Losing what I thought I had that I had already lost and then lost again

Long term relationships are complex to me. I do not have the ability to know if someone exceptionally close to me is being real or shining me on. I have learned, more times than once, that my heart and my common sense do not talk to each other. My gut feeling makes a valiant effort to negotiate with me. I hear it but, more often than not, I tune it out. There is comfort for me in the belief that the surface of someone I care for reflects the depths of that person. Years of chasing that comfort have proven me wrong. Time after time my self-imposed ignorance coupled with my voiceless common sense have left me in situations that hurt and shocked me. I participate with my own self in a  conspiracy to hide the truth from me. What I say cannot possibly be true proves to be the only truth. I feel like the jester in a king's court. Silly girl! Stop priding yourself on knowing because you don't and stop trying to possess what wasn't yours in the first place.  I hate the wounded feeling I carry with me everywhere I go once I know that I know that my dreams of reality were just that, dreams. Ever the hopeful child, armed with denial as my sword, I fall prey to illusions.

Don't Have A Clue!

Mr. Owl has been unavailable to me for several weeks now. I pray he has not met an untimely death. Hopefully he is nested up with an owl cutie making baby owls. I prefer the lovely thought of baby owls to a permanent loss of Mr. Owl. Coming home from my mother's without a hoot or a glimpse of the gentleman owl is a distant second from the times I catch a glimps of him perched on the top of the water tower. I am not wise to the ways of owls. I don't have a clue of their patterns and habits. He could be right smack in the middle of what owls do at this time of year and I, the ever dramatic woman, will imagine him gone forever, lost to me, leaving me behind without so much as a wing wave. Is this what is meant by "not giving a hoot"?

Animals have found their way into my psyche without so much as an invitation from me. Pets have been in and out of my life over the years. Sonny, my doxie who art in heaven, began this trend. Rico and Sugar, two Siamese who were as polar opposite as two Siamese can manage to be, brought the love of cats to me. Now I am a freaking animal lover shunning the death of any living thing by my hand unless it is invading my house, i.e., ants, roaches and the like. If they would stay outside I would leave them to their destiny. No, I am not a vegetarian. I often think of the dichotomy between my right to life approach for every thing up to and including trees and wonder how I manage to eat meat. Lacking the self-discipline required to change my dietary habits plays a large role for my non-choice. No choice is a choice of course. I can't fish and I live 8 miles from the ocean. I cannot bear to watch fish die or hear them flopping frantically in coolers. I lose my breath as I find myself breathing for them. Yes, alright, I have crossed a line at some point and become a bit neurotic in the process. I am a first class bleeding heart. I don't have a clue when or where I became a complete bleeding heart. It borders on a phobia. I mind my son's business regarding his dogs and, if I had a large property, I would be adopting stray animals and stray people with impunity. There's a five dollar word for ya!

Father's Day today! We pulled off a good time together as family around my mom's table. I don't have a clue how I have come to plan family events for our group here at the coast but I have become the planner and, often the executer, of the gatherings. Mom buys much of the food stuff. If there is cooking involved I do it now. For many years my mom cooked and cooked. Fond memories of holiday seasons with mom's cooking and family coming in at my mom and dad's loading the countertops and tables with a decadent  amount of foods often drift through my mind  Today those times are gone. Dad is gone. My grandmother is gone. The matriach of Sampson County left us without a plan. For years her plan had been "the plan". We are scattered now. We had six at the table today. Still we represented three generations. Smithfield's chicken and bbq and banana split pies were just fine with us. No one wanted to cook. When it comes to families ours ranks pretty high on the scale for dysfunction and eccentricities. Everyone I know says the same thing about their families. It could be that families are complex as a rule. Love overcomes a multitude of sins and age mellows us out.

I am weary of the paralysis of analysis. What is, is! I have decided to love folks and pray for them as they come to mind. It is the softer, easier way! At the age of 61 I have made my peace with life. I am blessed beyond measure just because I am loved. I gave life a go. Yep, I tried as hard as I could to kick life's ass. Ultimately life kicked mine all over the place until I cried "Uncle!. Enough is enough. I hereby bestow my proclivity for rebellion to those younger and far wiser than I. I am living and breathing in three quarter time and, yes, those words are in a song. But, I don't have a clue whose song!

A Little Melancholy

Our family has a history of depression and melancholia. Recently I have felt that genetic link pulling on me. I, the eternal optimist, am struggling to understand this state of mind. I tend to fight my way out of moods and situations that trouble me. When I am feeling melancholy the fight ebbs from me a bit at a time. I recognize it at some point and begin to practice the ways I know that rescue me back to myself. The surprise is that this is happening to me on a regular basis. My sister says I simply have the family malaise. It is, in some ways, inevitable. Genetics are wonderful and they suck. Trying to pretend that I do not closely resemble my paternal grandmother is tatamount to the ostrich sticking his head in the sand. Someone had to do the job, and I say that with a smile, as I have learned to appreciate her good qualities along with her extreme eccentricities.

So, I have to get up early in the morning for work. It is 11:30 p.m. Time to take night meds, put on jammies and go to bed. I wish sweet dreams for myself. I would like to dream of Sonny, my dear doxie, who passed away in February of this year. I would love to see him running and playing with the energy of a puppy. Do you believe animals go to heaven? I do. I'm gonna see my Sonny again and he is going to live with me again.

Life is strange, isn't it? I am 61 years old. I was born a few seconds ago when compared with the span of history and the depth of the universe. In many ways we pass through this life experience like a meteor speeding by the earth. A glimpse for a moment or two and gone. Am I being morbid? I think not!

Where is my owl? He will set things straight if I can manage to hear him or see him on the tower.

WHAT ON EARTH!!

I have obviously imagined in my head that I have written in this blog since last Sunday. Tomorrow is Sunday. From this I cleverly surmise that it has been one day short of a week since I have written in this blog. That simply will not do fo rme. At this rate I will be 110 years old before I do formal writing. If once a week is what I call practicing then I am a poor example, indeed, of a writer. Self-discipline has never been a strong card of mine.

OH FOR THE LOVE OF PETE!!! I managed to delete half of what I wrote after the last sentence of the paragraph above. I can't get it back. There's no crying over spilled milk ,I suppose , though I do have the compulsion to scream for a second or two! One more time the importance of saving my work periodically as I write is demonstrated in the loss of words. Precious words! Gone now as if I never thought of them.

A freind of mine mentioned Mr. Owl to me tonight. She heard him in the hooting nearby within the past few days. I was relieved. I have not seen him or heard him in about two weeks. I thought he flew the coop to take up new digs in a forest away from here. The weather has been stormy. Perhaps he is huddled in a tree holding on for dear life as one gust of wind after the other threatens to pull him from his perch. I would love to see him soon. I need to tip my imaginary cap to him. I need to feel that bond between us. The watched and the watcher performing for your viewing pleasure as night grows deep. He will show himself to me soon. We've got a thing going on!

Sleep overtakes me. Ta-ta for now or "ttfn".

Sunday

I had a normal day. WHAT? I had a normal day. Sunday. Wake up with my grandson and have rice and scrambled eggs. Get ready for church and go to church. Come home. Sit down in front of the t.v. and fall promptly asleep waking to catch bits and pieces of whatever my husband is watching. Eat a couple of times. Spend a little bit of time on the laptop. Go to mom's for about an hour. Come home ready to go to bed early. Don't go to bed early. Sort through a drawer of my desk. Spend some more time on the computer checking bus schedules and paying auto tax on-line. Check work schedule and assign myself a couple of more hours despite a hectic day tomorrow without those hours. Decide to do a bit of a chat up on this blog and then prepare for bed. Wake-up time is 6:30 and I just realized I did not buy the yogurt for my morning smoothie! Drat and Darn! A normal day. Chaos lingering around the edges but it can wait for another day. I can't find my car keys. But that is normal for me. Every day, it seems, I am looking for something I have lost. Time for meds and bed. Everything is groovy! If I could figure out how to put the you tube videos on here I would play the one by Simon and Garfunkel...."Hello, lamp post, what'cha doing........(words I don't know) feeling groovy!"

Does It Get Any Better Than This?

Today I picked up my seven year old grandson, Micah, for him to spend the night at my house and go to church in the morning. There is no predicting what mood I will find him in when I arrive. He is growing up. One day hugs are the best and the next day he is aware of me but too cool to be hugging on me.

Today Micah was full of love. He had been playing at the beach with friends and was mellowed out by the sun and the exercise. The beach is a short walk down the street and over a dune from his mother's apartment. This year the beach has become Micah's playground. I wasn't sure he would want to spend the night with me thinking I might lose out to the joy of going to the beach tomorrow. But he did want to come with me and he hugged me tight, climbed into the van and brightened my world into a blaze of happy colors.

We were going to get ready for bed and watch Peter Pan on my laptop. The minute I started the movie he was fast asleep. Gone completely into a deep slumber he relaxes and his face is tender, younger than seven and beautiful. His tenderness with me today healed me a bit from the anxieties and fears roaming round in my head. Nothing compares to the love of a grandchild or their total belief that Grandma has things under control even though Grandma may wonder about that herself.

Tomorrow he will wake up and he will want rice and scrambled eggs. Guess what? He will get them. It is the routine we have developed over the last few years. He sleeps in what he calls my "cozy little bed" and sometimes I sleep with him and sometimes I sleep on a foam mattress beside him. Our rituals together are unspoken expectations speaking volumes about our trust and love for each other. How I love my time with Micah! I really do wonder if it gets any better than this?