Mts are like walls
They make me feel claustrophobic
Mts are big, tall and fierce
They scare me
Mts are steep and rugged
They cause me fear
Lakes are flowy and open
They bring me peace
Oceans are wide and reflect the sun or moon
They bring me joy
Pools are blue and bright
They make me happy
Evergreens are full of life
They make me feel protected
A woman’s guide to a girlfriend break up or something a man will never experience
I loved my hamburger, we were best friends.
I ate one every day.
Then one day I introduced my hamburger to cheese.
They got along famously and became best friends.
I was pushed aside, no longer important.
It hurt for many years, my calls unanswered, my attempts futile.
But as the years marched on I became a vegetarian.
I learned to love new healthier foods, and felt better and better.
I let go of the need for beef and ultimately wanted only the best for the
hamburger and it’s sidekick: cheese.
Forgiveness is a bitch, but it’s the only thing that ever cured a hurt.
And since it works both ways, I hope those I’ve pushed aside forgive me too.
At the age of 60 I let things go while holding on tight.
I let go:
old love letters from boyfriends decades ago
thousands of redundant photos of our kids and other people’s kids
friends who serve no purpose
dreams of accomplishments that no longer have meaning
I held on:
our kids who live near and far away
my husband who makes life worthwhile
family and close friends
mental and physical health
I hate deadlines, but I’m quite good at keeping them.
If it’s an event, party or just a holiday family dinner, I’m all over it months in advance: planning, organizing, my e-calendar in full tilt describing each day’s chores until that day comes . “Go time” appears to others as effortless right down to the finest detail. I sweat from the minute I know the final date until the day of reckoning when I drink too much wine and let it all flow.
So it should be no surprise that my house is beyond organized, alphabetized, not a thing out of place, not a place without a thing, nothing wasted, nothing useless, all in view and perfectly arranged. No opaque boxes in the attic to store things I don’t need or want.
As my kids have grown and left the nest I purge more and more, the opposite of the nesting one does when starting a family. I want to make sure all my possessions land with someone who will love them when I’m gone. Death, you see, is the ultimate deadline, and I’m already preparing EARLY, like 40 years early.
In the end of my life I will have given away or sold everything I now own. All my possessions will be spread far and wide, with 100-year-old me sitting in a chair that’s already claimed, surrounded by my loved ones, ready to meet my maker.
You think it’s easy staying home all day trying to cobble together a meaningful life?
Well It’s not.
Sometimes I fantasize about getting a powerful job in NYC. I’d wear my high heel Manolo Blahnik pumps, expensive power suits and return home to a glass of expensive red wine , kick off my heels like Alicia Florrick in The Good Wife. I’d share my stressful day’s stories with my other half who will have prepared a delicious and healthy chicken and quinoa dinner to enjoy by candlelight.
That sounds so nice. Not choosing what shall I do today because you’ll already know.
Or what shall I eat today because you most likely will skip a few meals. Not thinking what exercise class shall I take, as you’re glued to your office chair. What latte size shall I order, who shall I hang with, walk with, talk to, e-mail, Facebook. What a dream it would be to have no choices, know where I’m going and when I’m coming home. No choices sounds so nice.
My son lives in Australia.
Or he might as well.
The time zone is different, the landscape is foreign and you can’t get there without a long flight.
Others tell me when I moan about missing him that I should be so proud. He established his life, full of close friends, various interests and a great job. He is independent and thriving.
Besides he picked a location that you will love to visit.
But pride and visitation rights don’t fill the void in my heart.
Like all young children, but this one in particular, he started out clinging to my hip, preferred being carried to walking. I used to think he would crawl back into my womb if given that option. His playground grew larger as he slowly learned to gain confidence and independence, then took all that to a new level, opening himself up to the world like a flower to the sun. His goal to be his best self and find what would bring him the most joy took him far away. Australia it seems has lots to offer his ever expanding mind. My husband and I live in New England, an often cold, and consistently mountain-less landscape devoid of the inspiring awe with nature he seeks, unless you consider the Atlantic Ocean the full monty.
Australians are the lucky ones. They live full time with the most loving, curious, creative, humorous, open, sensitive, joyful person I know. While I’m only able to get him part time.
Even on a dark, rainy day the view from our 1920s porch overlooking Lake George cannot be beat.
Whether you are gazing at a blazing sunset or a misty due hanging over the mountains there is never a bad view from this window.