Life Goes On

Every day that goes by
that I remain inside these four walls
is one day closer
to hermitude.

It's not the fresh air that I crave,
nor the human contact,
but the feeling of being alive,
vital.

Life goes on around me,
in spite of me,
without me.

I fold into myself,
into
my mind.

The seasons pass,
and it all blurs
into time.

Ditzy

She described me as "ditzy" the other day.
While at first, the word made me bristle,
the mere connotation caused me to cringe,
the more I pondered it,
the more it grew on me.

I remembered rolling my eyes at *my* mom,
and thinking that exact word.
In reflection,
my heart warms at the thought of her antics,
the times shared through such raucous laughter,
we could barely catch our breaths.
Our stomachs ached
and tears rolled down our cheeks.

I miss my mom so...

Now, when *my* daughter voices her observations,
it comes full circle.
I hear it as an endearing term.

I looked up the definition,
and "eccentrically silly"
jumped out at me.

I can live with that.

Alone

Loneliness
is like a sore.
It begins small, a tiny pang
that disappears when busyness sets in.

It quickly festers,
the ache seeping
through the veneer of happiness.

Before long, it is constant,
pain and pathos oozing from every pore.

I walk the fine line
between being alone and being lonely
on a daily basis.

The longing to belong
overshadows the peace
that quietude brings.

Conditional Love

Growing up, I was loved
        ...if I sat still, and was quiet
        ...if I ate all my peas
        ...if I didn't get my perfectly starched clothes dirty.

I was loved
        ...if I got A's in my report card
        ...if I won a trophy at the piano recital
        ...if I cleaned up my messy desk.

I was loved
        ...if I had no opinions of my own
        ...if I didn't question his authority
        ...if I closed my mind to his roaming hands
             if
               if
                 if...

I'm 50 years old,
          and still
               too eager to please,
                       crave acceptance,
                             never feel good enough.

Conditional love
       is a life sentence.

Autumn musings

The sun is shining brightly, the leaves are a kaleidescope of colours...and I am reminded why I love autumn.
The fast, exciting pace of summer has slowed down to a leisurely stroll...
It can't get much better than this.

This time of year, I like to start new--craft projects, cooking ideas, decorating.  I begin to take stock of what needs to be done *inside*, not just the house, but within me.  I've begun to tackle my impossibly long list of homemade gifts for Christmas.  A couple of cozy afghans need to be  finished (they were supposed to be gifts the year before last).  A pile of cross stitch projects are waiting to be framed.
Before I hunker down, I need to give the house a thorough cleaning.  Fling the windows open wide, and let in the glorious, crisp air.

I've begun to write, again.  I set aside a few moments each day to reflect and jot down notes.  I let my mind wander, memories to form, but I don't force it.  I write according to my mood.  My emotions rule my pen.
I wish I were more disciplined, but then...I wouldn't have time to explore other creative endeavours.
So I allow myself this "flaw".
Nature is far from perfect, but it's in the anomoly that beauty is found.

I give myself permission to be imperfect.