A Tribute

The County-Jerry and Rex (year unknown)

Travelinma is 10 years old today.  Ten years ago, my friend Jeff Kirlin encouraged me to begin a photoblog.  He had started one and was having lots of fun.  Having just returned to Maine following my first trip to Costa Rica, I had a slew of really great shots. Exotic location plus perfect lighting equals engaging photography, right?  So, on May 7, 2007 I posted a guest photo of a questzal taken with my camera (Panasonic-pocket type) by Ricardo the guide that led us into the Rain Forest on a search for the bird and other creatures that showed up like a sloth.

I had thought of myself as a writer until sometime in high school when the
English teacher marred by piece with a red pen. He offered little encouragement and frankly, I was a bit angry and discouraged. My image of myself as a writer was tentative. In college, my professor Jay Hoar who was a Civil War buff and writer helped me as we wrote volumes and read and read. When my twins were two, Jerry supported me in applying to Stonecoast Writing Retreat.  Lasting a week or two, that experience changed my life.  At that point, I hadn't done much writing beyond professional pieces like IEP and Assessment Reports as part of my teaching job until my youngest brood could fend for themselves.  Again encouragement from a friend Lynn Bonsey led me to the Maine Writer's and Publishers Alliance and my mentor, Susan Hand-Shetterly.  Without nudges, Travelinma would not exist as it is today.

For a long time, I continued to photograph my life, but the desire to marry image and words gnawed at they thirst to express myself in ways beyond photography.  Travelinma chronicles family-in good times and in challenging moments.  Travelinma seeks answers.  Travelinma shows the evolution of a woman who rediscovers herself with every new day.  Travelinma supports those dealing with loss.  Travelinma shows the frailty and the uncertainty of life, as well as the possibilities.  Travelinma records love.

Travelinma is likely to outlive me. Just think of that! Depending upon the technological format that my grandchildren will encounter, it is possible that they will learn about their grandparents and their aunts and uncles living during this time.  On that day in May a decade ago, never did I imagine that a blog, my blog would mean so much.

Happy 10th birthday to my creation, Travelinma.

Questions and More Questions

From the way I have been talking anyone would think that H's death mattered chiefly for its effect on myself. Her point of view has seemed to have dropped out of sight. -CS Lewis, A Grief Observed

Even before I read the above quote, the exact notion had been on my mind for a long time.  My blog posts are all about me.  All about my pain and grief.  Twinges of guilt surface.  I am preoccupied with the complications of living alone in this world. Suddenly thoughts of Jerry are overshadowed, yet I think about him constantly.  It is hard to explain.

I know what images my Catholic upbringing creates for heaven, hell and limbo. The nuns used to give the impression that limbo was the worst-a place where there is no movement toward heaven and no movement closer to hell. My current understanding is that heaven is nearness to God and hell is remoteness from God and that limbo does not exist,but that prayers can aid the soul to progress closer to God.  While praying this morning I broke down.  A portion of the Prayer for the Departed caught in my throat, ".....dispel their sorrows, change their darkness into light..."  I have been saying this prayer a zillion times a day and only this morning, I wondered:  Is Jerry sorrowful?  Is Jerry in darkness?   All these months I have worried little about Jerry.  He is no longer in pain.  His health is restored.  He is near God.  He was not without faults (being a human), but suddenly I wonder, he is more than OK, right?

There has just been so much to deal with here on this earth.  Often I am overwhelmed.  So to compartmentalize my life and Jerry's new life with the trust that he is more than flourishing, I have been able to survive.  Lewis also comes to a point when he questions what state his wife is in after her passing.  They tell me that H is at peace. What makes them so sure of this?...Why should the separation (if nothing else) which so agonizes the lover who is left behind be painless to the lover who departs?  Does Jerry ache for me as much as I ache for him?  Somehow I picture him knowing my every thought, watching my every move, but how can I be so sure? I think that he has better access to me than I do currently to him.  It is all so confusing and there is so much that is really unknown.  I have so so many questions.

And then I remembered the dreams, so vivid, where he visited me reassuring me that he was whole, that he was always with me and that he loved me deeply.

I  continue to pray.  Thoughts of Jerry are a constant. I pray for reassurance that he is OK and that my family with time will be OK too.

my room

Months passed before I realized the florescent stars that our son strategically placed about the room, twinkle above my head.  Each night I slip into bed, lay my head on the pillow and say a prayer or two with my eyes closed.  What else have I missed in the darkness?
  
Early mornings when the room fills with sun, three  cats  routinely lounge on the bed, doze and wake to watch the birds light on the feeder.  Every plant in the house is pushed against the south-facing window.  The red geranium is in bloom, a few petals loosened and lay on a leaf.   Narcissus bulbs forced propped against small rocks in antique pottery stand tall and green with a delicate array of white flowers.  Books are piled near the bed. Another stack sits near a chair, close to the window.  Here, I  watch the birds feed, read or sip tea. I sew.  I knit.   I write.  I contemplate life. I pray here.

Contemplation of a Habit

At this point of the early evening, there ain’t much left.  Like every other working woman; I’ve worked all day rushed to two medical appointments, went to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, dropped a kid off, picked another up, wrote 750 words, made a gourmet meal and I now look forward to a walk in a bit to clear my head.  

Once I start the habit of walking, I wonder why I ever stopped.  The routine soothes as does the normal route of travel-along the shore path and through town.  For a stretch of two years, I walked everyday.  Nothing stopped me.  A little grouchy, there were days that my husband would offer to cook supper if I just went for a walk.  My hope in life is always renewed after a walk.

For weeks now, I have been thinking about going to the gym. The reality is that I am just content to walk outside.  I tend to walk the same route, starting in the same location, but taking an opposite direction each day.  The view remains the same, but from a different perspective.  The tide changes and the light varies with the weather. Boredom is never a threat.

Tonight as I walk the path that winds along the craggy shore, I will contemplate all the good that comes and proceed through the evening content and at peace.

the view

The world is distorted through rain.

The Absence of Justice

Sometimes bad things happen,

Innocence

Confused by guilt.

A mother speaks out:

All parties

Move forward.

Be positive.

A mother speaks,

The Power is all-powerful,

And

Deaf.

When will

There

Be

Justice?

Imagine

Imagine a world,

Songs of love and peace

A perpetual loop,

In

Our

Heads.

Some would think

It

Propaganda,

Others

Revolutionary.

Let’s try.

We have

Nothing

To Lose.

The Rush

“Does time speed up as you get older?” my 23 year old asked.

“Yep,” I replied hastily, “it does.”

“Scary,” she added.

Some days, I still feel like that little girl wearing Red Ball sneakers, my big toe wearing through the red canvas-my one pair of sneakers and rubber flip flops needing to last the season.  Has time sped up now that I  have the responsibility of so much more than collecting baseball cards, exploring the shaded woods at Shaw’s Hill or learning how to round the gravelly turn at the bottom of the hill on Dearborn Avenue without skinning a knee?

It was not until college that I recognized the present time as the best time.  Yes, I am a collector of past bittersweet memories.  I want my children and grandchildren to know of growing up more than a half century ago.  I want them to know my ‘can’t describe in just one word’ mother and my virtuous father who taught me about strength, truth and hard work.  I want them to know all that and more. 

Lately, I wonder if the time I spend recalling and writing about the past veils the bounties of the present? My brother, the family historian has created mental files, but has not written anything down on paper.  My niece and I have talked about creating a series of videos preserving family history.  There is so much I want to ask my parents and my grandparents, but the opportunity has been lost.  I don’t want to lose this one. As the continual ebb and flow of time rushes passed me,  I realize that it is both the past and the present I wish to preserve through my photography and writing.  The only problem is-time will not slow its’ pace.   It is downright scary.  I best get busy. 

Threads of Hope

     Some days are harder than others.  On one of those hard days, my dear daughter Gabrielle brought me a plant that has brought abundant sunshine to my hours.  If I allow myself to think too much, to tangle myself up in the reality that my life brings and consider my family's future, most days I hang onto threads of hope.

     I guess that is why I slow down and notice.  While catching a breeze on the porch, I just witnessed a bird snatching an insect as both were inflight.  It took a bit of persistence on the bird's part, but ultimately the feathered creature was successful.  A lean doe all ears, just pranced through the un-mowed field and didn't seem bothered by Rex's barking. Some days grip me in fear and all I see is grim, but most days it is the little miracles that guide me through my day.  Little gifts from above.

Seeking the Sun

How do I temper my loneliness,

My despair in being alone?

I twist and turn seeking the Sun,

Only then,

Will I live

and

flourish.

Finding God

Simple, yet profound words like, "I found God.  Things are going to be different." are suppose to make all the difference?  Rub all the hurt away, the lies, the stealing-gone. Just memories.  You do not know just how much I want to believe.  I hang onto the hope that this time will be different.

A storm approaches.  The air feels cooler and the rain begins to drum.  Water renews, refreshes the spirit.  This storm will pass.  This I know to be true.  Knowing that your storm will pass and fade into the folding of the years, will help this mother rest easier.  Perhaps, I need to continue my search for God.  That may save both of us.

A Scare

Everyone missed the note that was left on the counter.  Everyone sped to their own conclusions about why Rex was not in the house where he was last seen napping with all four, long legs stretched full length contented.  "Camp?" Ears perk, head cocks.  We continue, "You wanna go to camp?!" The inflection rising on the word camp sends Rex spinning toward the door.

While Rex was romping with this worn out tennis ball, diving for little sunfish and waiting patiently for a boat ride that never came because of mechanical failures, his Daddy was home alerting the police of his strange disappearance, driving around the neighborhood calling Rex's name.  Daddy's left pocket bulging with dog treats and string cheese in hopes of a happy reunion.  Fear swelled when he thought of he way people drive around here, most reckless and certainly not looking out for our puppy.

I got the dreaded phone call at work, "Rex is missing," my eldest son began, "and Dad is having a fit." My mind began to gather facts and consider possibilities.  Seldom does he run away and not come right back if the gate is left open, I thought. Someone took him for a walk or a ride. During break I texted one of my likely daughters hoping for a quick answer. No reply. Lunch time a text is sent again, but in my frantic state I ask too many questions.  The reply is yes, but to what question?  Can't you just tell me that Rex is with you and safe? 

My cell pressed against my left ear listening intently-hoping,"I left a note for Dad on the counter.  I took Rex to camp." my daughter explained.   While Rex splashed in the water and ran after chipmunks, the rest of his family was frantic imagining.  A life without our boy is truly unimaginable!

Odd Tilt

I saw you and we spoke for the first time in two weeks. "I love you and miss you. I worry."

"I don't live here anymore," you reply.  

Our society places great importance on the milestone of accumulating eighteen years of life on this planet.

Without a job, education and a fully developed brain he is on his own. No one to remind him to wear sunscreen. Remember you burn terribly without it. 

There is no one to make sure he gets to school. I wonder if he stays up all night and sleeps all day? What is he eating? Where is he sheltered during torrential rains like we had last night? I know nothing of his new life.   

With an eighteen year old brain that says, I can do what I want-I hope that you carry common sense with a dose of extreme kindness toward yourself and others. Don't do anything stupid that will get you in trouble.  Use your heart and your brain. Tightly hold onto the knowledge that you are loved and you deserve all that is good in the world. I pray that God watch over you and keep you safe. Your mama loves you.   

   

A few weeks ago you offered advice.  "You shouldn't stress out. Teenagers push against their parents. I need to learn."  

This does not make any of this any easier. Without you, my world is at an odd tilt.

Weighty Lessons

Wishing life was orderly and predictable,
But I don't think mine will
Ever be that way.
Yet the sharp
Abrupt shapes
That the hours
of my days
Form
Hold beauty.
If I will myself
To perceive.
All moments hold
Weighty lessons.

Now

The vibrancy found in the wild this time of year sustains me.  It is in the moment that I allow myself to slow down and notice the beauty around me that my thinking shifts.  Now is the perfect time to be grateful.

Now

Hanging upside down dripping wet,
Scrambling from leaf to leaf,
Engorging,
My last bite
Might come
A bit
too
soon.

I am meant
for this
hard
life
now.

Poised
for
Transformation.

Poetry Selections

Peace

Push me into the depths
Of the cool,
Dark,
Waters.
There I will find
Peace,
As the pounding
In my heart seizes.
The ache is
Gone.
You will hurt
Me
No more.

Lies

All hope is wrung from my heart.
Every lie robs you and me of dreams.
Hope is not endless.
In time, you will understand.
I pray, it will not be too late,
For either of us.

Love Eternal

Sometimes, too many words just don't work.  All that's left is...  

"I love you."

Darkness

Beauty within darkness. Light giving hope.