Balance, Boundaries and Bone Broth
So the journey continues into this next stage in my life. Kids grown but still my kids. Retired from work with a mind that is still full though truly not interested in pursuing much right now. A physical body that is good and strong and truly not interested in working out much. An appetite that is changing or perhaps just taste buds that are bored. And a challenging puppy that is now a year old and settling down but truly not really.
Today is obviously a day of reflection. I didn't plan this. I did not wake up and think that this writing today would delve into the nuances of my life right now. In fact, I wasn't quite sure what today's writing was going to be about. Which does happen quite often actually. The not knowing till I start. And so it is with this writing today, too.
The title came first.
I liked all the words starting with the same letter. I had balance and boundaries already there and needed something to keep the rhythm right. Bone Broth. Perfect. And in that instant the theme expanded.
So bone broth. My husband and I drink this every day. I had been reading about it. The health benefits. Truthfully, for my dog not for us. I wanted to give her the nutrients she needs to get her &#($)(#& ears to stand up as doberman ears do and which her left one won't...and I went searching on line and found out about bone meal and raw chicken feet and all sorts of other tasty treats like that and got to thinking about bone broth. Natalie Portman once was interviewed and talked about drinking it and I like Natalie Portman. So the interview stuck and there was bone broth, in the deep recesses of my brain waiting to come out.
And if it was good enough for my pup it was certainly good enough for me. And my husband, too.
I tried to make it on my own. With like 2 pounds of raw chicken feet from this really cool butcher in my town, and it ended up tasting pretty awful. Not sure why. Even my dog didn't want to drink it. So on line I went and now we order it from this great place - www.bonebroth.com. Go check it out. It's tasty and nutritious. My nails look great!
And this is important because they were not looking so good. I googled it. Brittle nails in post menopausal women and there it was - a symptom of lack of hormones and body changes. Which sucks because I always had really great nails. Strong and well shaped. And now they were not. Until the bone broth... Moving on.
Boundaries. As in creating new one and respecting old ones and forging forward with three adult children - really four with my daughter in law to be.
This is going really well. I think. You'll have to check in with them, too. But it feels good. And I have come up with ways to cope through the transition. So that I can still do the mommy thing when I need to - as in when I am feeling anxious and want to control the situation even when I know that of course I can't control anything. But still I need to say that something or do some action. And so I have come up with a warning. A preface to my mommyisms so that my kids can prepare for what is to come. Plus it adds a bit of humor to what could instead just be annoying at best and overwhelming at worst.
I say: Ok, I'm going to be a mommy for a minute here. Or something like that. And if I am texting I add a few smily faces or some flowers or hearts. And all is good. I get to do my mommy thing and my kids hopefully feel appreciative of any insight and compassionate as they watch me navigate going from adult to their child to two adults in this new relationship that we have together.
Which brings me to balance.
I have it. Balance. These days I do. In pretty much all that is happening right now. In my sleep. And my food and my friends and my family. I have a rhythm that flows. Slowly. And softly. It's an older rhythm. That comes forth from other times, other women. Ancient days.
It has no high highs and no deep lows. Just a steady and balanced beat in which I dance along. It's called my life right now. And it's good.
Steady. Even. Soft and light.
So I think I changed my mind.
Which is not a surprising thing at all. Not that I do it a lot. I am one to stick to my convictions, honor my commitments, stand true to my decisions. So it's not the constant, frequent thing that I decide to do something and then decide to do something else. Because most often what I decide to do is deeply connected to my true self. And so in the decision is also the honoring of what is real and authentic in me.
But still there are times I change my mind.
Take my careers for example. I have career ADD. (Correctly known as ADHD but my career ADD does not have the hyperactivity in it....well I don't think it does (you'll need to ask my husband and kids for a more honest opinion of that). So, I have career ADD in that I would change careers. A lot. From retail buyer to law student to SAT prep test teacher to model and actor to selling art to Starbucks barista and then to lawyer/mediator. What is next is still a mystery. So there I changed my mind.
But it was not as mindless as it seemed. It was that all these different opportunities, they resonated within me and I felt compelled to follow the journey. See where it led. Discover new things. And then decide whether it was right for me after all. Lawyering was. So was acting. And I make a fantastic latte, a skill I will keep with me forever.
And so it is with this writing. These writings. My weekly writings. I thought I was done with it for now. Because this story/novel/whatever it turns out to be that is brewing inside my mind was getting bigger and that I wanted to focus on that.
But there is more.
I was starting to feel that this was an obligation. This weekly writing. It became something more than just the joy of writing and sharing my thoughts. A chore in a way. Something that I had to do because I said I would. And even though once I started writing, the words would flow smooth and true and each week I wrote something that I felt proud to share and looked forward to sharing, still the time leading up to my writing each week was starting to bog me down. But then I said I was stopping this. The weekly writing. And all week I sat in that decision and it felt imbalanced.
Was it just that change causes a re-weighting until I find my footing again or was it more?
And waking up this morning I realized it was more. Because you see, I kinda lost my way from when I started these weekly writings. Because you see, when I started I was choosing to write each day. And so was inspired and excited. But somewhere along the way I forgot to choose. And when we do this we lose the love of it. We lose our joy of it. Our passion. And our fulfillment.
I read this wonderful piece on line, a long time ago, about choosing your spouse every day. That if we wake up every morning and look at this person that we love and choose them again each day, well that this will create the intention that will then exist within that relationship. It is a beautiful thing to choose your partner every day. It honors them. And it reminds us that we have that choice and that we are wanting to be with this person. Every day.
And so it is with my writing.
And so here is it. Today.
So I've been writing weekly for over a year now. This is a huge feat for me. I have pretty much no attention to detail, get bored really fast and move on to other things, hate structure and am rarely one for organization - unless it's my closet and my shoes. So to have kept writing for this over a year period is pretty cool. I feel good about it.
But a change is 'a brewing. There is a story inside me. I wrote a bit of it here last week. But now there is more.
I am not yet sure where it's going. I really don't know much about it yet. This story in my mind. I may explore a subculture with them. See them against the backdrop of an uneasy place. That's probably what I'll do. But other then that, there is not yet much that I know. I don't know what they look like, these people inside my mind. Where they are from. Where they want to go.
But I do know that they loved each other very much but only for a very short time.
I write in tiny spurts. Kind of like this weekly writing but even shorter. A line or two comes into my mind and I type it into the notes on my phone to revisit later. I like writing this way. There is no expectation. Just an unfolding of these words that have now become paragraphs and will become something more in time.
And so my focus has changed. I think about these people who are have not yet fully grown into themselves yet. And this world that they will live in that still has not formed fully into a true place. And I want to spend more time here. Creating this story.. actually no...nurturing this story that is already there but hasn't come out of me yet.
And so this is my plan - even though I don't like plans. To write my weekly Monday morning writing instead as a monthly Monday morning writing. I think it has a great ring to it. Lots of M's. And it will be a monthly Monday morning writing on the first Monday of each month. Except for this one, on the second one because I can't be too organized.
And my hope is that you continue to visit me here each month. To share in my thoughts. My musings and meanderings. And when my story is done, I will share that with you, too.
Thank you for reading my writing. Today and all the other days, too!
I am sick today. That icky cold in my nose and soreness in my throat. And a burning behind my eyes that means I have a fever. Not like a raging fever. Just that a bit hotter you know that your body is trying to burn off whatever infection you have kind of fever.
I was in Massachusetts this weekend. A very short trip. To go to my future daughter-in-law's bridal shower. It was fantastic! And I flew in on the red eye on New Years Eve - well at 12:55 so really New Years day, but still in the night and getting into Boston in the morning.
I took the trip with my daughter, which was wonderful. We travel really well together and had a lot of fun. We always do when we're together. Have fun.
I have this with all my kids. Which is really quite wonderful. They are now in that place in their life , and I am in that place in my life, where we are friends. It is a lovely thing to be dear friends with those beautiful beings that are also your kids.
And so it was a great being with all my kids and my daughter-in-law to be and my parents and sister and her family, too. A busy weekend of shopping, and visiting and eating and then the bridal shower only to head back to the airport for the long flight home.
And now I am here. The quick trip along with a New Years Eve consisting of a lot of wine and sherry and sugar and not much sleep is why I feel like I feel now. Yucky.
And so, besides the ease in which I am sharing all the not so pleasant details of my cold and the oh so pleasant details of my weekend, I'm kind of an empty shell, void of creativity. And so I thought I'd share the beginning of a story I am writing. Whether it's just what it is now, or becomes a short story or even a novel I haven't yet decided. Right now it is just what it is. A beginning of something that doesn't yet know what it is.
But I like it. I hope you do, too!
I didn’t see him when I first walked into the park. I was focusing on the sky. It was that pink color that holds for just a second before turning to gold as the sun disappears behind the trees. So short a moment. My favorite time so it makes complete sense that it would be only an instant. A cruel metaphor of my life. Where everything glows and then the darkness hits. And with it all the disturbing creature that nighttime brings.
I didn’t see him when I first walked in. But because I think about running into him all the time, he filled my mind as the night sky filled my eyes. I think constantly of how it would be. How he would be. What he would say. And I wonder if seeing him would create closure after so much time. Or, instead, reinforce the depth of loss that stays with me always.
Because there is no dimming of memory and pain. Not this time. I’m still right there.The pain is right with me. All the time.
And so, because I was noticing the sky turning pink to gold to dark and thinking about what it would be like to run into him here in the park, I didn’t see him when I first walked in. But then I did.
He was sitting on a bench against the now inky sky. Reading a book. Squinting. As he always did when he read books. You’d think he’d finish up, as it was now dark. Or use his phone’s light to see more clearly. But even from a distance I could see that he was instead doing what he always did. Staying with the page even with the light now gone.
This is not surprising to me. He always did this. He would never think to turn on a light when the night hit the rooms of our home. Back then. When we had a home. He'd sit in the dark room, the book held a bit closer to his face - his beautiful face - and he would squint into the words.
I thought he only did this when the light was lost.
But the, I noticed that he squinted like that all the time. Whenever he read something that he really liked. Always when he wrote something that he really liked. As though to see more clearly. As though to try and look into the words. See the truth that nestled beneath the words that covered the pages of another writer's words or his own, brilliant manuscripts..
HIs writing rarely had adjectives.
He was repulsed by language that camouflaged true meaning. Hated it. Anything that made the reader believe differently than what was real. It made his words sting.
And it made me uncomfortable. I know he liked that.
Mother, Wife, Friend, Sister, Daughter, Dancer, Rower, Runner, Dog and Cat lover.