Thursday, April 20, 2017

small expectations



recently, i read about a fictional character who felt overburdened by the weight of others' expectations. it gave me pause.

no matter how casual or entangled a relationship is, there are always expectations.

when i was little, my parents expected me to eat my vegetables, be polite, keep quiet in church and get good grades. although i was quite mischievous at times, i was never burdened with doing what was expected of me.

in school, i enjoyed the challenges of meeting and exceeding the expectations of teachers. i followed the rules and was obedient.

i don't recall having difficulty with meeting expectations in the numerous jobs i've had over the many years of my career. for the most part i was a give me the goal you want to achieve and then get out of my way while i do it kind of worker. no one complained about the results i produced.

meeting expectations in entangled adult relationships has been a stumbling block for me. that's all i'm going to say about that.

as a 64 year old woman who lives alone, i have few expectations to manage other than those of my my employer. i do what i want, when i want. i like this about the life i've created. sometimes i feel guilty but rarely burdened. it's taken years to understand myself and what i need to be truly happy. i thrive on lots of quiet time, hours to be alone with my thoughts, to read, craft, sew, walk in the woods. i really don't want a lot of responsibility or expectations. spending time with my kids and grandkids is the big exception. when guilty thoughts of things i should be doing for others seep into my head, i remind myself that we each only get one life to live. if this makes me selfish, then i totally own that word.

on the flip side, i try to have few expectations of others. it's hard for me to ask for help. by keeping my life simple and small, i have fewer needs and so ask less of others. it works for me.

that dude up top is kiefer fynn nash. kiefer is a german surname meaning pine tree or barrel maker. fynn means bright and fair in gaelic. nash is a surname derived from middle english meaning at the ash tree. i imagine him as a woodsman, adept at identifying all the trees, gathering kindling, chopping down trees. he's quiet, contemplative, kind to nature and animals, a loner like me.

when not in the woods, kiefer sits and watches me work all day. he has zero expectations of me. my only expectation of fynn is that he sit quietly. this relationship works for me.














Friday, April 14, 2017

would i, should i, could i go to the woods






















when asking myself the question, "would i, should i, could i go to the woods?" the answer is yes. always yes. there's something primal in the forest that speaks to my inner soul. the cycle of birth, death, decay and rebirth is apparent in every season. each of my senses awakens and feasts.

my almost-40 year old son asked me to accompany him to the woods last sunday. he said, "let's just go poke around." we were lured by the possibility of finding morels but it was very dry and we repeatedly told each other we were just a bit too early, maybe next sunday after it rains and the nights are warmer.

there was a quiet so quiet that you could hear the leaves rustle in the gentle breeze.

a lone woodpecker's call brought back memories of Woody Woodpecker in the living room with my siblings long, long ago.

chunky, peeling vines spiraling through trees reminded me of playing Tarzan in the big woods as a child.

matt found two fossils in the stream bed and i pocketed a piece of misty blue "sea" glass.

stumbling on the first may apples, the early spring beauties and the tiniest of toadstools was delightful.

but my favorite thing was finding the little boy still alive and well in my grown son. just as he did when he was 7, 9 and 11, matt noticed (and identified) everything  --  the dying bark on an ash tree, the woodpecker holes in a fallen log, the pheasant tail shelf mushrooms. his intellect and knowledge never cease to amaze me. when he peered up into the trees to find the noisy woodpecker, i saw the 7 year-old matt with binoculars around his neck. as he placed a fossil in his medicine bag i remembered the magpie matt who hunted/gathered bones in the woods as a child. oh, how i cherish those bittersweet glimpses of my first-born child.

this week i upped my walking game to an hour plus and i pulled out the five pound weights with a goal of 10-15 minutes a day. getting older and becoming more feeble is somewhat inevitable. but, i am determined to have many more years of getting out into the woods. my fervent wish is to still be able to say yes, always yes, when matt says let's just go poke around in the woods. at 70, at 75, at 80 years of age.

my other fervent wish is that when i am those ages, my kids will still see the younger me in my eyes and zest for living.






Tuesday, April 4, 2017



on sunday evening my daughter texted me, "don't be so hard on yourself."

she knows me well. i'm stubborn, independent, determined and yes, hard on myself. these traits are most evident when i get an idea for a diy project that is probably beyond my skill level. but, i want to do it myself. i know that there will be tears and cussing and massive frustration. but i want to do it myself.

here's the story.

i stumbled on a library book about vertical gardening in a raised bed. i read it front to back in an evening and made a list of what i'd have to buy: 2x6x8s, 2x2s, 2x4x8s and deck screws. at lowe's, i enlisted the help of a young man who seemed skeptical about my ability to construct a raised vegetable bed. he cut the pieces to my requested lengths and loaded it all in my van. "good luck," he said with a smile.

at Tractor Supply, i purchased a roll of rabbit fencing with the right size holes, loaded it in my van and smiled about all the veggies i would grow.

the supplies sat in the back of my van for weeks while i waited for Mother Nature to cooperate. this last sunday morning, i laid my camping tarp out on the ground in the back yard and unloaded all the supplies from my van. there was a drill bit in my drill that i needed to remove. i couldn't figure out how to remove the drill bit as it had been a couple of years since i'd used it.  i pushed every button and turned every knob. nothing worked. so, of course, i googled it. twenty minutes later i had the drill bit out and inserted the thingy that came with the box of deck screws. it fell down into the drill. i had lost the nib or jib or whatever that thingy is that holds that other thingy in the drill that allows me to screw instead of drill. it was nowhere to be found in my plastic case of drill bits. twenty minutes later i had managed to tighten the drill enough to hold that first thingy in place.

fast forward another twenty minutes and i've figured out that the screws will not drive into the yellow pine without me pre-drilling holes. out with the thingy and in with the drill bit that i think is the closest size i have to the screws i've purchased. i don't own a work table or saw horses. i'm sitting on a tarp on the ground with the 2x6x8' boards standing on their 2" sides on the ground. i attempt to drill holes into the wood while holding the drill perpendicular and horizontal to the surface. as i'm doing this i am totally aware that drilling is much more effective when drilling down vertically into a board. but i'm stubborn and determined to do it my way.

forty minutes later, i'm sweating and crying and my right hand aches from holding the drill. i have managed to drill 3 holes. each hole is way bigger than the screws i plan to use because the board keeps leaning and falling while i'm drilling. at this point my language has guttered and my sleeve is covered in snot.

i give up.

i load everything back in my van. i go inside for a shower.

i pout, stew, worry, fret and beat myself up. i eat a piece of rhubarb pie and warm up my coffee. my main train of thought is that ten years ago i could have easily built this dang thing. by myself. (i'm not 100% sure there is truth in this belief). i admit to myself that this is another indication of my pending old age. it's not just physical, it's mental. my mind fogs easily and breaks down when i let anger and frustration seep into my emotions. i feel defeated. i cry.

after reading for an hour or so i convince myself that there is no shame in asking for help. i text my son and he says of course he will help me. he said from the beginning that he would build it. i wanted to do it myself. i cry again.

a note about the tears. i am not prone to crying or feeling sorry for myself except when i'm feeling vulnerable. "i'm getting old" thoughts have creeped into my consciousness more and more lately. it's hard for me to have a strong will to fight back when the weather is cold. fighting back gets harder. giving in becomes easier. and diminished brain capacity comes with giving in. it's a vicious cycle that many (most?) of us fight. spring/summer/fall foster feeling young(er).

later that night i was reading and texting with my daughter about a random variety of things and shared a snippet of this story. that's when she strongly suggested that i not be so hard on myself.

i continued reading while letting the events of the day play out in my head. and like a light bulb being illuminated, an image of nails popped into my head. hot damn! who says i need to use an electric drill/screw driver?! a friend has loaned me a three pound hammer. i can hammer this damn raised bed together. hot damn! i'm back in the game.

my grandson Ben accompanied me to the hardware store yesterday. he knew right where the nails were. he knew to weigh them in the scale and put them into a paper bag. he said to write the price on the bag with the pencil. when i asked him if he would help me hammer the boards together he replied sure.

i still have hope of building this raised bed. but maybe not by myself.

Friday, March 31, 2017

snippets




i've been thinking about when we each become our own true selves. is it when we become adults? parents for the first time? when we land our dream job and excel at it? do we ever stop growing emotionally or striving to be our own best self?

i remember reading on a favorite blog a few years ago that people in the writer's hometown were accusing her of "reinventing herself" on her blog. all i could think was what's wrong with that? we each do that to a certain extent at each stage of our lives. headed off to Ball State University in the fall of 1971, i had an opportunity to explore new people, interests and adventures, reinventing  myself along the way. when i became a mother for the first time, i got to decide what kind of mother i would be. when my kids left the nest i became interested in art, photography, blogging and so much more. i'm certainly not the same person i was in 1998 because i've challenged myself to grow and evolve.




on social media we get to show snippets of our lives. we rarely show our dirty underwear on the floor or the crappy, soap-crusted shower curtain liner hanging in our tub. i love Instagram for its plethora of stylized photos of mundane things -- acorns on a bed of moss, tree reflections in a cup of tea, gorgeous knitted works in progress beside a homemade cranberry scone come to mind. but, we all know that those lovely people have dirty little secrets around their house just like we do. we don't necessarily see their own true selves. but, i am confident that they are growing and evolving.





i'm well aware that these thoughts are in the forefront of my mind because the time is coming for me to make retirement decisions. or not. for years, i've felt like i never get enough free time to do everything i want to do so working part time is attractive to me. i could instantly type a dozen things i'd like to explore just in the arts and crafts category. conversations on this topic often have me telling people that i think i might be a nicer person if i don't work full time. i also know that i am happiest when i'm busy.





but, mostly i'm thinking about who i want to be for the next 20 years. i unfurled some pretty big wings a few years ago so i could fly to the life i wanted. one thing i know for sure is that i'm not finished flying yet. there just might be a new set of wings waiting to be unfurled.

who will you be in five years? in ten? are you yearning to unfurl your wings and fly?

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

for me. for therapy. for memory


often, when the pondering in my head starts to outgrow my brain capacity, i feel the need to capture my thoughts. write them down. edit, slash, delete, rearrange, mix, mingle and ease them. perhaps put them in a little bottle for future inspection. uncork the bottle on a distant day and see what impressions the faded thoughts might make on an older me. for years, this blog was the bottle. i revisit my ponderings from time to time. so here i am again.pondering. sharing. recording.



i do this for me. for therapy. for memory.



some of my favorite bloggers are introverts like me. we may keep our thoughts to ourselves in large gatherings but we always have something to say.

spring has twirled her magic color wand and blessed us with flowers, blooming trees and green grass. she awakened me from my winter slumber, invigorating my senses and encouraging me to get out into nature. and, maybe, just maybe she has reignited my urge to record my life here in this safe place. if you're reading this, then welcome. if no one reads this, that's perfectly fine.

 i do this for me. for therapy. for memory.