Category: Musings

General Thought Posts not related to specific topics

Four Trips in Eleven Months

And I just might make it on my own

Yes, I’m still counting. Last week I was in the Atlanta area visiting my Mother, sisters, and brother-in-law. It was the fourth visit since Pam died in May of 2022. Each trip has been impactful and in some ways represents the progression of my grieving process.

My first visit last June was just a month after Pam’s passing. It had been 2-1/2 years since my previous visit, a combination of COVID isolation and Pam’s and my challenges here at home. I was a mess. I didn’t really want to go but it was time. It takes me two days to drive there. Not quite short enough to comfortably make it in one, yet a bit too short for two. Which leaves me time in a motel to contemplate – whatever, further exacerbating being alone for hours in the car.

Much of the time that first trip was spent crying and wanting to get back home. Sure. It was good seeing my family, but my raw emotions were almost too much to bear, and obvious to those around me. But I made it through. And somehow I knew that it was part of my process, getting out of the house, seeing family, being alone with my thoughts and sorrows.

Leaving home was not much easier in September. I was still attached to everything Pam, and Pam and me, in the house. I chose different routes to and from Atlanta that trip. Exploring. Hoping for new attractions and distractions along the way. Still a long time to think and feel, wonder and cry.

Still with raw emotion I visited, trying to express my feelings while attempting to engage and empathize with everything going on with those I love. They were great! I began to feel safe in my grief. I was allowed, and allowed myself to just be me, trying to at least see the top of the wide and deep hole, the void created by losing half of myself. But I still found myself longing for home. As if Pam was still there waiting for me, even though I couldn’t call her to tell here of my experiences, couldn’t listen to her voice as she told me what she’d learned of our grandchildren or of news in the neighborhood. We used to talk often and long when we were geographically separated.

Between September and the end of December the holidays were painful and sad. This was Pam’s favorite season. Decorations, cooking traditional holiday foods, buying and wrapping gifts and, of course, incredible hand-made greeting cards. She would be beaming! But not last year. I managed to bring up the mini Christmas tree with its tiny white lights to put on the window sill. But that was it. No cards, some gift-giving. Visits from our children. Lots of crying – lots!

I left for Atlanta after Christmas and was there with family for New Years Eve and my Mother’s birthday in early January. Once again leaving the house was difficult. While visiting, I sensed change in my emotional stability, not quite as tense, able to engage more “normally.” By then I was no longer counting the weeks since Pam died, just the months. Little changes, but still trying to climb out of the hole.

Last week’s trip had a significantly different feel. I was anxious to go. I even used the excuse of impending severe weather to leave a day early. I enjoyed the drive down and was comfortable with my stay in Clarksville TN, west of Nashville. A side note: this was just days after the shooting and in the midst of the Tennessee legislature debating ousting three Democratic representatives for demonstrating about gun control laws.

Staying with my sister, Mother and brother-in-law was completely relaxed. My other sister visited every day. I played my music several time to this enthusiastic and safe audience. We ate and drank and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Clearly my disposition is changing. I thought of Pam often and missed calling her to tell her about what we were doing. I missed her terribly, but only had one serious bout of uncontrolled sobbing. A clear improvement.

As I drove toward home I realized for the first time that Pam is no longer here (at home). She is with me in my heart. I am trying to go on with life knowing that she is always with me.

Made in the shade
Shabby view – NOT

I sat at an outside table at T-Rav restaurant in Jackson MO (near Cape Girardeau). As I waited for my pizza I started writing. I don’t usually share “unfinished” lyrics or those without accompanying music, but I’m making an exception in this case. I wrote them in an app on my phone, from which they are copied here. I’ve named it I Just Might Make It On My Own. Clearly written to Pam in my heart.

I just might make it on my own
I didn’t plan it so to be
No doubt I didn’t want to
Have to live without you

But here I am
Venturing out
Taking it all in
Making it on my own

It was supposed to be us
Stepping out together
Basking in sunshine
Splashing in the rain

But here I am
Venturing out
Taking it all in
Making it on my own

You and me
Wandering roads and byways
To see the beauty of the world
Meeting others who want to see

Now here I am
Venturing out
Taking it all in
Making it on my own

Eleven months since Pam died. I believe she would be happy with my progress. But I almost feel guilty going on without her. I’ll just have to keep her with me. Here in my heart. I know I will, as I make it on my own.

I have plans for a different sort of trip next month on the one-year anniversary of Pam’s passing. But I’ll postpone writing of that until afterward. Meanwhile, I’ll keep trying to make it – though not completely – on my own.

Lighthearted – NOT

Every week I think I want to write about something fun or funny. But by the time I get to developing a title and topic, I am conveying serious thoughts and feelings. I should not be surprised, and people remind me, I have had a lot of serious stuff happening in my life since I first published Wut Javia.

I am not a fan of most comedy – with exceptions: Charlie Chaplin, Big Bang Theory, and some Rom Coms. Just this week I was discussing Keeping the Faith with my brother-in-law. Love the movie. Even though I’m not a fan of Ben Stiller, I did like him in that movie. I am a fan of the work of Edward Norton. And I think I might have fallen in love with Jenna Elfman after watching the move. There are other enjoyable lighthearted films, of course. But I watch fewer and less often now without Pam to share them with.

It comes down to just not being a lighthearted person. Though I laugh and make jokes, and enjoy humorous banter, etc., I am a serious person by nature. As I’ve been told. What I realized while contemplating this post is that being serious does not equate with being unhappy. And, if I’m serious and project that seriousness in my demeanor, then I need to be aware that others may have the same or similar traits. Can’t judge a book by its cover, so they say.

On the other hand, no one is happy all of the time. My Mother has projected a happy-go-lucky disposition most of my life. Few times, mostly when grieving the passing of someone close, has she cried, pouted, lashed out in anger (I don’t think I’ve ever seen that), or expressed dislike for others. I think the reasons are two-fold. First, and foremost, she always wants others to be happy, feel better, and also to like her. Second, Mom doesn’t want others to concern themselves with her problems, be they physical or emotional. That would lessen the effect of the first – having others be happy.

I have not had this compunction. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, especially when they are negative, such as sadness, physical discomfort, frustration, anger. Consequently, I am viewed as serious, if not downright grumpy. At one point in my corporate career I was nicknamed Eeyore because whenever someone asked me how I was I would answer “okay” or “I’m alright”, with that down-in-the-mouth mannerism Eeyore expressed.

One thing I am confident of. Regardless of whether you have a lighthearted or heavier disposition, nearly everyone experiences the full range of emotions, has the same fears and frustrations, just maybe to different degrees. So I hope you won’t judge me too harshly for being lighthearted-NOT when you read these posts. I hope that I can do the same for you and everyone with whom I interact.

“By the way” (nod to JJ) …

Did you hear the one about the truck driver and his pet bear? Well, maybe another time when I am feeling more lighthearted 🙂

Angles…Change Perspective

I ran across a graphic showing different ways of looking at the same object from alterative angles, changing perspective. More on that later.

It reminded me of some angles I have changed over the last several months. Last summer as I was coming out of the shower, I accidentally hit the wall hanging above the towel bar when I reached for the towel. After finishing up, I went back to reposition the artwork and realized I liked the different look. But how could I allow this change? Would it not cause angst, boldly altering how Pam and I had decorated our space together? After all, we so enjoyed shopping and accessorizing.

But the fact was I liked the new look. The inner conflict pressed upon me. Ultimately, I decided that it was okay to change some little things. Who knows? Maybe Pam would have liked the new look. I wish we could have decided together!

Before
Now

On a whim, I changed the angle of the dining room table and chairs. Pam and I always stressed over how to position this set due to where the electrician placed the overhead light in the ceiling. Our sense of order was disturbed whether we situated it with the length or width toward the large dining room window. If we centered the table under the light, it impeded our egress through the space. Such problems, further exacerbated as it became more difficult for Pam to navigate, especially when she required the use of a walker.

But I am no longer encumbered by these issues. And after contemplating changes in angles and how they affect perspective, I decided to try an angled setting. Yes, I do have the table centered under the light fixture. Some sensibilities should not be altered unless necessary. I’m not sure how long this will last. It does affect how I view both the indoor and outdoor space.

But somehow the change signifies a sense of moving forward with my life; a life forced upon me, not of my choosing!

What are my new angles? How has my overall perspective changed? I’m still working that out. But my eyes are open to where they will lead. I can only hope that I can discern the truth in angles and perspectives. Go where these truths lead.

Which brings me to the impetus for considering angles and perspective and how different views affect decisions. What is true? What is truth? Does changing the angle that we view things, the perspective, change the truth?

It seems easier to think about the world as black and white (a metaphor I don’t like), yes or no, good or bad, the world is flat. Decisions are easy. Not only does this kind of view make living together on this earth more difficult, it’s not even close to the truth. Science has long proved that we live in at least three dimensions and, in reality, there may be more (time is often considered a dimension).

Changing angles does change our perspective. Learning different points of view increases our realization of truth. Unfortunately, “we” don’t necessarily like the truth we find. But that doesn’t change what is true. I wonder if we can ever get to the point where we are comfortable enough with what is true to live together peaceably and happily with the truth.

Truth Perspective Graphic Link

Truth Perspective YouTube link

Everything and Nothing

Continuing on a philosophical tangent, this week’s topic examines how I/we derive meaning from the things we say and do when everything has already been said, and nothing is really new.

Everything has been said before. Nothing I say is new. I write about what’s happening in my life. I express my grieving process, my hopes, dreams, and shortcomings. All in hopes that you, my faithful followers, will glean something meaningful from the reading. How I say, what I say, is meaningful only to me, unless someone else relates to the words anew.

Word play is fun. I enjoy finding different ways to express myself; alternative words to convey a message which has been stated by others in different ways. Whether with prose or in lyrics, words are treasures to be unearthed and revealed, mixing and matching in colorful ways, hoping to make you feel empathy, hoping you feel yourself. Nevertheless I write this message, knowing that it’s all been said before in many ways.

All music has been played before. I am further hampered by my limited knowledge of music theory. I recently learned that there are few musical theories throughout the world. The notes of our “Western” scale, along with other less familiar musical methods, all limit the number of combinations that sound good to our ears/minds. Timing and rhythms add complexity to a tune, helping us express our feelings and enhance our words.

What I play and how I play it is sensational only if it sparks familiar feelings in new ways. Can you think of a subject that hasn’t been covered by a musical artist? So many genres. Music has been part of the human experience since, well, since humans have experienced.

The first shirt I chose
Definitely describes me
Wishful thinking

Additional ways to express myself with words written by others. I’m thinking of wearing these to play gigs – whenever I work up enough courage to do so.

Just this week I finally heard the song I’ve been searching for since I used some of its chords to form one of my songs, Need to Love You, Instrumental, 12-String. That song is I Love You by The Steve Miller Band. I’m not a huge fan of Steve Miller, but this song, released in 1970 obviously stuck with me, though until now I didn’t remember the source. Another example of Everything’s been played, nothing new. And yet we continue to write words and music to convey our experiences, making them our own. Some, if not all, of us have the need to express ourselves, our inner conflicts, hopes, and dreams with others. Some kind of validation that we are not alone in our existence.

And now I want to write something more. But I’m not sure what. After all, it’s all been said before. How about that I feel humbled by that fact, but also comforted in knowing that I am a part of the human race, knowing I am not alone when I express myself. Maybe you will have similar feelings after reading this.

Speaking of it all being said and sung before: Listen. Read. Something like that.

What Does It Matter?

Walking along the pathways this week on a fresh, sunny, late winter afternoon I was reminded again of our tiny place in the vast, potentially infinite universe. Blue sky, light breeze, warmth of the sun on my back. It must somehow matter.

Facebook provides so many information inputs. We don’t even have to ask for them. Some algorithms somewhere pay attention to the ads we click, the videos we watch, the people and sites we follow, and offer up text, pictures and video. Meta hopes we stay engaged so that their sponsors will continue to advertise with them.

One such information input for me is on the subject of the makeup of the universe. How far are other celestial bodies; a light minute, light hour, light day, light month, light year, or even thousands and thousands of light years away. Billions of galaxies, each with a trillion stars. As I have mentioned before, this makes me feel very small and insignificant. Our bodies exist for such a short time, measured only in minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years. So what does it matter that we exist at all?

It matters because we are sentient beings. If we weren’t aware it wouldn’t matter. It matters because we are aware of ourselves and each other. We care about our own lives and the lives of others. Maybe even our awareness is of little consequence in the vast scheme of the universe. But then again, maybe not.

We know from science that our energy lives on either in free form or as other matter. We are transformed into life, and again when our lives end. We impact our environment which impacts the blue marble we live on. Surely we must have an impact on other regions of the universe in infinite time and space.

It matters because we care for ourselves, our families, our neighbors, communities, species, and the rest of the world around us. It doesn’t really matter how much we affect the universe. It matters that we matter to ourselves and each other.

Here’s why It matters to me; because Pam smiled with so much compassion and love.

Smiling and Holding Hands – 2019

It matters because I love her deeply, more than I understood until I was threatened with her absence. Then she was gone. Recently I realized that as much as I love her, she loved me more. That persistent thought both hurts and comforts me. It helps me understand my place in the universe. Her love was pure. And even at that, she loved her daughters even more!

Kara and Kelley, I hope you don’t mind that I make public this declaration of your Mother’s love for you. Making you. Making It matter that you are part of the universe.

As Pam would say, “Don’t forget.” You matter! We matter!

Nothing to Write Home About

After writing the longest post in Wut Javia’s history last week, this may be one of the shortest. I don’t have anything deep or sensational to write about. So I’ll write about that.

It’s been a “normal” week. Patterns of my existence, once emerged, now are familiar routines of daily life. Sleep, wake, eat; all so ordinary. Morning meditations remain; peering at Pam’s picture, having a word or two about her smile, my love for her, how much I miss her.

Last week I considered four grieving goals, the last of which was reconstructing a faith significantly altered by loss. I said my faith was in disarray before Pam’s illness and passing, and it was. I’ve begun reading the book of Psalms. I’m told it considers the entire human condition in relationship with an almighty God. Since I feel like I’m experiencing all of those conditions, I thought it a reasonable place to start. Another attempt at establishing life after Pam.

Exercise, guitar practice, binge watching series’ on Netflix and Prime, make up much of my free time, after shopping, cleaning, accounting, etc. Really, nothing to write home about. I’m trying to wrap my mind around this new normal, consider where grief and loss fit in. Still conflicting thoughts and emotions. New normal.

How strange to have nothing to write home about. The last 10 months, in fact the last four years, have been filled with abnormality, at least for me. I know I am one of a myriad of others who suffer, and I know we all have to embrace abnormality as part of normality. But for me, it is consoling to see myself as having nothing to write home about; nothing out of the ordinary to write about. I still look forward to writing and singing about better subjects. Better times; mine, and yours.

I wish for you a normal week in which there is nothing to write home about – unless, of course, it’s great news you just have to share!

Bits and Pieces

Bits of paper next to places where I sit around the house. Not to mention e-notes pasted in various applications on my computer or online (I guess I just mentioned them. Why do we say such things?).

Here’s one I wrote completely backwards, from right to left with the letters facing backwards also. Here are the words:

How did we ever
Get to where we ask
‘What am I, chopped liver?”
On a cracker, or with a spoon
Has a taste, can make you swoon
So if you don’t like the words I say
What am I, chopped liver?

There may be the makings of a song here. The context is a familial prodding joke that arose from an old question basically asking why am I being left out, or am I less important than your or someone else – someone who can be ignored. But my siblings and I use it now very tongue-in-cheek when we discuss things we are doing or sharing family memories, with fondness and love. These are the kind of interactions that strengthen attachments, deepen relationships.

Another note contains grieving goals from a book called All Our Losses All Our Griefs, Resources for Pastoral Care by Kenneth R. Mitchell and Herbert Anderson, given by a good friend to help me on my journey. This book provides a different perspective on grieving from the point of view of professionals who work with, and laypeople who want to compassionately respond to, those who grieve.

Grieving Goals:
– Admitting the reality of the loss
– Creating a charitable memory
– Beginning to make new investments and attachments
– Reconstructing a faith significantly altered by loss

After 9-1/2 months of my grieving journey, I look at these goals and am encouraged – though even that is hard to believe. It took about four months just to come to terms with the fact that Pam is gone. Though sometimes still cathartic to talk to her, it is otherwise and empty exercise, as she cannot, and will not respond – at least in any way that I recognize or understand. But it is difficult to achieve any other goals without first admitting the loss.

I’ve had no problem creating a charitable memory. I so adored Pam and saw in her so many loving and caring attributes that I wish I could emulate. I sometimes still picture the moment of her death. I don’t like the image. But it reminds me that, in that moment, Pam’s suffering was over. And that’s a good thing. More and more I smile back at her when I look at pictures of her smiling. I am in touch with my love for her and realize the depth of her love for me and others. I am still sad for her loss, and my loss of her.

Progress on the last two goals is certainly ongoing. My body has been “telling” me that I need to take care of myself and catch up on the neglect I forced on it for the past few years as my attention was on caring for Pam. Should I just live out what is left of my life, though shorter due to neglect? Or will I find out what I need to and be wise about taking care of myself, expect to live longer, with better quality of life? Give myself the opportunity to nurture existing, and establish new attachments. I chose the latter. Now I am investing psychologically, emotionally, and monetarily in my physical wellbeing.

Reconstructing my faith is a much more challenging goal. My faith journey was in the weeds and tall grasses before Pam’s diagnosis and illness (I’ve got songs about this also). Losing her only exacerbated an already complicated and painful inner struggle. However, I am aware that my journey is more difficult by not being able to rely on faith in God to help me through my grieving process. Not that I don’t keep Him in the mix. I told the hospice chaplain that I still want to cover my bases. So the jury is still out on this goal. I hope those of you with strong faith will respect my circumstance and not attempt to “fix” or “save” me as I work through, toward some end. I promise you, it would not be helpful. On the other hand, thoughts and prayers are appreciated (covering bases). Thanks.

Three comparisons (opposites) on a piece of paper. I don’t remember what I read that prompted me writing this note, but I look at it from time to time and it continues to give me perspective:

Greed / Generosity
Animosity/ Compassion
Ignorance / Wisdom

Three reminders of decisions we can make on a daily basis. As I learn to live for myself, no longer for Pam or for the two of us, these simple comparisons are a kind of mirror for me to “see” what kind of person this person wants to be. Though I need to live for myself, I don’t want to be selfish. I try to view others with empathy and compassion. And I must be willing to be open to new knowledge that when applied, helps me achieve the first two goals of generosity and compassion. I hope you, my readers, can relate, and feel the same as I.

As I sat in my chair and reached for my paper pad to write down the name of a song, I noticed these notes, bits and pieces of things I thought worth returning to at some point in time. I had no idea that they would merge into a blog post such as this (the longest one yet, I believe). Yet here it is, and I hope, worth the reading.

The song is Time Was by Wishbone Ash. As I listened I heard feelings from my grief journey. Though not all of the lyrics reflect my feelings, in general, I can really relate. Great music too :

I’ve got to rearrange my life
I’ve got to rearrange my world
I miss you, I need you
I’ve got to keep my memories aside
I’ve got to try to live again

Time was when there were things around to be afraid of
I’ve got cause, I’ve even changed my mind to turn the tables

Time was, when there was no need to stop and rearrange it
Now I’ve got a memory and I don’t want to change it

And there’s a time for waking up and feeling down
It’s when you have to pick your feet up from the ground

Time was when I had you around, I was a strong man
I need you to help me make the change and be a new man

It takes more than a day and a night for giving
It’s not so easy just to change your way of living

Time was when there were things around to bother me
The crime was, I couldn’t start to change my history

Bits and pieces. Musings of a wandering mind. I created this website near the beginning of COVID, as Pam’s disease crept further into her being; as my commitment and responsibilities increased. It’s been nearly three years since its debut (March 14, 2020). So much has changed for so many! Now, let’s get on with – life. Bits and pieces at a time.

Hopes and Dreams

“Hopes and dreams may vanish. Are they based in man-made lies?”

The leading quote to this post is from Heart of Logic, a song I wrote several years ago after watching the movie, A Beautiful Mind. Though the context is completely different from what I feel as I write, somehow the sentiment is similar, if not the same.

I don’t remember having hopes and dreams when I was young. I had no goals, no plans. As I grew, I hoped for love, but didn’t necessarily dream of wife and kids. Those were different times of supposedly “free love” and “peace” and “be here now.”

But marriage and children did come, though I had no concept of the responsibility or challenges associated with them. I love my children – all of them. Children instill hopes and dreams in parents. I hope they have grown up to have hopes and dreams of their own, and can find and follow them.

Pam and I got together when our children were young adults. We mostly hoped for time. Our dream was of growing old together. As we pondered marriage I joked with her that we would have a 30-year contract and we (she) could renegotiate at that time. That would put us in our 70’s, and at that time it seemed so far away. But those hopes and dreams were dashed by disease and we only made it through 25.

Now I hope for a new life. I dream of meeting people and enriching their lives through interaction with mine. I hope for happiness, not in the same way that Pam and I were happy, or I happy just being with her, but some new kind of happiness that I have yet to perceive or even know how to recognize right now.

One of my dreams has been to play (and continue to write) my music for others. I hope that I can meet interesting people, have new social experiences, and affect people’s lives in a positive way in so doing. New music and new songs are emerging, a gift Pam left me with the raw emotions of losing her and in feeling lost.

I hope that writing these posts adds value to your days and to you lives. I realized recently how much I enjoy the writing. Yes, it is cathartic, but I also hope that I am somehow making a difference. You, the readers, appear to be saying my hopes are being realized and hopefully, my dreams. If so, I invite you to share my Musing of a Wandering Mind with others – and share your hopes and dreams with them as well.

May your hopes and dreams be vibrant and uplifting, and my they all come true for you!

A Ghostly Image

He stood leaning forward, both hands on the bathroom vanity trying to accomplish his morning routine. Clearly, something was wrong. I wonder if he knew his time had come. He may have cursed to himself. Or maybe he thought, “finally!” He called to her. “Rae?”

She entered through the bedroom door. Did she have a clue? They shared a brief glance as he collapsed into an empty pile of flesh and bones. Rae knew at that moment that he had died. She called 911, then a friend who lived down the street. Then she called me.

Last picture of Dad taken just three weeks before he died

The paramedics came and began trying to resuscitate him. Mom knew it would be to no avail. She knew the moment he dropped to the floor. Their efforts continued as they took him away, and still at the hospital, until the pronouncement over an hour later. He would not be revived.

That scene played out over six years ago. Yet whenever we talk about Dad, tell stories, share memories, Mom’s first contribution is, “I can still see him collapsing to the floor.”

I was telling Mom’s story to a dear friend who lost her husband of 48 years to Parkinson’s, after his lengthy struggle with the disease. The last year or so was particularly painful as Linda watched Dave slip away into his dementia. They decided to place him in a temporary respite facility (which was within the Hospice facility), waiting for placement in long-term care, as Linda was not able to provide the level of care he needed.

Unfortunately, this was at the height of the COVID outbreak in December of 2020. They knew that when she left him there she would not be able to visit him. They could only hope that respite would take good care of him, that COVID would ebb, and that they would be together again.

But it was not to be. It was only days before Dave succumbed to the ravages of disease. After two days in respite, he went into “Terminal Restlessness.” (I had to look up the term and found it on hospice sites, but not the specific term on medical sites. Read on in the article for similar conditions, “Terminal Agitation” and “Exited Delirium.”) Quickly I realized that Pam suffered with this condition over the last several days (if not weeks) of her life.

Giving permission to change his treatment to calm him, Linda was able to talk with Dave at that time by phone. He fell unconscious two days later. She and their children were allowed to see him, but Dave died a day later while they were getting something to eat. Linda’s lasting memories of Dave are of a final conversation, and the love of her life unconscious in a respite bed.

Past blog posts reference how, when I look at Pam’s picture, I get a glimpse of Pam in our bed, just after her death. I could almost say it haunts me, but that’s not really it. It’s just a lasting image burned into my mind.

Different circumstances. Different stories. Similar haunting memories. As with everything related to losing a close loved one, these memories bear both positive and negative forces. The images confirm what we find so hard to accept; that our loves are missing from our lives. Images that induce self-questions and doubts. Did we do all we could? Did they know we love(d) them? Are we forgiven for our shortcomings?

So much takes place in that split second of remembrance, whenever and whatever triggers it. A dose of reality. A ponderance of self. Wonder about the future. Will there be a time when the memories in our mind’s eye reflect only the happiness and comfort of loving and being loved?

I’ll have to get back to you on that. So far, I am comforted in that, when I see that haunting glimpse, I begin to accept the reality and, most of the time can let it go. I take comfort in knowing that Pam’s suffering is over. In that way I can begin to appreciate again, the smiling woman in the photographs. The person who loved me and with whom I am still in love.

Post Script: Our losses seem to pale in comparison to the thousands upon thousands who are mourning the loss of thousands upon thousand of their loved ones who lost their lives in the devastating earth quakes in Turkey and Syria. Though our losses and grief are real and cannot be discounted, I am again aware of how small we are in the vastness of our world and our universe. May all who grieve and mourn somehow be comforted!

Chameleon (True Colors)

I recorded the song Chameleon for my first (and so far only) CD several years ago. It is posted on my Songs page and is directly referenced above. I’ve been practicing it, along with many other original works, in preparation for live performances this year, and also to record the new ones to post on this site.

An American Anole and an African Chameleon were among the several exotic animals I had when I was younger. Others included a Ferret, two Cockateels, and a 3-foot long Iguana, who’s abbreviated name was Zeke. I used to take him for walks/runs on a leash. Too much fun!

The American Anole flourishes in the SE part of the states. I once found a dead Anole behind a broken window blind in my parents house. They are typically easy to spot. They move fast, and have limited ability to change colors to match their environment. Anoles are fun to see in the wild, but are not much fun as pets.

American Anole

It should not surprise you that African Chameleons are native to – Africa. There are several species. The pictures below resemble the one I had. Unlike the Anole, Chameleons are slow-moving and methodical in their presence. They have amazing turret eyes that move independently and, when food is spotted, they train both eyes forward before unleashing their 6″ to 8″, sticky tongue to capture their prey. Chameleons display a variety of colors and patterns and, consequently, are much more entertaining as pets.

It is this animal that was my muse for Chameleon, a song written about me. I’ve always felt that changing colors to suit the environment I am in reflects my personality. I suspect, however, that we all have a bit of the chameleon in us, changing colors to fit social situations.

African Chameleon

Seems like I often contemplate deeper meanings while looking in the mirror. This week, while gazing at my image and humming the song, I realized that, spending so much time by myself, I have no reason to adjust my colors. Who am I changing them for? I have to recognize who I am – my true colors. I cannot change my innate personality. But self-reflection is not only valuable, these days it’s unavoidable. The song lyrics are as relevant today as they were when I wrote them. But I cannot fool myself. Recognizing and being okay with who I am is the only way I’ll survive this journey of grief, and of life.

A wonderful song came to mind as I was preparing for this post. I’m sure you thought of it too. True Colors, sung by Cyndi Lauper (Songwriters: Billy Steinberg / Tom Kelly), explores different contexts for external and internal human colors. It is an anthem of sorts. Its meaning worth exploring and paying attention to.

True Colors performed by Phil Collins – for Jan

Our inside colors, rather than those we project, are real, and the ones that count! Our feelings about ourselves are a different matter. They also count. I still relate to changing colors – kind of like Chameleons.