It's All About the Journey

Today is your future. Live in the moment!


A Young Girl’s Dreams

“I will never be able to marry Peter Tork now,” were the words that climbed out of my brain and through the process of thought.

Why did I think that?  I am a 62 year old woman now.  Those are the thoughts of the sweet pre-teen, as she teeny-bopped her way into the world to become the teen, and a child with lights in her eyes, and hope in her heart.

The truth is, I’m really not as old as I look.  I’m still 13.  I’m still 14.  I still have those wishful thoughts, the brightness in my mind’s eye, of a life that is idealistic and full of hope.

The days of youth–the crush on the latest star of television, watching The Dating Game, The Newlywed Game, all with dreams in our eyes.  The beautiful face of youth, the beehive hairdo and the thick eyelashes only made by Maybelline or Max Factor.

Songs that brought us daydreams by The Seekers, The Beach Boys, The Everly Brothers.  Ryan O’Neal and Ali McGraw’s eternal vow that Love means you never have to say you’re sorry.

We all were going to go to California and walk the streets of San Francisco.  Become a beach baby and, like Annette Funicello, have our Frankie fall in love with us.

The young girls’ dream.  Of convertibles, sunshine, movie stars, and living happily ever after.

Well, I have made to the living and the happily ever after is right where it’s at, even though I still have my young girl’s dream.

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Fanning My Flame

Surrounded by the comforts of my ancestors, words from the philosophies of Emerson and Thoreau, I am reminded of who I am and where my soul thrives. All of the outside world fades, for just this brief moment of time, and I fan the flame called my soul, into a roaring fire that drives me forward into 2019 and shows me that happiness is right here, inside of me.


Mary Poppins is My Middle Name

I have chosen this because I somehow believe that I am “practically perfect in every way!”

Nonsense.  Push it aside and you find an older woman (not even middle aged by definition, although I still consider myself in that age range) who tries so much to be practically perfect and be it to everyone.  STILL.

I actually chose the title of this article today because my great striving this holiday season is to go see the newest Mary Poppins movie.  I love Mary Poppins.  I want to be Mary Poppins.  Mary Poppins has every hair in place.  She wears wonderful hats.  She has a carpet bag that houses a mirror, a large plant, and all things magic.  She has an image that competes with her in the mirror!  Mary Poppins jumps into chalk drawings and creates an adventure. Mary Poppins sees the humor, and rolling her eyes, joins in as eccentric Uncle Albert rolls with laughter on the ceiling.   Mary Poppins spouts wisdom.  Mary Poppins looks at adults and says things like “supercalifragilisticexpialidoscus.”   Nonsense that no one understands, but eventually accept  and not grudgingly.  I want to dance on chimney tops with my Bert (yes, my Bert and I actually DO ballroom dancing)!

I love my grandchildren and want to be their Mary Poppins.  I want to look at their parents–my children–and have them see a crazy old woman who zips up and down staircases with their children, doles out sweet tasting goodies that are good for you to awe those little children into thinking their grandma is magical, when really she is just a crusty old lady with acceptance issues!  But the crusty old lady thinks her grandchildren are the cats’ meow and will do anything to love and entertain them.  Anything to leave her mark on their lives.  Anything to become a historical creature, without doing anything illegal, of course.  And when I leave, whether temporarily through the clouds, sporting my umbrella, or forever on that day, I want to be remembered.

That’s why I do the things that I do.  I write letters that I hope my children (and grands) read, I write journals, so they know who is living in the hyphen, and I become an historical person that actually LIVED, not a vague name on an ancestry listing.  I may never be a national figure, or international figure like Mary Poppins, I will never be a notorious queen, such as Mary, Queen of Scots, or poor Ann, who lost her head over Henry VIII’s whim.  But for what I am hoping is that, for two generations to come, I am.

So let me strip that Mary Poppins middle name from the title, and be Grandma.  Perfect in every way.  And not even practically!


Kitten Tales

She touches my calf gently.  “Don’t forget…”

I won’t.  As I high power jump my morning with grinding my coffee beans and filling the pot, she reminds me, she is hungry….

We left  these two, we call “our kids,” to do some Thanksgiving travel.  Unforgotten, they were served by the neighbor, but did not become cat-like and ignore us once we arrived back home late Saturday night.  Peppa, the white kittycat (yes, they are still kittens until their birthday March 15), snuggled between us, placing her paw protectively on my cheek (have to laugh at that one).  Ginger, just HAD to be OUT, so we had to open the bathroom window for just a little while, as this is their exit/entrance routine.

Quite honestly, I never thought I’d own another pet.  As lovely as they can be, and for the love they bestow upon us, they do come with a monetary obligation.  As well they come with an emotional one.  My father, who is 87, has had to choose to not have another pet.  Last Christmas he had to put his cat down.  He sleeps with her picture beneath his pillow and kisses it.  We have spoken to him about Peppa, the cat who loves to jump into our arms and hug.  She would do him well, but he feels he cannot meet the obligation.  She will meet his need for a love connection (and yes, I can do this.  I love my cat, but I love my father and am willing to share that love).

I guess, what I am saying, is don’t snub the cat.  Don’t snub the dog.  They are created and just as useful in their own way, to this world.  Even my barn cats have their need for love and compassion, even though they shrink to the idea that I am gentle.  (More on them another writing.)


Journal Update October 2018

I wonder and wander.  I worry.  All the signs of growing older, deep sigh.  I should be writing in a notebook, instead of complaining to my fans.  But maybe my fans feel the same way and I need to reach out and touch someone with these random thoughts.

I have felt better since I got back to my exercise regimen as well (thanks to eBay, I found the routine that they took off YouTube recently, leaving me high and dry and without a workout that helped my aching back).

Nothing like getting back to routine.  Coffee, notebook writing.  I read in a creative writing book that you should write 3 pages, even if you have nothing to say, keep writing, it will come out.  And it does.  Admittedly, I write every other line, sometimes large into two lines, like when I was a child.  Try it, it’s fun!

I also started a prayer book.  Bought this fantastic little blank journal that reminds me of prayer books of the Tudor queens, and it has been blank, now being slowly filled by me, with the prayers and thoughts of the Divine, and only that.  My traditional college bound lined notebook for normal everyday life.  I have a few prayer books, but they are little $1 notebooks.  It’s always good to review, choose a few, and add to the prayer book.

I digress.

I was scrolling through Facebook.  Ah, Facebook, that random, ever so shallow (my own opinion) social media giant.  I post things to sell, which never sell, I “like” and “love” and end up blocking (some things).  I follow all the recipes that I can never cook as they all contain heavy cream and sugar, things that I need to avoid!  And the politics!  I shudder.  It’s all about divide and conquer and separate us from the love of one another.  I found a post where they are stating the Holocaust never occurred.  Interestingly enough, I was just reading a book last night written by a man who was a mere boy in Hungary, and how no one believed the old man who escaped to tell them to get out, leave while they could.  The community ended up at Auschwitz.  He did not know he would never see his mother again.  His father’s eyes became empty.  I am halfway through this little book, a book of history, so we can learn that human life is valuable after all.

I hate war.  I think it is wrong.  So this really challenges me.  People die at the hands of others constantly.  It cannot be helped because there are crazy people in power and they have insane thoughts about who has the right to live, and who has the right to die.  Soldiers come back, if they come back, and have PTSD (or shell shock they used to call it).  We don’t take care of them.  It’s completely mind boggling.  They kill either themselves or others and sometimes (mostly?) both.

Back to history.  I think we need to leave the books alone.  Write others if you must, but  leave the recordings of the thoughts of others in tact.  They are the history of the human race.  One day most of us will be gone, and those picking up the pieces can find them, if they’ve not rotted away.

Completely different subject but I’m addressing it anyway in my random thoughts.  Plastic.  Get rid of it.  I had a couple of red peppers and put them in a plastic bag to transport home and forgot them.  Next day they had already started to rot as they could not breathe.  They make paper bags out of specially grown paper trees.  Let’s use them!  Or get cloth bags, we have started our own collection of cloth bags for this very purpose.  Meanwhile the garbage barges float in the ocean.  Who knows what chemicals flit through the air.

Me?  I need to go exercise now.  Thanks for reading.  Wouldn’t it be great if all my fans would like this page, comment, and comment well so I can add your comments to this blog.

This old lady rambles!

 


You Pop!

I think I may have had a revelation in the wee hours of this morning.

Now and then I read about slowly waking up and becoming aware of your surroundings. I don’t. I just POP and I’m awake. I never even realize I’m awake, I just am. My thoughts do not idly turn toward the day. They just are. A mile a minute. Then the cats come up to pretend their snuggle, when in reality they want to be fed now. I’ve got to hand it to them, they are shrewd!

Anyway, I’m thinking that this is what happens when you die. You don’t slowly and painfully realize it, you just are. You don’t even arrive bag in hand and say “where am I?” You just are there. It’s so ordinary it’s probably too profound to realize.

I’m guessing that my friend, Ruth, went through that. She had a cold (flu?) and wanted the comfort of her cot by her wood stove. She had her tea and her daughter helped her lay down. She shuffled to become comfortable. She slept. I can just see her now popping up and saying, “oh!” and looking around her. And then she got up and, I don’t know where she went, but assume she resumed her journey into afterlife. It would be nice to run into her and talk about it, but I’m not sure that happens. I know I will find out!

“Oh shoot! I should write about this! Let others know!” are my first thoughts (hence this post). Heck, I bet you don’t need me to tell you that. We will all find out on our own! I’m only letting you know in case you have concern, and just want you to rest easy. It will be okay.