in my adult home in Texas.  Emily was packing up for college, Kev and I nervously approaching empty nest status, and so many plans in the making. But the late night call came.  My Dad was in the hospital with an aortic aneurism.  I was on the first plane north, while Kev and Em would take on move-in day without me. The two weeks ahead would hold heartbreaks,tears, prayers, resolutions, and a permanent change in my soul. 

I've always loved my parents. I've always known they love each other. But life or death situations have a way of bringing out truest words and "don't hold back" feelings. In the days before surgery, we filled nervous hours with our appreciation for one another.  In the hours before the operation, our tones became a bit more serious, and in the delicate hours following surgery the most beautiful emotions emerged. I thought I might be reading into what I was seeing but my sister-in-law saw the same picture. Though my Dad wasn't able to speak or open his eyes, my parents spoke with the subtle touch of their hands.  These were the gentle touches that assured one another they were together, they were alive, and everything would be ok;  their wordless connections perfected over 46 years of marriage. 

Within two weeks, everything I thought I knew, arrogances I held, and childish misconceptions I hoarded over the years all fell away, were disproven, stripped down until only love and faith remained.  I saw in my parents the love I have for Kevin- the willingness to see through together whatever life brings. A total acceptance of the other.  A bond necessary for a full life.  Without one, the other is but a shell. 

My Dad is well on his way to full recovery.  Despite the hospital setting, and missing Emily's move-in day at UIW, the two weeks in Connecticut were magical life lessons that I will bring home to Texas.  Most importantly, I learned to appreciate Kevin and Emily not only as my husband and daughter but as individual people with their own identities and their own stories to tell. 

The easiest way for me to sum it all up is this: Enjoy this life.  Cherish the people with whom you share it.  Don't hold back on love, kind words and laughter.  It is the stuff that makes this life so alive.  Find the answers you seek.  Ask the questions that scare you the most. Share your story for it is not the great deeds that are treasured,but the small steps we make everyday.

 

LOVE  &  LESSONS LEARNED

 

The Dreaded Late Hour Call

My father and I share the same eyes, hair color, and the family pre-disposition to poke fun at everything, no matter the situation, regardless of social etiquette.  So it seems fair that in this morning's conversation I jokingly accused him of attention seeking while he referenced Monty Python's Holy Grail with a slurred holler, "Bring out yer dead!"  Normal banter, but bittersweet today as he was flown by helicopter to Yale New Haven Hospital in the wee hours of the morning with an aneurism.  I missed the frantic overnight call from my Mom but I was relieved this morning to hear everyone alert and as calm as one can be given the circumstances.  I have never been so painfully aware of every mile between Texas and Connecticut.  To end the call knowing I am at least 24 hours of travel away from home, hollowed like an internal sink hole of desperation.

The seconds between noticing that out of place missed call at 12:39 a.m. until hearing my Mom's voice felt like slow motion running in mud.  It's like a nightmare being chased by all the negative outcomes and fears of what she'll say, how her voice will sound, or even who will answer at the other end.  With every phone ring  I found myself saying, "no, no, no,no,no!!!" Louder and louder, my dogs bewildered at my feet.  And then the huge relieved sigh when I hear her: voice steady, matter of fact, with that barely noticeable trace of panic (my Mom wears stress like everyday shoes!), "Yes, your Dad is stable, awaiting surgery and complaining because he can't have a snack or a cigarette."  Yep.  That's my Dad!

Over the past weeks, I've watched my friends go through long hospital scenarios with their husbands, mothers, and even one dear friend who unexpectedly lost her father just a few days ago.  People in my family tend to stay healthy well into their 90's, so I have had the privilege of avoiding such heartaches until now.  It's a very different empathy today than I had yesterday.  The understanding of potential loss, things left unsaid, minutes and hours taken for granted.  All the memories floating in like an old-timey snapshot slideshow as we wait for the doctor's next words. 

 So to all my friends that have struggled over long hospital hours, for the ones still fighting for their loved ones, for a special mouse-maker who continues to be a champion for her husband, and my dear friend who sadly will attend her father's funeral today; I reinforce my hugs, strengthen my prayers for you and understand with a fuller heart.

 

LOVE  &  PRAYERS!

Homecoming

 

Hubby returns from Bangladesh today and the house is full of excitement.  My favorite part of his homecomings is watching our Baby Girl, now 18, light up when I announce, "Homecoming Day!!" She has always been Daddy's little girl, and she wears this badge with pride!

Over the years they have been connected by their motorcycle fanaticism and a deep seeded need for adventure. It started early with dirt bikes... watching her Dad race hare scrambles in the palmetto ridden woods of Florida.  Soon she was riding alongside him. When we moved to Texas, the dirt bikes gave way to bigger machines. 

Then came the impossible question: would a teenage girl want to take a cross country trip to see the back roads of America? With her father?  On a motorcycle?

Without blinking an eye, the answer was YES!  This set in motion three summers of endurance riding across America with the goal of seeing every US state and the majority of Canada before Baby Girl graduated high school.  The trip through the Yukon Territory and into Alaska was by far the most perilous with snowy steep mountain roads, free roaming bison, constant rain and the need to wear every item of clothing they packed just to stay somewhere above freezing. 

 In the summer of 2010, the travel goal had to be delayed while Baby Girl had open heart surgery.  By 2011, she was back on Dad's Harley and racing into Michigan, Maine, and Connecticut on an Eastern US tour.  The bond these two share just melts my heart.  They are one in the same and driven to go farther, see more, and be a part of the greater picture.

This also scares me.  The same traits that made me fall so in love with Hubby are the very traits I see burning wildly in our soon-to graduate Baby Girl.  There is fire in her eyes of working in Africa, on world relief missions, and getting the hell out of Houston (which is a dream we all share!).  There is the realization that she is 18 and free to go where she chooses and I sense the wheels already turning on short term summer trips.  She is like her Dad in every way. Stubborn and ready to take on the world.  I can only imagine that in time I will be running in to announce to Hubby, "Baby Girl is coming home today!!" and he will light up just as brightly as she does for him.

 

LOVE  &  HOMECOMINGS!

18 Years In The Blink Of An Eye

 Eighteen years ago a little baby was about to make its way into the world.  Expecting our first child, we had spent months picking out just the right name for a little boy.  Using my full nesting powers I hand stitched enough tiny fish to string a border around the entire nursery.  Though baby would come a week before the due date, Hubby and I were ready.  And as the final push passed, and  we waited for little Ethan's arrival announcement, we heard the doctor exclaim, "It's a healthy baby GIRL!" 

Though her birth is about the only time she has been early for anything ever- she hasn't stopped surprising us, amazing us, and making us laugh nearly every day of the last 18 years.  Looking back to my journal entry on the day she was born I wrote, "Part of me is sad because she has been all mine for the past 9 months, and now I have to share her with the world."

As fate would have it, she turned out to be our only child and in ways more than she will ever know, she taught me to relax, to play, to heal, and to walk with the most certainty against the strongest currents. I now understand why so many people tell new moms, "It goes by so very fast", because indeed time gathers its moments and slips forward in a hurry. 

 

In the next few months, she will graduate high school and go to college.  In the afternoon, when she is not at home, I listen to the silence.  I try to imagine what this house will sound like without the whirr of a hair dryer, Nikki Minaj wars with her Dad, and her voice as it sings above her guitar strumming.  I smile thinking of her in September, venturing 300 miles away to a new chapter in a big city chasing after her dreams.

 I find myself stealing time back to those selfish lines of the day she was born. I am so overwhelmed with happiness and pride, but yet I am sad.  I am not yet ready to share her with the world.

  LOVE  &  HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

April Thoughts

Phew! March has been quite a month!!  Looking back it was a journey of the soul, building new relationships, and celebrating family and friends.  It was a month of travel, of discovery, and new goals. It was a very good month indeed!

 

April has always been a turning point month for me.  Spring truly comes into full bloom, the winding down of the school year begins, summer plans are the main topic of family chats, and there are so many birthdays I could keep my face full of cake from beginning to end!

 

This April begins with some trepidation.  My one and only child will go to her senior prom and turn 18 this April.  The days that once seemed so far away are upon me now.  My little girl has grown up and is ready to take on the world in her own unique way.  I find myself holding my breath, being on edge, and struggling to hide the fact that I am trying to hold fast to the days that are swiftly sweeping through. 

 

May these coming days bring as much joy and growth as did March. And may I learn to let go so my baby girl can fly.

LOVE  &  LESSONS

Jewett City Jaunt

A visit home in Connecticut is never complete without a Sunday morning trip to Jewett City for the great dusty flea market!  Fresh with spring mud and New Englanders emerging to celebrate an unusually warm March morning, the Jewett City Flea Market has been around longer than I can remember.

 

 

Two floors of jam-packed goodies ranging from the tiniest jewels to towering Early American cupboards and everything in between.  But the best picks are outside in the pop-up stands; sellers with new finds they are eager to off load!  Random china, folk art, military memorabilia, and taxidermy bring a chuckle, a memory, and a spark of imagination.

 

 

I can't resist shiny bits and baubles.  When they are offered at dirt cheap prices I can't help but dig in deep!  I spent $25 in total at the flea market and oh the treasures I did find; rhinestones glistening in the sun, cast off buckles and silver-plate gems!

 

 

 At 25 cents a piece I couldn't resist these vintage wooden knobs!  I have just the project for them but for now I am keeping that plan a wee secret.

 

 

 

I have an affinity for piggies and the market did not disappoint! I spent 10 cents on the ceramic guy, $15 dollars for the pinned pig.

 

 

The pins were my fave purchase.  Nestled in with the common pins there was a fine gold stick pin with a green stone- a thrifting pirate's treasure indeed!

 

 

 

 Best of all was having precious time with my family playing with the ridiculous and oohing at fabulous furniture I had no way to transport back to Texas. Seeing my Dad revel in sharing with my daughter an affinity for weaponry and Elvis trinkets, I know it's a memory they will both cherish. It was definitely a morning well spent under the warm Connecticut sun.

 

LOVE  &  NEW MEMORIES!

 

The Creaky Step of Time

This staircase creaks something awful!  There are boards I know by heart that used to be a dead giveaway to my teen-aged curfew violations and though I am now 43, I still avoid those steps with cat-like agility. The sturdy banister is time worn and softer than cashmere, it's surface sanded by countless hands over two centuries. Steep steps that befuddle those not raised in an old house.  I can still hear the missed steps of visitors clutching the banister to steady their climb.  I still feel my own bruised tailbone from flying too fast down the stairs in socked feet, bouncing my way to the bottom.

 

Communion dresses, Confirmation dreses, prom dress after prom dress and eventually my bridal gown were carefully lifted so my toes would touch each step to avoid any mishaps. Shoes were always put on at the bottom of the stairs. I didn't realize then that my life would take me thousands of miles away from these creaky old stairs.  As the years passed I made it back home for holidays.  Tiny shoes of my daughter, new nieces, and nephews could be heard thundering up and down followed by the standard calls to be careful- though, remembering my own falls, I knew that the first careless slip was usually the last! And now those toddler steps are the lazy lunkering of teens on the verge of their own  high school proms.  So fleeting is time.

Sitting in my parents' house I realize I am on the threshold of change in my life. Until recently I have lived for everyone else- as all moms do.  I have made many school lunches, helped with homework, balanced a string of careers, maintained the home, fed a bazillion pets, and put 100,000 miles on my car just running errands and kids around town. But today, on vacation back in Connecticut with my only child on her final high school spring break, I realize that my soon to be empty nest is full of possibilities.

 

 

That man I married the day I carefully descended these steps with my fistfuls of lace, now travels the world and has afforded me the chance to travel with him.  Working full time for myself, I can spend more time visiting family whom I have missed so much over the past 20 years.  The greatest reward in life is family.  Having my daughter roll her eyes at her grandfather's jokes and crouch through the tiny corridors of this old New England house are priceless memories in the making.  Seeing my daughter skip the same stair steps that I did at her age, I hear her exclaim, "God, this stair CREAKS!".  Seeing her full grown, walking the stairs behind her grandmother, I can't help but think, "Yes, this stair creaks something beautiful!"

 

LOVE  &  TIME