Grief

 

I've been thinking about grief lately.

Grief is such a personal thing. How we experience it. How we process it. How long it dominates our lives. The way it affects the rest our lives. Or doesn't.

No one knows grief exactly like someone else and yet it is a universal feeling.

Even animals seem to express and feel grief.

In the seasons of a life grief is more than the dying world of autumn or the dead world of winter. It is the hope that fills us with the first breaths of spring enriched by the fullness of summer and the richness of fall's bounty. Over time it slowly becomes the peaceful acceptance of winter lying beneath a frozen blanket and knowing there is life of some sort underneath.

In its first stages grief can feel unbearable and yet it is bearable. It is a glance into Pandora's box that overwhelms us with its vastness and mystery. It is finding emptiness in the midst of so much. It is coming to terms with the unthinkable, at least in momentary periods of glimpses of eternity.

Grandmother

I knew one of my grandmothers very well. My mother's mother was a big part of my life, but my father's mother was not. She and my mother did not see eye to eye on much and I saw her very seldom. 

On Christmas Eve my father would take us to visit her while my mother wrapped our gifts and Santa Claus came, but even that stopped when I was nine and she moved far away with my aunt and cousin.

I've always thought that was a shame because I think she was the person I was most like out of our entire family. She was a teacher. She sewed dolls and made clothes. She painted. She loved to read and her gifts, although they came from far away contained the best fudge I've ever eaten in my life. I've spent years trying to replicate it with no success. The toys she sent were quality ones and usually unique.

She was the only person to buy me books and I wasn't allowed to appreciate them at the time. My mother felt they were not great gifts, but looking back now I think they were. My love for ancient people and the Anasazi came from her stories when I was very young. Her Tales That Never Grow Old taught me the old fables and stories with a point. I read fairy tales and the Books of Lands and People. And one book I read, but never quite understood at such a young age was read out loud on Northern Exposure recently. It was Paddle To The Sea. 

I remember that book even though it was not about little girl things and on hearing it again I realize I internalized a lot of it and brought it with me into adulthood. 

Yes, I wish I had been allowed to know this grandmother better. I think I would have felt less like the odd child and I think she would have fostered all those things I loved so much I introduced them to my children. Art, music, embroidery, knitting, sewing, museums, National Parks, history, Bridge and an unending curiosity for the world around me that made me gobble up books like my siblings did candy. Some of these things came from my father, her child, but he often worked three or even four jobs to keep a roof over our head.  She would have had the time to indulge me in things she loved that my mother did not.

USPS

 

There is nothing more frustrating than automated answering machines for businesses. 

They are set up assuming that the problem is not theirs to begin with and they are right. We become collective hostages once a package is sent by some Internet business.

The fact that they cannot deliver something because they have no access code is ridiculous when there is nothing to access except one of the doors around the house. All they have to do is walk up and drop off the package in front of one of these doors.

Call them on the phone and get all kinds of suggestions. EXCEPT you cannot tell them there is no access code.

I sometimes wonder if that is just what they put when they don't want to take the time to walk up to the door.

I live in an apartment building. Everyone here pays just as much for delivery as the houses in town, but business just drop our packages in the lobby where we have to pick them up, or anyone else can pick them up

This is not just because of holiday rush. It is an all around the year problem. If they can access the lobby, they can access my door! The same thing is true in the country. If they can drive up a lane, they can reach the door.

Some delivery drivers are just plain lazy. Others could care less. Companies need to reassess their services and their service people.

Deserving

 

I have three children. One is well educated, almost affluent with lovely children in a home he bought and renovated. One was in special ed all through school, has worked grueling minimum wage jobs most of her life, has two lovely grown children, a fantastic husband and is living an almost fairy tale existence at this moment. The last one calls me almost daily because he knows I love it. He goes above and beyond for anyone who is in his life, especially his friends and he has lots of them. He works hard for more than minimum wage, but not a lot more, lives in a shared house, drives a truck that is in constant need of attention and is in the end of a divorce. That part of a divorce where you divide up the assets.

He married a woman seven years older than him and they were together for over 25 years. They have one lovely child who is almost grown. Every day he got up, warmed up the bathroom, put her robe in the dryer to heat it up and took her a mocha latte with caramel drizzle and whipped cream to wake her up. He did the grocery shopping on his way home from work. He home schooled their son and walked, or ran their dogs. He maintained the house, the yard, and the cars. He vacuumed, dust mopped, cooked dinner, did the dishes, and often did the laundry. He made every celebration something extra special and when she tired of him he awoke one morning to find himself being escorted out of his home with a restraining order saying all sorts of untrue things.

Now he and his son are closer than ever. He is allowed to have friends that are not his wife's. He has an active social life and her friends have shunned her for him, but every penny he makes is spoken for. He is the one I bought gifts for this year and I don't think there is a soul in this world, including his siblings, who wouldn't think that was the right thing to do.

Except maybe his ex-wife.

Moody machines

 

As a child our furnace could only be serviced by one very old man. When he died, we had to get a new furnace. The new one did not work right for a long time, but that turned out to be because the thermostat was directly over the main heating pipe in the wall. Once my parents figured that out all was well.

I've lived in apartments where the air conditioning and heating both came from one place and generally those did not ever keep the bedroom especially cool at night.

But this is the first air "conditioner"/heater that I've ever had that was moody!

If it gets worked up it can run like a tornado down an Alabama alley. Blowing heat out like a roaring lion and stopping for nothing. Especially not for something as mundane as the regulator. I've had it run until it was 73 degrees in here one hour and zoom up to 79 degrees the next. 

It does not like the dark. Once it gets dark it begins to whimper and moan and blow hot air indiscriminately into my apartment. So, I have found a solution. I turn it off late in the evening and don't turn it back on until morning. That works! Evidently my neighbors enjoy heating the building from their apartments, so I've never had it get below 68 degrees in here.

Then last night I was awakened by a roaring! A grinding! A horrible, monstrous, loud buzzing sound. I thought, "Oh no, the refrigerator must be going out," because that was all that could be making such a noise. It did not stop so I got up about 4:45 AM and checked on it. It was not the fridge. It was my wall ac/furnace contraption that was turned off! Off!

How can a machine that is turned off make such noise? And it was madly blowing hot air out into the room like some fractious child throwing a temper tantrum. 

I couldn't unplug it, so I sat with it until it calmed down and went back to being inert. Then, hoping I had averted a fire hazard I went back to bed and called the maintenance people this morning. It turns out it was trying to save itself. Not my words, the maintenance man. He said it was so cold outside that it over rode being turned off and tried to warm itself.

Nobody is happy this morning. Not me who is sleep deprived. Not the maintenance man who had to come out in sub zero weather on a Sunday morning. And certainly not my moody little ac/furnace who is grudgingly giving me the modest amount of heat, which is all I ever ask of it.

God is a metaphor

Joseph Campbell said, "God is a metaphor for a mystery that absolutely transcends all human categories of thought, even the categories of being and non-being. Those are categories of thought. I mean it’s as simple as that. So it depends on how much you want to think about?"

I think about it a lot.

I am surrounded by people who are adamant about what they believe. I respect that. I never want to destroy anyone's fundamental beliefs. And yet, I often find myself wondering how they can be so shortsighted and unbending.

"Some people believe that to ask questions is proof that you are a non believer. I think not to ask questions is proof that you don't have enough faith to explore what you love.

There is a profound difference between God and religion. One is ineffable. The other is a collected source of man's interpretations and beliefs mixed in with an agenda to control.

One is eternal. The other is moribund.

It has always seemed to me that religion is an attempt to gain power over God. If that were possible then how could this beautiful mystery, this unknowable power be what we claim it is.

Sometimes I feel like I am drowning in God. It is a transforming experience of recognizing that everything I see, hear, feel and understand is a part of something so huge and unfathomable I will never understand it, but I will always be part of it. Forever more and before.

Simplyfying

 

Simplifying my life is a constant process.

I have been living in my new apartment for about 17 months now. Yesterday I went through my big walk in closet and then my coat closet. 

I weeded out nearly five big eleven gallon bags of stuff! 

Clothes that I can no longer wear and that my sister liked, I gave to her. The rest I simply disposed of, including sheets for a bed I no longer have and extra pillow cases.

Now my coat closet has my winter coat, two jackets and a rain coat. The rest is all cleaning or art supplies and the emptiness draws me like a moth to flame.

My walk in closet has everything neatly arranged with room to spare.

I moved the chair I have tried to use into my bedroom. It is a comfortable chair for occasional use, but a poor one for my back to use for any length of time. Instead I bought a wonderful, super comfy, very basic recliner for my living room. I love the openness of my rooms, the lack of clutter, the order!

One big perk is that I can now look out of my living room windows from a distance that keeps me out of direct sunlight, but allows me to enjoy the beautiful view. I can also watch my television without any glare from the windows. And there is ample room to open up and expand my dining table when I have guests.

I think people under estimate the peace of mind that comes with fewer possessions. Everything we own requires some kind of space or care that is eliminated when it is gone. That allows me to take better care of myself and the things I choose to keep.