photo by patricia

When hurt by those close to me in the present day, the hurt, more like a surface scratch, becomes infected by the past. It expands, deepens, and the old wound opens up bleeding causing more pain than what presently occurred. It can take days to move freely from it. It happens again and again because some wounds from the past don’t heal. Like trust, or the inability to trust.

People being human have feelings and their own stuff. Their ‘stuff’ causes them to react unkindly, insensitively and hurtfully. The instinct is to hurt back when one is hurt. Knowing this helps to move beyond another’s flaws and also can become a nod as to what needs looking at within myself.

Why did that cause tears to flow, and flow, then well up again days later? It is not what my loved one has done, but what others have done long ago. This needs attending to; careful dabbing of the wound, attentive, gentle love, a cool caressing hand to the forehead, rocking one’s tender heart lovingly in curiosity, openness and acceptance.

That is what heals… attention to what is internal with warmth, tenderness and as much care as one would offer their most loved one. Because aren’t you one?



Each morning is a gift, cool but also warm, the sun against an azure blue sky decorated with white puffs of cottony clouds, post-card perfect and burgeoning with life. Flowers, fruit tree blossoms, grass, leaves, buds, it is all exploding yet I am calm.

Learning to go into my feelings rather than avoiding them has helped, not trying ‘be happy’ or be like how others appear to be, but allowing for my own inner workings to be felt, then to come up and be released. And for me, a sensitive soul, that involves a lot of crying, crying yet absorbing the wonders around me. Once it seemed impossible to do both. Now I accept it as a way of life.

Walking the lush grass in the meadow is like floating on carpet as the songs of various birds guide my way. Pausing at the creek garden to enjoy the tender opening of the tiny blue forget me knots, a startled duck flies away. Ripples reflect like diamonds and the once dull brown at the water’s edge has turned a lush green mirroring its lively color on the water’s surface doubling the colorful effect. It is an emerald wonderland rich with every possible hue!

“So much is happening I can’t take it all in!” I exclaim to Samuel bent over his work in the garden as he gently loosens the dirt around the asparagus. He nods and smiles as I continue by on the path.

And it is, so much new life, and some appears to happen after every lap around the meadow.  The hostas seem to grow by the minute and so do the lilacs and snow-ball bushes. Under the old, majestic, gnarled cherry tree the ground holds a confetti of its blossoms. Stopping to pick one up the delicate petal feels like a wisp of a feather in my hand. It has a light sweet fragrance. I toss it in the air smiling, walking on.

I’ve done enough if at day’s end one moment of extraordinary beauty has been savored and remembered. It is a gift to behold this wonder of spring!



Sunrise over the hill causing fog along the creek-line…

I have agreed to care for my new grand-son two days a week starting tomorrow until the end of June when school lets out for the summer. My daughter-in-law returns to her teaching position.

I have become stronger and healthier these last months by increasing exercise and feeding my body in a more healthy, thoughtful way. So I hope I can manage. But 7 am till 1 pm is a long stretch with a 2 month old.

Though the pursuit of health and making those patterns a regular way of life were greatly productive, I look forward to this additional way of feeling productive again. Cindy will join us too after pre-school for lunch and a short play-time. My hands and heart will be full… 


Picture 112

I don’t trust. A fact. The world is scary so unsafe. Even the vet who clearly loves animals is not trustworthy and the knot over my chest tightens. Going to bed the mental check list includes where the granulated aspirin is in case of a heart attack. Can emotions cause one? My guess is yes. Emotions play havoc on health and mine radiates over the heart, twisting and tightening like a screw. It can’t be good.

I hadn’t realized the stress I’d been under since taking the cat to the vet. Tests and more tests. She does love her blood tests. But let’s keep things in perspective, a dying cat doesn’t need X-rays of her chest to see how far the cancer has progressed since you aren’t going to treat her differently anyway.

The bill of $250 is enough. No I don’t want more tests in a few weeks that you keep pressing on me. You didn’t get enough blood the first time so the results aren’t reliable and you want more? I said none of this. All I did was thank her profusely for being so patient.

It’s a cat. Yet the pressure in my chest wouldn’t go away. It dawned on me. I love Molly dearly, of course this would be a big deal. Since childhood I’ve had cats to love and dote on, their purring settling me into a zone of comfort and love. No other being does that for me. Once understanding the magnitude of this I was able to allow my truth and not try to abide to what another might think of me. The pressure eased.

This morning the knot is gone. Molly is being pampered with whatever canned food delights her and as much as she likes. Her catnip rations are increased and she loves rolling in it. Her favorite thing is lying across my tummy stretching out sleeping with the warmth between us. I try to oblige as much as I can though there is work to be done and things to do.

We will get through this, her and I. Though I wonder how I’ll find the courage to be there for her at the end like the past two family pets, Sparky the cat and dear Oshie, our dog. Both graves are by the creek where Molly will eventually join them.  Until then sticking to the present is the goal and enjoying every moment of her.

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Overnight the sweat on my body drove me to open the windows wide before returning to bed. By morning the rain had stopped and more warmth seeped in. The heat doesn’t have to run which means more windows to open as the birds wake and sing a hello chorus.

Shane and his family drove the long distance to Massachusetts to visit his brother and their new baby. Oh how I wish I could easily travel and join them. But home is where I want to be and do best. Although my health is returning with more vibrancy, zest and energy, home continues to be my safe place. 

It feels like the rocky transition from winter to spring is over but anxiety is an ongoing issue. It always has been and probably always will be. Coping with it daily along with other tendencies that trip me up will continue to take work, but progress has been made. 

Patterns, like beating myself over other people’s rudeness because I didn’t speak up at the time of the occurrence is an issue here to stay. That can mean hours of pain blaming myself. Then a saying occurred from a past therapist, Matt…AFOG- another fucking opportunity for growth.

Leaving the store feeling burned from the cashier’s rudeness my hands were shaking. And the relentless whipping started. A simple frustration turns into a whirlwind scurrying in from my past. Why didn’t you say something, speak up, say the truth of what was happening, something? Why always so nice, so pleasing? 

Being taught to be silent and loving towards brothers that were sexually attacking me during childhood was being taught to take the blame for everything that happens to me and around me; a feeling or belief cemented in stone. It’s not going away. Do I have to be one of my attackers?

I stopped, and replaced the relentless haranguing with positives. Quietness is your way as you think things through. And how can you have a voice when it was taken? Accept this about yourself and be gentle and kind with it. It’s OK. At least you know what transpired. And though it made you feel bad, you are not bad…

I have the ability to not beat myself up. A revelation. The tension drifted away and pressure from the the knot on my heart melted. This is progress. Going home to Samuel I shared the experience and in return heard all about his latest check-out trip that was unpleasant. Then we both went about our day with peace and contentment. I cooked a nice meal with the homey satisfaction that brings while he worked outside despite the rain. 


this post was inspired by Telling Heavy Secrets, a friend…



photos by patricia

Tears fell on the puzzle as my head bowed. Samuel said, “Go outside and enjoy the day!”

The tears stop. Thinking of a reply to help him understand seems futile, and instead I fervently wish for him to go so that I can have my feelings and release them. So much sadness is yet to come up, sadness’s I learned to squelch. New sadness’s need airing. Feeling feelings is a good thing Samuel.

Upon return from the vet’s I learned Molly has lost a good deal of weight. The tumor behind the eye may have progressed to the lung, or she may have hyperthyroidism. Whichever it is, she is twelve and not feeling well.

My buddy. I have not had a cat I was this close to before and I’ve had lots of cats since childhood, relating to them more closely than any other living being. Molly is more like a puppy-cat following me everywhere. And lately more so. The thought of losing her hurts.

Other sadness’s crop up especially walking the meadow. The first lap brings tears, almost sobs. I look around assuaging my fears that anyone can hear. Both neighbors are working, have your cry.

Now that Chet is dead it seems I think more about what he had done, how much damage. While alive the most I thought about him was what a pathetic life he had; I felt sorry for him and not much more. The tears come for the little girl who feels like someone else…not me.

By lap three my excitement for spring, the green grass and bursting flowers takes over and I go in for my camera. Laying in the dewy grass I snap shot after shot. It feels good to allow tears and sadness, to allow it with no one around to tell me different. It feels good and I feel good, more whole.


The Deck


While Samuel’s hard at work, first the deck, now the landing and retaining wall, I have no project and feel a bit lost. For such a small project it certainly is a lot of work and the trips to the local lumber yard are adding up surprisingly in cost. I was even invited to go to pick out the stone path. That was a hot date on a rainy morning, bumping into another couple even older than us also picking out stone for a small garden project. 

“What is our purpose?” I ask Samuel, “Do we just get up and do it again day after day?”

“Yes, maybe that is our purpose,” he answers, barely looking up from his magazine. 

I press on, “You have a purpose. I don’t. The studio bores me,” I stated. 

“Well, maybe you need to do something different,” he responded.

He is right. I need to do something different. But with all the supplies gathered over the years, kiln, clay, glaze, and all the corresponding tools, it had better have something to do with all that. New horizons await. In the meantime, maybe my purpose is caring for this body I’ve spent a life-time escaping.

Being in it scares me, every little nuance making me wonder what is going wrong next. Yet being in it is what can also bring great joy if I work at it and try. Like caring for the burn that turned crimson and scaly. Taking the time to open a vitamin E oil capsule and gently applying it helped, rather than just ignoring it like I might of done.

That’s what others do naturally, care for themselves. And when they do they do great things like become exercise fanatics, yoga experts, lean bicyclists or runners, something physical to complete the whole. 

So my purpose is learning about my body, being in it as fully as possible, which takes work, time, and overcoming the fear. I tend to flee it residing in my head or hovering anywhere else but in it. What wonders await if I allow myself to go deeply into my given gifts?