Gratitude * Sunday
Sunday’s heartfelt tradition.
A time to slow down, to reflect, to be grateful.
A list of gratitudes, our gratefulness feeds one another.
Quoted from Taryn Wilson
Joining the Gratitude Sunday Tradition at Wooly Moss Roots.
Autumn blows in a
cool rain on ragged wind, leaves
dance away from trees.
Summer has been the season for changes for me this year. I had to change my work schedule against my wishes and though I kicked and screamed ’twas for naught. And here I was thinking my changes would come after my next birthday, yet it seems they have started early. I forget to remember what we have is really only this very now.
Because Mom died this summer I did not have her to talk the schedule changes over with. The hubster doesn’t “get it” and any discussion with him about my work decisions generally leave us frustrated and angry at each other. That’s just not worth it to me when I seek peace and quiet at this point in my life, not dissent. So I had to talk to myself instead, or her in my head, to re-set my brain and convince myself I would tolerate the change and make it my own. I do have a life outside of work and I think employers who act like they own your life for the 40 hours of work they actually pay you for are doing their employees a disservice. But that’s a different post.
The son is trying to launch and live his adult life on his own terms. I want to grab him and hold him and scream to the world in my best exorcist voice, “You can’t have him. He’s mine. MINE, do you hear?!?” But, of course, he isn’t mine. He is his and must share the gifts he has with the world.
I recall my favorite uncle giving me his treasured copy of Kahlil Gibran’s, The Prophet, lost (stolen from me by “friends”) on my first “adult” adventure away from home and family. His poem, On Children, was as pertinent to me then as it is now. I share only the first stanza here but the whole poem is worth the read.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
I feel as if I have lost both my mother and the son this summer. Neither is “lost”, I am merely experiencing loss. I still talk to my mom in my head all the time just as I did before her death. I still worry about the son, though the worries have changed. Is he clean? Is he eating? Is he getting to work on time? Is he thinking about college yet? Will he call if he needs help? Would his pals know to get hold of me if he needs help and can’t call me himself?
Letting him fly with his own wings is hard, but he wants to do it on his own terms which is as it should be at 21 years of age. When I did the same at the age of 18 I left the state with people I barely knew, and my parents didn’t know at all, with devastating results. I survived but learned not to trust other people. That’s an expensive lesson.
I want him to survive. I want him to thrive and fly and give back to the world all the beauty and knowledge and creativity I know is in him. I want him find and know love. I want him to have work he enjoys and makes him feel full of life. I want him to hold his own children in his arms before they fly away too. And it will be nice if he finds a little time to share with me.
Flower Watch – blooming attractions in my neighborhoods this week – purpley autumn crocus; my mullein started blooming again after it rained a little. Here you can see the dried blossoms below the new blooms; this pretty pink I don’t know what; bright orange Chinese lanterns; and a yellow buddleia. Does anybody know what this is? These are the flowers.
Currently Reading – The Secrets of Mary Bowser (fiction, last of the summer reading) by Lois Leveen; Genetic Roulette (public health science) by Jeffrey M Smith; Goodnight, Mind: Turn Off Your Noisy Thoughts and Get a Good Night’s Sleep (sleep psychology) by Colleen E. Carney and Rachel Manber; How to See Yourself as You Really Are (enlightenment) by the Dalai Lama; Eggs by(cookbook) Michel Roux; Farmer Boy (“fictionalized” autobiography) by Laura Ingalls Wilder (I never read this series as a kid). Yes, concurrently.
This week I have been grateful for:
- The son.
- The hubster.
- Changing seasons.
- Learning. Listening. Reading.
- The weather holding dry long enough for the 23rd Annual Sidewalk Chalk Art Festival and getting the art onto the sidewalk. Being able to still crawl around on the sidewalk to make my “art”. Gardening benches with low steps and handles to aid getting up and pillows to tolerate being down.
- Ibuprofen and hot showers.
- The pool re-opening after two weeks closed for maintenance.
- Real food, simply and tastefully prepared.
Hoping you have a lovely week.
Namaste. Peace. Blessings.