Coming Back To Life

March 6, 2017 By

Spring is here a whole month early. Like many other locations it’s been a warm winter. Some one told me they found a tick on their dog yesterday. We’ve had several near 80 degree days, but mostly the warmest have been in the low 70’s.

Forsythia and magnolias are blooming, along with pears and cherry trees. The last two nights have been well below freezing and there was an article in the paper about how this freeze may effect the peach harvest here in Virginia. Local growers are using fans to keep the air moving around their orchards, but they admit there’s little they can do except pray since climate change is here to stay. I can’t imagine a summer without the sweet juice of peaches running down my arms as I consume them nonstop. Peaches are the best thing about the warmest months and I look forward to them all winter long.

My hellebores are blooming spectacularly this spring. On these frosty mornings they sometimes keel over looking like they’re dead, but once the sun is up and warms the air a bit, they stand taller than ever. They are one of my favorites because they bring color to the garden in February when I need a sign that winter is almost over. At this time of year I do a quick garden tour every day to see which plants are slowly rising above the thick layer of mulch that was put down last month. Orange breasted male robins are fighting over females and on my early morning walks the air is filled with birdsong that brings me joy. Tis the season of rebirth.

On my afternoon walk yesterday afternoon I noticed that someone in the neighborhood had tapped one of their maple trees hoping to gather enough sap to boil down for maple syrup. My brother Reid, now deceased, used to tap a grove of maples in New Hampshire every year when the days warmed above freezing and the nights brought freezing temperatures. He boiled the sap down in large pans over an open fire, coming indoors at the end of the day smelling of fresh air and wood smoke. My pantry was always filled with mason jars of his maple syrup. One year he supplied me with so much that I put it in the freezer thinking it would last longer that way. This past fall I used the last of the pint jars of his amber gold and when it got down to the last quarter of a cup, I wanted to tuck it back in the freezer as a way to keep him near me. Reid has been gone now for seven years. I felt that if I used the last of his gift up, he would be gone for good. But then I made a batch of buckwheat pancakes and used it up, knowing that if I carry him in my heart he’d be with me forever. Those last few drops were a celebration of his life.

Along with the plants, I’m coming to life again too. My burn out is easing and I’m longing to be out in the garden every day. I found myself writing a poem last week for the first time in years. I’m thrilled to be at it again, adding to my series of poems about Mrs. Heartwell, who is part me and every other woman in the world. She’s vulnerable, brave, strong, sensitive, and filled with love. I plan on working on this collection about her that I started almost twelve years ago and make it into a chapbook some day. I may start sharing a few from time to time but for now am sending out some of the series to see if I can get them published in a literary journal or two. Although I enjoyed writing my memoir and using well constructed sentences, I absolutely adore using words sparingly to paint short writings that are free of garble, yet full of power.

Do you find yourself coming back to life at this time of year?

Filed Under: Poetry, Spring, The Garden, The Natural World, Writing Tagged With:

The Velocity of Autumn

September 24, 2013 By

IMG_0776This past weekend we took another one day trip up to the Arena Stage in Washington, DC to see The Velocity of Autumn, a ninety-minute, one act play, by award winning playwright, Eric Coble.  And oh, what a fantastic show.  This two person play, starring Academy Award winner Estelle Parsons, (Bonnie and Clyde) and two-time Tony winner Stephen Spinella, (Angels in America) had me rolling in the aisles with laughter and teary eyed with sadness all at the same time.

Artistic Director at the Arena, Molly Smith, says in her program notes, “We find ourselves in the middle of some of the most powerful questions we face as human beings.  When does one step in to help a parent and when does one stay out?  What happens when family members are unequally engaged? Whose responsibility is it anyway? What happens when authorities step in? Police, social services, doctors: What is this thing we call control and how long do we get to hold onto it?  How much are we like our parents – what is nature and what is nurture?”

The play is about seventy-nine year old artist, Alexandra, and her war with her children who want to put her in a nursing home. She’s surrounded herself with explosives in bottles and jars wicked with rags, while in her hand she holds an old Zippo lighter that once belonged to her husband. Her front door is barricaded with furniture. She’s determined to be left alone, and is ready to blow herself, the building, and the whole block up if her daughter and one of her sons, send in the police to drag her away.

As the play opens Alexandra is asleep in her easy chair with classical music playing in the background. Her youngest son Chris, also an artist, climbs up the magnificently autumn colored tree just outside her large bay window. He opens the sash from the outside, climbs into the room, scaring his mother who is ready to light the fuse on one of the bottles.

Chris and his mother have not seen or talked to each other for years since he ran off to explore the world and discover who he was becoming.  Chris, commandeered by his sister and brother to help bring their mother to her senses, is greeted with Alexandra’s rage. Mother and son connect as Chris listens to her wishes to be left alone, to watch her tree grow outside her window, living in her own home of some forty years. Through shared  memories of past visits to New York’s finest art museums when Chris was small and a budding artist himself, they of begin to find balance, coming to terms with what lies ahead.

As we walked out of the theatre after the show, I told Bill, “I understand much better what my mother was going through during the last years of her life.”  About to turn seventy-one in November, this poignant discussion about aging, independence, and family, helped me to understand how quickly the autumn of our lives comes upon us and the difficulties we face when we insist upon being by ourselves as our coping skills become less than what they were.

I found myself suffering along with Alexandra, needing to be in control and left to her own devices. But as the child and caretaker of a now deceased mother, I also understood Chris and his siblings’ need to protect their parent and the community around her. Chris unlike his absent siblings, brings sensitivity to the conversation and the war comes to a close.

I remember how terrible I felt when I told my mother that it was time for her to turn over her car keys to me. She’d been visiting the body shop almost monthly to repair the dents and dings her car accumulated while she was out and about being independent. Afraid the problem might one day grow into harming another person, I asked her to give up her car. I watched her spirit shrink as she lost her independence. I’ve spent hours wondering how I will feel if and when I find myself in the same position.

Despite future possibilities, I’m enjoying my elder-hood. It is a joyous time. I have more freedom than I’ve ever had in my life. I am not an old lady who sits on her porch in her rocking as the world goes by. I’ve been around and learned some amazing things about life and survival. And I keep moving on. Should I ever face what Alexandra faced, I hope I’ll not surround myself with explosives. I’d prefer to take joy in what I have and can do to live each day as a reward for sticking it out through the bad times.

This show is on its way to Broadway.  With all the Baby Boomers coming of age, I think it will be a hit.  Don’t miss it!

Filed Under: Caring for an aging parent, Compassion, family, Navigating Through Life, Quotes, Theatre, wonderings Tagged With: , , ,

Picking And Choosing

June 25, 2013 By

DSC02458

Acrylic on Paper, Untitled, © Joan Z. Rough

Heaven and hell are not some places I’m going to go to later on.  Heaven and hell are here, right now, and I create them for myself with my choices.

Hae Doh Gary Schwocho
Beneath Belief

Driving in Ireland is quite frightening for me. It’s one of those places where you drive on the left rather than on the right side of the road as we do here in America. It can also be very difficult to figure out where I’m going. I’m not always good at reading maps. When I reach a crossroads there are usually road signs pointing to the nearest village, but more often than not, the signs may have been spun around by the wind and I can easily be lead astray. Many an hour has been taken up in my travels on that magical Emerald Isle, backtracking … trying to find my way to where I’m supposed to be. Fortunately it’s always a beautiful drive along the way.

And so it is with life. Crossroads are always in front of me and road signs are rare, if they exist at all. One minute I’m in a state of bliss. The next moment can take me on the most terrifying journey I’ve ever imagined. Taking one road over another can sometimes make a big difference. It’s always a hit or miss situation. Though I may get to my destination in the end, one way may be full of boulders and potholes, while the other way may be a straight shot on a newly paved surface.

I try to follow my intuition most of the time. But I’m not perfect at it in any sense of the word. Moving to Virginia from Vermont was one of the best choices I ever made. Up north I felt at the end of my rope. I felt I had seen every horizon that existed. I didn’t enjoy the part every winter when the snow was deep, the winds would howl, and I’d get very depressed. I suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder, a problem brought on by lack of enough hours of natural daylight during the shortest days of the year.

Here, in Virginia, the road has indeed been tough at times.  Though it was especially hard to move, my world suddenly opened up to new possibilities.

And talk about making choices … we’re close to Washington, DC, where things change or not, depending on how the Senate or the House are feeling on any given day. But right here in Charlottesville there are more educational possibilities at my fingertips and a much more diverse community than I found up north, close to the Canadian border.

The weather here is most agreeable until summer comes along and cooks me with its heat and humidity. I’ve been here for 35 years, and I’m finally getting a bit used to it. Gone are the days of my winter depressions. The only weather bit that sometimes gets to me are summer heat waves when going outside is torture. But summer here is much shorter than winter in Vermont, so less suffering.

Pick and Choose

Which to choose?

But it’s somehow the day-to-day choices that don’t seem to have a great impact on my life that get me in trouble … placing me on the hot seat within spitting distance of hell. Simple choices, like what to eat when I’m feeling I need a bit of energy. Will it be protein or sugar?  Usually it’s sugar. Should I do my hour of exercise in the morning when I have more energy? Or can I make myself do it at four PM when when I have some free time?  If it’s not done by noon, it won’t happen at all.

And so it goes. There are always questions to be answered and choices to make.  Should I hang out with Louise, even though she sucks all of my energy away? And exactly why don’t I tell Steve that I don’t want to see him any more?

When I do nothing about the things that really bother me and just let them be, no matter how much they hurt, I am making a choice. Most often doing nothing leads to the stress and anxiety I’ve already been suffering from. And because I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t call Louise and invite her to lunch, or tell Steve, that I don’t love him, nothing changes. That is the kind of the choice that will most likely lead me to hell right here and now. The deed not done, is done.

But if I let go and decide not to invite Louise to fill me with her doom and gloom over a healthy salad, or tell Steve the truth about how I feel, there are also consequences. Those two people will be gone from my life and maybe I will miss them. Maybe I won’t be able to find another guy that is attractive to me, and I to him. Maybe there won’t be another Louise to whom I can tell my deepest, darkest secrets. But then, just maybe, I’ll be happier and feel free to go about my life the way I choose to.

Making choices always has consequences. Some are good. And some might be bad … at least for a while. Making choices means making changes in what fits in my life and what doesn’t. Maybe I’ll be lonely for a little while until I find just the right guy. But if I keep hanging on to someone who doesn’t naturally make me want to sing and dance with him, I won’t be happy ever.

When decision times come along, I always try to ask myself what the consequences will be. If I remain where I am, will I be happier or does the alternative have more promise?  Yes, it’s hard, but without change where would I be?

How about you? Are choices hard for you to make? How do you handle those monumental crossroads? What helps to move you along and out of the reaches of hell?

 

Filed Under: Navigating Through Life, Quotes, The Journey, Travels Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Living All The Way

April 6, 2013 By
Amaryllis, © Joan Z. Rough

Amaryllis,
© Joan Z. Rough

“This is my living faith, an active faith, a faith of verbs: to question, explore, experiment, experience, walk, run, dance, play, eat, love, learn, dare, taste, touch, smell, listen, speak, write, read, draw, provoke, emote, scream, sin, repent, cry, kneel, pray, bow, rise, stand, look, laugh, cajole, create, confront, confound, walk back, walk forward, circle, hide, and seek.” 

Terry Tempest Williams

Filed Under: Matters of the Spirit, Navigating Through Life, Quotes, Wise Words Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

Don’ Give Up

April 3, 2013 By
Grandlings, Zoe and Noah on the Downtown Mall.

Grandlings, Zoe and Noah on the Downtown Mall.

I’ve been running into those words often for a couple of days now as I try to get myself back into my daily routine and at work on my memoir.  It’s been a crazy couple of weeks in which the routine, the writing, exercise, and getting enough sleep have taken a backseat to other things.

The loss of Brody took a number of days before the waves of grief that overtook me became fewer.  During that time I mostly sat and cried, unable concentrate on the simplest of daily activities.

Five days later the annual Virginia Festival of Book started here in Charlottesville, and with it came a visit from a friend whom I’d never before met in person, but with who I knew I had much in common.  We’d emailed and made comments back and forth on each other’s blogs and even talked on the phone once.  Shirley Showalter of 100 Memoirs was someone I’d stumbled upon on the Internet and it turns out she lives only about two hours away.  Her book, Blush, will be in print and on bookstore shelves sometime in the fall.  She’d been planning to visit the Festival of the Book and I invited her to stay with me here in my home.

What a wonderful time it was.  We went to a few of the festival sessions together and spent hours talking and reading to each other from our memoirs. Way ahead of me on the writing and the publishing angles, she is an inspiration and I know that if she lived any closer I’d often be on her doorstep asking unending questions. When Shirley returned home l was filled with excitement, new ideas and directions for my writing as well as pinpointing publishing options.

For a few days I struggled with catching up on all that I had let slide for a week.  The daily rounds of laundry, preparing food for the upcoming Easter weekend and visit from my daughter’s family took up most of my time. Not to be forgotten was taking time to play with our new adoptee, Max, who snuggled his way into our bed and hearts, easing the sadness of Brody’s untimely death.  There was little time for writing, except for capturing notes as I remembered things I would change in my memoir, made lists of new books to read, and emailed a few new contacts. I also just needed to sit with myself to bring the roar of excitement to a lower level in which I could think more clearly, keeping myself from being overwhelmed by all that I wasn’t getting done.

Easter weekend was a blast with my Grandlings (read grandchildren) staying with us, sleeping in our basement, “Harry Potter” room, which looks somewhat like a set from the movie.  We gifted Lisa and Deena with a stay in a nearby hotel so that they could have a few evenings without the kids. We spent lots of time walking and laughing and on Saturday helped to surprise Mark’s stepdaughter Casey on her 25th birthday with a lovely party.  It was the first time in a number of years in which my kids were all here together. We joyfully spent our time celebrating each other.  As I grow older occasions  like this past weekend become more and more important to me.

Casey blowing out her candles.

Casey blowing out her candles.

We’re all back in the daily grind now, and I can’t help but feel a bit let down.  I’ve not felt like writing and last night caught myself thinking that maybe this memoir I’m working on is a waste of time.

I’ve so enjoyed the distractions of friends, parties, great food, laughter and being with my kids, that returning to the serious work of reliving the past and moving through it to healing, seems more painful than usual. The sunshine and the bursting forth of new life is stealing my attention and my need to get my hands into the earth is growing.  Words flow onto the page with difficulty and I struggle to make myself sit down and dive back into what was.  Time marches on and there are so many things I still want to do.

But I am returning to my work, knowing that it is something I must do, even when it doesn’t feel good. I’ve moved my September 1st deadline for a finished first draft to November 1st, and plan on giving myself a few breaks along the way.  We’ re making plans to kidnap Zoe and Noah for a week this summer when we’ll ride the train up to Washington and take in the museums.  We’ll also go swimming, read books together, see a silly movie or two and just be with each other.

In the meantime, I’ll not give up working on my story.  I love the writing, even when I hate it. I’m growing way beyond the trauma that once made me hide from life.  The secret is to integrate the past and the present, stay out in the sunlight, breathe deeply, and enjoy every single moment that comes my way.  Time will do as it will.

“Never give up on a dream just because of the time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyway.”  Earl Nightingale

Filed Under: Books, Dogs, family, Friendships, Gratefulness, Healing, Life, love, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, Quotes, The Garden, Time, Uncategorized, Wise Words, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,
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