Tag: Love

It’s Getting Real – Again

(Shout out to K & K who should recognize the title)

It’s Thursday as I’m writing this. I don’t think I’ll be back in here until next week. I’ll be traveling to Nebraska as this post is published. Meanwhile, my week has become increasingly more difficult as the anniversary of Pam’s death looms. I can feel it in my entire being. Low energy, mood swings, painful memories that sprout up again from their dormant past.

Early last Sunday, having woken up in the middle of the night as is typical, I realized that the hour was close to that of Pam’s passing. One week to go – two years ago. Vivid imagery, as a painful video, played in my mind. I broke into tears.

On the phone with my sister during the week, while we were discussing the ravages of Parkinson’s Disease (her husband had PD also), I walked into the living room and saw in my mind’s eye, family sitting around the room, picture albums and scrapbooks removed from storage totes, evoking painfully good memories for Pam’s siblings and offspring. Always at least one person in the next room with Pam, just being, or praying, recounting memories, or feeding her ice cubes and popsicles. Anything to try to ease her pain. The vigil.

Once again the reminders of Pam’s impactful presence in my life as I go about my daily activities, remembering what we did together or how Pam’s way of doing things has become mine. All the while visions of her, early in our time together, until the end, like a digital auto-biography of her and our life together playing on the screen of my mind as if imaged there.

After all this time I realize that the place I least want to be is the bedroom and find it the most difficult room to be in. I dislike going to bed, giving up the day. Another day without my Pamie. I sleep fine once I get there. The challenge is just getting there. Not only do I miss Pam’s companionship, it is also the place where she breathed her last. The place from which she was taken away, never to return. I cry as I write this!

Last week’s post was a testament to how far I have come in my grief journey, following through on my promise to Pam that I would be okay. But now is a time of intense reflection filled with sorrow and loss. My trip to “Pam’s” bridge on Sunday will be equally, if not more, intense. Yet I know I must go. I’ve known it since I poured her ashes into the stream running through the Bachman family farm.

I don’t plan to make it an annual ritual, but as with many expectations in life, things don’t go as planned. If so, Pam would still be with me/us and we would be enjoying our retirement years traveling, maybe even to the family farm, together. And we would go so many other marvelous places, enjoying them together. But that is not reality. This is.

New Normal

As the 2nd anniversary of Pam’s passing approaches, remembering and, in some cases, reliving what has transpired over the past five plus years, I recognize that I have, in deed, settled into a new normal. I realize that what goes on from day to day in my life centers around “normal” chores, tasks, challenges.

This does not change my love for Pam nor feeling of loss. It does not stop the memories and their associated feelings of love, pain, and anguish. They are now, however, intertwined with my “normal” life.

In these times, one is almost expected to question what “normal” is. In this context, normal is what most people live with and feel as part of their every day living. Normal includes a wide range of activities and feelings, thoughts and actions. People normally deal with aging and loss. We normally have health issues and interpersonal challenges. We laugh, we cry, we enjoy good times, and rue the bad. Feelings of doubt and craziness are part of being normal.

My aging aches and pains are normal for someone my age. My self-reflection and perception are normal. My feelings of love, gratitude, frustration, self-doubt, sadness, and loneliness – are normal.

It is normal to go to bed tired and often reflective of the day’s events, sometimes satisfied, sometimes with anxiety. It is normal to wake up pondering what will transpire, both planned and unplanned, psyching up for whatever the day might bring.

Feelings of happiness, sadness, frustration, contentment, and want are normal. Taking care of home, car, body, all normal. Sharing with friends and family, neighbors, and passers by are typical daily events.

And yet, for me, it’s still a “new normal.” Normal used to be experiencing all of the above with someone so close that you can know, without speaking, what the other is going through. Normal used to be buffered with the love and understanding of the one who loves you more than anyone, and with whom you love. Normal used to be softened by feelings of love and compassion for your partner, your soul mate, if you will.

Now, for me, normal is living alone, accepting this fact and being okay with it and myself – warts and all. Many daily tasks and experiences are the same as they used to be, in the “old normal”, but now I experience them alone. The old normal is captured in a poem our daughter framed for us for our wedding. It is attributed to Apache/Indian folklore, but is actually fake lore (fakelore).

Now you will feel no rain,
for each of you will be
shelter to the other

Now you will feel no cold,
for each of you will be
warmth to the other

Now there is no more loneliness

Now you are two persons,
but there is only
one life before you

Go now and enter into the days of your life together

from the 1947 novel Blood Brother by American author Elliot Arnold and popularized in the film adaptation, Broken Arrow, released in 1950

Poetic verse, prose, or lyrics describing what is MY new normal are still being written. After all, I am still grasping the scope of it. As the anniversary approaches, I suspect that I will contemplate its meaning with renewed intensity. For better or for worse, this, too, is part of my “new normal.”

Do Unto Others…

I’ve been influenced by religions of various forms my whole life. At times fervently pursuing various dogmas and at other times, heightened spirituality. I grew up with mainstream Judaism – Old Testament – teachings and liturgy. After dabbling in Eastern religions, I converted to Christianity during college, which led me to intense immersion into New Testament teachings and new liturgies, with many allusions to my Old Testament understanding, albeit with new perspective.

As my life has unfolded, I have experienced various levels of faith and spirituality, ultimately questioning whether God even exists. Is there some omniscient being managing the entire universe while keeping close tabs on this little blue ball spinning around in its midst? Or are we all just part of the same universal energy taking on different animate and inanimate forms of matter? Those questions I will leave us all to ponder.

But through all of the teachings I have figuratively ingested from the time I began to walk and talk until now, I realize that I attempt to live my life with this one basic tenet:

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you…

Matthew 7:12 (NRSV) – “In everything do unto others as you would have them do unto you; for this is the law and the prophets

Sometimes it’s in the small things, like just saying hello to a passer by. Or picking up some recyclables blown out of a bin in a neighbor’s yard. I enjoy it when I look at someone, hoping to engage, and they look me back in the eye. A connection, even with a stranger.

Simple gestures acknowledging our common humanity go a long way to treating others with respect, with care, with love. Opening doors. Waiting for and on others who do not enjoy the same abilities as I, knowing that it could easily be me at some time in the future. Or my favorite pet peeve, using my turn signal – even when no one is in the area – making sure I am in the habit for when there is.

These are all fine and dandy and make me feel good too. But doing unto others as you would have them do unto you is much larger and more complicated than simple daily gestures. There are millions living with hunger every day. The homeless are always with us. People with disabilities. The elderly and infirm. What level of empathy and compassion do I incorporate into my inner being, into my daily living? At this level, how do I fare? Let’s just say I’m a work in progress.

Clearly, I have ample room for improvement. From swearing at drivers who don’t use their turn signals, to not literally giving the shirt off my back, opportunities for treating others as I would want to be treated abound. Where’s the balance? What are the boundaries? This is the tension I face daily as I travel through my life. And I know I’m not alone in this struggle.

Here’s another one for you:

And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

First Corinthians 13:13 (NRSV)

Please don’t read too much into the fact that both quotes are from the Christian New Testament. I am NOT trying to proselytize nor tout any organized or unorganized religion. My own faith is at the least shaken, if not completely gone. My hope is limited to what I can see and perceive of the universe.

For some reason, though, I believe in love. As I’ve said before, I didn’t understand love until I realized the depth and breadth of my love for Pam and, probably more importantly, her love for me. I recognize love. I want to love. I love the planet and the cosmos. I love people, and all living things. I even love myself – most of the time.

I’ve been told that loving self is precursor to loving others. Maybe so. If loving self is necessary for doing unto others as you would have them do to you, then I’m all for it. It seems so simple. Yet it’s a life-long process. I wish everyone felt and strived for the same. The world would undoubtedly be a better place in which to live!

Strength for a Reason, Strength for a Season

Another from the vault of future topics on which to write. This one, not a quote that I know of, conjures up many potential meanings, none of which I can directly attribute because I did not flesh them out when I added it to the list. I am, however, confident that it had something to do with my grieving process. The need to be strong. The potential that the need may have a finite time frame.

Back from two weeks and 2,400 miles away from home, I begin the process of mentally preparing for the upcoming second anniversary of Pam’s passing, two short/long years ago. I am putting possibly too much weight behind the date. As with my many backpacking trips during which I hope or expect some sort of epiphany about life, I feel the need to attribute some rite of passage to visiting the site in Nebraska where Pam’s ashes were scattered.

Could it actually be a milestone in my grief journey? Have I been strong for this season to culminate in a literal and figurative step forward in my new life without Pam? Based on past experience, I’d say no. Yet somehow I feel like it should. Like it will.

There have been plenty of milestones since May 12, 2022. First it was days, then weeks. Counting months seems to have subsided several months ago. But two years! Is this one particularly significant? In a way, I think so. Not because of a date. But because of how I feel and the way I view life at this juncture.

Being strong through the pain and sadness, clutching almost without hope to the need to play music in Pam’s honor and absence. With the incredible help of family and friends I have come far – much further than I thought possible – through my grief journey. I recognize once more who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. And though the two of us were another amazing being together, Pam never lost who she was, nor did I.

We are no longer the same being, nor will we ever be again. Pam is gone. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Evidenced now only by a bridge to visit on the back country roads in rural Nebraska. I live on with her memory. She lives on through the memories of so many family and friends who knew and love(d) her. I/we cannot change this reality.

Is this the season of transition? Is it the season of change? Of course. There are many impactful changes taking place here and around the world. They are constant – change. I certainly feel that my life’s journey is in transition and that I am ready for change.

I suffer no delusions that transition and change are linear. My emotional ups and downs confirm that change and seasons are cyclical or, as some say about the grief process, a spiral, moving up and around through time. We all live with them. I choose to accept them.

So on I go, embracing each day, remembering yet not living in the past, not afraid of what the future holds. I am thankful for this outlook and hope to continue being strong for good reasons, strong for any season.

May you all find strength and peace amidst life’s changes and seasons.

“Fear is the Thief of Joy”

This is not my quote. I think I saw it on Facebook and liked it – a lot! I retrieved it from a list of future blog subjects I keep online. I’m finally claiming it.

“Would have, could have, should have”, is similar. Often spurred on by fear, the regret this saying suggests is the result of fear retrospectively. Though regret is not always triggered by doing something or choosing not to do something out of fear, it often is the result of it.

There have been plenty of times in my life that I forged ahead into some unknown, fearless of, and often ignorant of, the consequences. We all have. Some are simply bad decisions. In every instance, I have learned some major life lessons as a result. But the decisions I remember so clearly are those when I chose not to pursue something or someone and have since wished I had.

Fear can be a weapon or a power tool to usurp control. This kind of fear certainly robs the victim of Joy. I suspect that it brings no joy to the oppressor, even if there is some sort of satisfaction derived from wielding it.

My education tells me that there is, in fact, healthy fear. Fearing the unknown is entrenched in our instinct for survival. We most likely would not have risen to the top of the animal kingdom without it. Healthy skepticism sometimes can keep us alive.

But we will never know what we would learn, or what pleasure, joy, or satisfaction we would gain, by choosing to let fear dictate our behavior and/or decisions. Like coming to a fork in the path. By choosing one, you never know what was down the other. It is not always the path that looks easiest, flattest, brightest, smoothest, that brings good things to our futures. Sometimes it’s the scary, rough, dark ways where we find our greatest joy.

And that is not always the situation. Sometimes we choose not to do something, say something, offer something, for fear of being rejected, laughed at, ostracized. Social norms, peer pressure, self doubt, keep us from performing such acts as saying hello to a passer by or offering up a compliment to someone who looks nice, speaks well, sings on key. Who amongst us has failed to ask a boy or girl to coffee or a date for fear of a negative response. Fear keeps us from following through. Fear drives us to do things we know we should not. Fear of being alone. Fear of fitting in. Fear that our opinions will meet with resistance, or worse yet, physical harm.

Fear is the thief of joy. My recent experiences have forced me to view life altering decisions in a different way. I am no longer so fearful of taking reasonable risks that might improve my quality of life without harm to others. Another new mantra is “life’s too short.” I cannot afford to delay venturing out, trying new things (something my OCD psyche hates), expanding my circle, making new acquaintances. No one knows what tomorrow will bring. And as I’ve said before, I cannot, and do not live in the past.

That leaves only today to decide what influences my decisions. I choose to be open, kind, empathetic, engaging. I choose to realize that every person is just that. Another human being trying to live their life as best they can with what has influenced them, what they have been given. It’s really quite liberating.

Sure, this MO has its risks. It might even be dangerous. But if the alternative is living in fear, robbed of the potential joys that accompany human interaction, to me it is worth the risk.

What can I say?

It’s late Friday night and I’ve just started this post for Saturday noon release. I’m sitting in a motel room, 100 miles from home, trying to put something together worth your valuable time to read. Not sure I can.

This brief overnighter to visit family is the first of several travels planned over the spring and summer months. More trips to see family, an anniversary trip to Nebraska, and one to celebrate a milestone birthday. Likely more on all that later.

The week went by so quickly! Between appointments, household chores, and much more time playing music, it just seems to have slipped away without enough attention to my faithful readership. Unfortunately, with my upcoming travel schedule, I worry about publishing on a consistent schedule. On the other hand, I hope gather more read-worthy material to write about.

Either way, I’ll do my best to consistently post on Saturdays. For now, I hope you had a quality week and have an even better one to come. After all, wut else javia to do? 😉

PPA:

It’s a TLI
PA: It’s also a TLI, or a TLA

I used to do this in the classroom. There were so many abbreviations. In my jargon, a TLA is a three-letter acronym – and also a two-letter acronym. But I know that actually, PPA is not a three-letter acronym. It’s a three-letter initialism.

Acronym

a word (such as NATO, radar, or laser) formed from the initial letter or letters of each of the successive parts or major parts of a compound term

Merriam Webster Dictionary

Initialism

an abbreviation formed from initial letters

Merriam Webster Dictionary

“Okay”, you might say, “Wut’s this all really about?” Well, I thought I might be coining a new acronym/initialism, but once again, Google search saved me from embarrassment.

PPA is an initialism for Pre-Performance Anxiety. According to WebMD, pre-performance anxiety is stress and anxiety about performing in front of people and causes performance anxiety. PA can be considered either an initialism or an acronym since its letters also form a colloquialism for father. Performance Anxiety is also known as stage fright.

Now do you see where I’m headed with this? I now have two performances scheduled for next week. On Thursday I will participate in an open mic at Sidekick Coffee & Books in Iowa City. I recently added this venue after previously committing to the 55+ Connections Lunch at the North Liberty Recreation Center.

I’ve known about the 55+ gig for some time and have been practicing a set of songs that I hope will engage and somehow positively affect the lives of those who attend. Now that the time is near at hand, I find myself second guessing. Are my music and lyrics really “good” enough for public consumption? Is my presentation polished enough to expose myself to scrutiny? Will my aging, stiff fingers work!!!? On the up side, I do think I’ll remember the words.

I am not self-absorbed enough to think I am the only person who experiences performance anxiety (stage fright). I immediately think of my 13-year-old granddaughter who landed a major part in a community theater musical that opens next Friday, the same day as my 55+ performance. Break a leg, E! And there are others in my immediate sphere who have upcoming meetings and interviews who may deal with similar anxieties.

I found an interesting article, Get excited: reappraising pre-performance anxiety as excitement, on the National Library of Medicine website. Just reading the abstract helped me reframe my perspective:

Abstract

Individuals often feel anxious in anticipation of tasks such as speaking in public or meeting with a boss. I find that an overwhelming majority of people believe trying to calm down is the best way to cope with pre-performance anxiety. However, across several studies involving karaoke singing, public speaking, and math performance, I investigate an alternative strategy: reappraising anxiety as excitement. Compared with those who attempt to calm down, individuals who reappraise their anxious arousal as excitement feel more excited and perform better. Individuals can reappraise anxiety as excitement using minimal strategies such as self-talk (e.g., saying “I am excited” out loud) or simple messages (e.g., “get excited”), which lead them to feel more excited, adopt an opportunity mind-set (as opposed to a threat mind-set), and improve their subsequent performance. These findings suggest the importance of arousal congruency during the emotional reappraisal process.

Alison Wood Brooks 
PsycINFO Database Record (c) 2014 APA, all rights reserved

Next week will be a culmination of an extensive period of hoping, dreaming, and preparing that began even before my retirement and Pam’s illness and death. I’ve conveyed many times my desire to “take it on the road” with Pam during our retirement years, using venues as a tour guide for going places and seeing things together. Something we so enjoyed together.

These two gigs also mark the beginning of a new phase of reaching for the dream. Though I have performed at very limited open mic sessions and in front of a friendly audience of family and friends at a church, these are the first true public appearances in front of people whom I don’t know. No one will have heard the songs. No one will know what to expect. At the 55+, I’m not even sure they know that the program is a musician. They only know that there is a program every last Friday of the month.

Success will look like people not walking out during the first song or shortly thereafter. It will look like people looking at me, perhaps nodding with some sort of mutual understanding. Maybe even clapping? Success will catapult me forward in my journey, give me confidence to book other performances, find other ways to get my music out there. Obviously, failure will look and feel quite different.

Therein lies the fear with pre-performance anticipation. I am excited that I have followed through with the commitment to pursue my music. I believe that I have a message of humanness, one that not everyone is willing to share. It happens to be through music. I am fearful that my musical message will not be received, even though those who have listened have encouraged me.

Performance anxiety, stage fright, is another matter. My mouth gets dry, my heart rate goes up (even more than when I just play the songs), and I have trouble staying focused. My eyes and ears seem to work overtime to ferret out any peculiar distracting input, of which there are ample, when one is on stage. Practice, even trying to imagine myself at the venue, helps. Just thinking about looking out over the audience during practice is enough to distract me. Thus, the more I do it, the better I will be able to focus – I hope.

Again, none of this is unique to me. I am sure that many of you can relate at some level. And again, I am just egocentric enough to think it’s worth writing about. That you might enjoy the reading, and maybe get something worthwhile out of it.

By this time next week, all of the anticipation, anxiety, excitement, and of course, the performances will be over. I will have an emotional let down, as I always do. I will review and evaluate the outcome. Then I will pick myself up and figure out the next plan. Yet I have made a greater commitment – to Pam:

I will go on. I will be okay.

Wandering Writings

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9
January thaw

More On Birds

Whoosh! I connected the sound.

Though all of my menagerie of feathered friends take to flight at the slightest movement or sound (except maybe the robins), departing sparrows are most noticeable simply due to their numbers. I had not recognized until this week that they make a collective sound as they depart from the bushes and ground just outside my living room window. I suppose my hearing devices pick up the whoosh better than with just my unaided hearing, but I was taken aback when I realized the soft sound was associated with their flight. Now I notice it all the time. Fun!

Goldfinches

American Goldfinches are hereby added to the menagerie. They are less noticeable in the winter when the males lose their golden color and thus blend in with the sparrows and other finches. But I was able to recognize them in the birch tree, feeding on its seed pods as they dangle, totally exposed, from the leafless branches.

Goldfinches are a treat, both visually and acoustically. Our neighborhood includes many echinacea plantings that produce a thistle-like seed pod at the center of their flowers – a favorite of the goldfinch. Goldfinches stay here the year round and I do enjoy their songs. You can listen by clicking the link above.

More On Bluebirds

One more note regarding bluebirds. Last week’s post instilled in me a desire to set My Little Bluebird to music. I listened to their songs on the link included previously and am attempting to emulate and include them, currently with chord progressions that I hope to put with the words. I’m thinking it’s going to take some massaging of the verse to make it work, but I look forward to creating something new and meaningful.

More on birds
January Thaw

Ecclesiastes 1:9

What has been is what will be,
and what has been done is what will be done;
there is nothing new under the sun.

Book of Ecclesiastes, New Revised Standard Version

I think of this verse often as I ponder what to write to you about each week. I am self-aware enough to realize that my musings are simply different ways of expressing the same thoughts and feelings, observations and sensations, that humans, and maybe other animals and plants, have experienced since time began. I am self-centered and bold enough to express them anyway!

The wisdom in this verse also applies, and I think of this often also, to what’s going on in the world around us. I remember, many years ago (like back in the ’60s and ’70s) trying to impress upon my dad the tenuous times we were in. He would always respond that all which I mentioned, wars, floods, earthquakes, climate change, etc. have been with mankind since the beginning. It does not portend the end of the world.

Fifty plus years later, I think I understand and accept that he was right. Unfortunately, just because it’s nothing new, nor does our current global “situation” necessarily mean the end of mankind, nor that it has all happened before and the deeds being done repeat previous mistakes, make it easier to accept and deal with individually or collectively. When will we ever learn?! (scroll down to listen)

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9

January Thaw

After one of the harshest beginnings to a new year, with record-breaking snow totals, January appears to be going out like a lamb here in eastern Iowa. I listened to the snowmelt dripping from the downspout each time I woke last night. I’m sure I’ll hear it again tonight as there is still plenty of snow on the roof and temperatures are predicted to remain above freezing. Additionally, we have a 100% chance of rain later today and into the night (Thursday). Rain! In January!

Add to that the dense fog that lingers all day as the humidity level stays nearly equal to the ambient temperature, a result of the melting snow. Sure beats sub-zero cold! Hopefully, February will take the hint and keep up the “nice” weather.

Still, cabin fever is setting in. But with daytime temperatures in the 30’s and maybe even 40’s next week, I am braving the weather for some outside walks. The brisk air is refreshing and still preferable to inside exercise.

The combination of cabin fever and temperate weather give me incentive to plan for travels again. Thus, I have a plan for the time around the second anniversary of Pam’s passing. Another trip to “her” bridge. Last year’s adventure was just that. You may recall I had to abandon my camping trip due to severe weather. This year, no camping. Rather I plan to visit other places along the way that I have wanted to return to.

Another trip south to visit my family, especially my Mother, around Atlanta is also in the works. Hopefully, this will become another adventure including new destinations along the way. I am also planning a special trip to celebrate a milestone birthday somewhere I can camp and hike. I’m looking into going east instead of west. No decisions yet.

January thaws are nothing new either. I am, however, happy to be looking forward to spring and summer. Happy to think of successfully making it through a second winter alone. Barring any unforeseen calamities, it appears that I will. And this winter will have been a much better one than its predecessor.

May the rest of your winter be healthy and hopeful.

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9
January thaw

Birds

A pair of Cardinals has been nesting somewhere nearby for several years now. They mate for life. They warm my heart for several reasons. They are beautiful, regal birds. The male’s bright red color, complete with pointed tuft, exudes confidence and power. He is first to the cardinal feeder, approaching cautiously, peering out from one of the surrounding trees before swooping out to perch on the tray filled with Safflower. The Mrs., though less conspicuously brown with red highlights, matches her mate in majesty with the same tufted head and powerful profile.

When I wake early enough, I see them in the dawning light, half hiding as in shadow so as not to be seen and somehow in danger. Always cautious, the slightest movement, either from the outside, or if I am seen through my window, puts them to flight. They repeat the pattern at dusk. I find myself keeping open my blinds in hopes of catching a glimpse in the fading light after sunset. Sometimes, and it seems especially on these cold, snowy days, they come out during the day. Mr. Cardinal prefers the feeder, Mrs. Cardinal, the ground (or snow currently) where seeds have been kicked off the feeder ledge, mostly by the many messy sparrows that ‘grace’ our feeders every day – all day.

Mr. C. at Sunset

Pam’s Mother loved cardinals. Thus, do her children and grandchildren. One of them gave us a Metalbird tree ornament that now protrudes from the Birch tree outside my living room window near the feeders. Since her passing several years ago, the prevailing thought is that somehow the presence of a cardinal indicates her spirit visiting among us, usually at times of want or need. I don’t know about that, but they are no less a reminder of our loved ones (I now include Pam) whenever they appear. That is special!

Cardinals are by no means the only birds to visit the feeders my neighbor and I have hanging on shepherd’s hooks between our houses. Most numerous and pesky are the sparrows. I’ve counted upwards of forty fluttering balls of brown and white feverishly attacking every type of feeder and the spillage on the ground around them. They remind me of coots on a lake swimming along the shore in hoards, hoping for some tasty marine morsels. Or bluegill in a pond, lurking along the edges and milling just under the surface in the deeps, always hungry; ready to snatch the bait or tied flies I cast in hopes of bass or trout.

Fewer in number, and not quite as pesky, are the house finches. Their size and shape are similar to sparrows. But their colorings make me think that at some point there must have been some hanky panky between some cardinals and sparrows. I like them, though, I guess for their colorings as much as anything.

Chickadees are so much fun. They flit about like cardinals, always cautious, always aware. Often arriving in pairs, they first settle in the trees then dart over to the cardinal feeder, take one seed, then return to a branch, pecking at it between their toes to break the shell and enjoy the meat inside. Then off again to the feeder and back. But never returning to the same branch. Their lighthearted appearance lifts mine as I watch.

I also like the juncos. They are typically ground feeders that seem to be around more in the winter months. They are easy to spot against the snowy blanket and dine on the buffet created by sparrows spilling their fare from the feeders above.

Many years ago, in another town, outside another window, I had two woodpecker feeders among several others. I delighted in attracting several species from downy and hairy, to flickers and pileated. Once in a great while a true red-headed woodpecker would grace me with its presence. So far, since hanging the feeder here, my only patron has been the downy. But I keep hoping.

Just recently, a pair of blue jays found their way back to the area after a very long absence. Though they are bullies, they are beautiful so I like seeing them around.

There are many other birds I listen and look for when I am walking through the woods or along the waterways. Of course the eagles and hawks enthrall me still. But now the one I wish most to see is the Bluebird. They are somewhat rare around here, migrating from the south to breed. I’ve always enjoyed seeing their bright blue plumage. Now this species means so much more to me. The bluebird on my mantel reminds me also of the beauty of the person I once knew as my wife. This could be the makings of a song (or at least a poem). Oh, wait. It already is.

My Little Bluebird

Born of a Cardinal and a stone
She never wanted to be alone
Much too soon she flew away
The world will never be the same
She was my little Bluebird

    My little Bluebird You flew away
    Could you not stay for another day
    With broken wing and a heart of gold
    We never had the chance to grow old

A lovely bird kept my feet on the ground
Her arms around me, so comfortably bound
As one together, yet free to be
Our love of each other let us see
She was my little Bluebird

    My little Bluebird you flew away
    Could you not stay for another day
    With broken wing and a heart of gold
    We never had the chance to grow old

Now you live on in my heart and mind
A new life I now must find
Without you I feel so alone
But for you I will make it on my own
You are my little Bluebird

    My little Bluebird You flew away
    Could you not stay for another day
    With broken wing and a heart of gold
    We never had the chance to grow old

You gave my life meaning
Yet we didn’t understand
Why you were losing yours
Why am I keeping mine?
I go on for you my little Bluebird

    My little Bluebird You flew away
    Could you not stay for another day
    With broken wing and a heart of gold
    We never had the chance to grow old

(c)

No Travel Plans – I Am Home!

Every week I hope to conjure up some new, interesting topic to write about. Something other than exposing my life and psyche for all the world to see. Once in a while I am successful. The task, however, is made more difficult by shying away from politics and religion. Maybe some day. Meanwhile, I continue to share my inner thoughts and feelings in hopes that the reading is worthwhile and maybe will touch someone in a positive, healing way.

For the first time since Pam’s passing nearly 20 months ago, I have no travel plans. No holidays, no projects out of town, no weekend visits. I have no planned trips to Atlanta (yet), or vacations to plan for. Nor do I have any camping or backpacking trips planned. Though I think about that often. I did, however, book my first gig for February. But it’s here, within a mile from home.

I am home. I sit in my easy chair and look around while I’m on the phone or reading. I’ve been in the music studio a few times since the year began. I view the other end of the large family room to see another sitting area along with my rowing machine. And while I am rowing, I see my studio (funny how that works 😉 )

My home is transformed. Much of the furniture is the same. Some a bit rearranged. Many pictures and mementos on the walls and shelves are as they have been for years. Some have been replaced with ones I found in storage.

I have many reminders of my amazing Pam1. Her Bluebird on the mantel. Pictures of us from our early years together. Always we are close together, always smiling – for real! Sometimes I still buy daisies and alstroemeria, placed in an Isabel Bloom vase on the dining room table. Based in the Quad Cities, their decorative concrete sculptures were integral with Pam’s growing up there. I have many figurines depicting angels, animals, and various holiday representations. I enjoy seeing them around the house. Happy reminders of Pam’s happy things.

As I look, I see that home is now mine. Though I sleep in the same bed, I am beneath different covers. Different towels, mats, and curtains adorn my ensuite. Dishes, tools, and gadgets are organized for my sole use in the kitchen. And from my chair I scan the living and dining rooms to find that they now reflect me, rather than “we”.

Now when I look I have memories. Not forgetting all we had together, nor how we lost it. But not so much constantly reliving the painful times. Beginning to reflectively smile at the good times. I am becoming comfortable at home.

  1. As I navigate through my new life, I am constantly aware – possibly more now than before – of what an amazing human being Pam was. Of course, no one is perfect. But seemingly, her entire being was of love and giving. Always seeing good in people, with the possible exception of herself. Kind. Gentle. Humble. Caring. Loving. Devoted. Sweet. Naive? I am humbled by having been loved by this wonderful woman and by my fortune in knowing her and loving her so intensely. It is truly better to have loved…!