constellations

I don't think that I'm particularly visually astute, but when it involves ideas I tend to notice things. Since I haven't returned to thinning my bookshelves yet, they remain stacked and piled on one another and recently a cluster caught my attention:

33 things every girl should know (Bolden)
When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple (Sandra Martz, editor)
Jubilee Time (Maria Harris)
Women Who Run With the Wolves (Clarissa Pinkola Estes)

A woman's lifespan has been captured in just those four titles from among the many I have collected related to women's lives. The range from girlhood to crone and every stage in between is what caught my fancy. The first is a collection of writings from famous and not-so-famous women to young women. It includes advice and reminiscences from their own youth.

"...Wolves" has become a classic, using "myths, fairy tales and stories" that put women in touch with their wilder aspects. It's a favorite of mine and lately I've been thinking a lot about the juxtaposition of wild and cultivated. More about that another time. We spend so many years trying to fit in that it can be unsettling when our instinctual side will no longer be denied. For me, she began emerging in my early forties. Maybe it's time for me to revisit "Wolves."

"Jubilee Time" was a gift from a lifelong friend and I have to confess that I still have not read it. Memo to self: put this one ahead of re-reading "Wolves." I understand that it's for women who are entering the second half of their lives. I've passed that milestone, depending on how long I live. Funny how we keep moving the midlife marker believing that we'll live to be 120 or older!

"Purple" is also a favorite of mine. A collection of writings and black-and-white photos, it captures the essence of women I'd love to know. I think that I saw some of their sisters yesterday accompanying their hand-crafted stories in the museum's exhibit of the Quilts of Gee's Bend. There are wisdom, wit and wonder in both the book and those marvelous quilts.

So what's in this constellation for me? Youthful innocence and hope, allowing my wilder side more chances to show her face, exploring the depth and richness of growing older, and accepting whatever the future holds knowing that many have gone before me.

Wonder what else I've forgotten on my bookshelves. Books seem to appear -- or reappear -- when it's time. Like the stars in the night sky, so many of my books are invisible to me until I turn a corner or enter another season in my life.

remembering

Just have to note that this weekend marks the unofficial start of the summer season in most minds, but Memorial Day is also a time to remember.

I think of my dad who's buried in a veterans' cemetery along with so many others of his generation. This holiday when we generally break out the barbeque stuff must be particularly difficult and painful for those families who will be honoring their sons and daughters for the first time -- or second or third.

I'd like to acknowledge all victims of war: military and civilian. My thoughts are with those who died, who survived, who were left behind, those who wait, and the forgotten.

friends

Yesterday was friend E's birthday. We've known each other since grade school and are lucky to still have close ties after all these years. There is a small circle of us who've known each other so long and well that we can pick right up even though there are now hundreds and even thousands of miles between us. They know me in ways that others without that shared history cannot. They are keepers of my past and often give myself back to me with their memories and insights. They are my sisters-of-the-heart.

Today I had lunch with two newer vintage friends. You know when you just feel an immediate connection and comfort with someone? I feel this with both of them. Nice, too, that they don't live hundreds of miles away. But near or far, I love having friends who will tell me their truth, listen deeply, and even risk telling me what I need to hear. I won't burden either of them with that responsibility, but can definitely see the possibility of shared confidences, mutual support and laughing at the same things. Nice.

All in all it was a good day.

family ties

Substituted writing a letter for my morning journal time today. My mother's younger sister has been hospitalized for a while and is finally in rehab. That finally motivated me to write what was long overdue.

There was always something else to do and yet this has been on my mind for years -- so much so that I could almost believe I've already written. This sounds ominous, but it's not. It's simply another instance of realizing the importance of seizing the moment. She could probably use this "from me to you" special message right now. Hope so.

all teched out

Is it cheating to edit a previous posting? I finally resorted to that after viewing my most recent in various browsers and finding all sort of gobbledy-gook (like HTML displayed on screen). HTML isn't my native language so I decided to correct it. That was about three hours ago, so I gave up and just re-typed -- tweaking along the way -- and re-posted my reverie about my dad. There are still problems matching type sizes, but so be it. I can do no more.

It's times like these that I miss good ol' pen and paper, but then I wouldn't have you to talk with.

now I get it

My mother could never understand how my dad could sit outside for endless hours apparently doing nothing. And only a couple of years before he died, I began to understand what he was doing all those years.

When I was growing up Dad would sit outside with a small radio and limitless cigarettes. The latter did nothing for his long-term health, but did keep the mosquitoes away. Sometimes he'd listen to faraway Red Sox games, but otherwise I could never figure out what he was doing either. But most days after work and on the weekend after mowing the lawn you could find him sitting on the porch or front steps.

Nearly fifteen years ago I discovered his secret when I began to sit on my own porch. Nothing was exactly the right thing to do out there and I gradually got better at it. That first summer out back I came to appreciate how my father had discovered peace of mind outdoors without the distractions that abound inside. He had his feet firmly planted on the ground all his life, but Dad's thoughts -- and heart, I believe -- soared when he was outside. I finally got it because mine did too.

I no longer have my back porch, but my new fresh air perch has been dubbed a "porch." True, it's seven floors up (watch that first step), but a balcony just doesn't have the same feel. So I've decided that I want a porch again and I shall have one. I have that deep need and longing for an outdoor place to ground myself -- yeah, I mean that -- and someplace where my mind can wander. And on days when I can't sit out there, I can look out at what I've created and my imagination follows.

My father died over a decade ago and nowadays my mom can't understand how I can spend hours in solitary quiet, but she does understand that it feeds me. I've been able to tell her what my father never could. It's so nice to feel that connection with him as the sun warms my face and since I don't smoke, I'm just lucky that the mosquitoes don't show up until dusk.

Edited from original post, May 13, 2005

what can I say?

I have to admit it: sometimes I just don't feel like writing here. There I've said it.

It's been a while since I was last here although I drop by daily then wander away without having uttered a word. My hope in starting this blog was that I would write more frequently and I have -- in my mind. Guess that doesn't count, huh?

I have scribbled ideas and observations in a small notebook that travels with me. I tend to draft things when I'm walking in the morning. I've written elsewhere thinking that I'd bring it here. I've even imagined some wonderful conversations with you...but when it came to getting on here, I stalled. No excuses. I just stalled.

So rather than wax on today in an effort to come up with some lofty and meaningful moral to this tale, I think that I will be satisfied to have broken my silence and that brevity is just fine -- perhaps preferable. Truth is more important than eloquence, right? Although I do love eloquence.

Enough.

Okay, so maybe the moral is something about just showing up.