Living in Hope, Always

2022 has been a really hard year for me; in many respects, the hardest year I’ve ever experienced.  Tiger the cat died in January.  My partner was angry and unhappy for much of the year and on my birthday  her blow up ended the relationship.  JT graduated college - a moment of enormous pride and joy for me - but he struggled with the meaning and purpose of his life in the aftermath.  It made for the most challenging parenting I’ve ever experienced.  

The year closes better than it started and given this storm of a year, that’s no small matter.  I wrap up 2022 aged 55 and single, a status I still find surprising to contemplate.  I am not lonely on my own, though I’m a little scared of growing old by myself and being a burden on JT.  I wonder why I never found someone to love me for the long haul.  In my darker moments, that makes me believe that there is something wrong with me.  I know that down that path lies despair.  Mostly, I avoid going there. 

Instead, I square my chin, make a list of the things for which I am grateful, and dismiss my self-doubts.  I remind myself that I am kind and funny; loyal and true.  I consult my affirmations and repeat that I am amazing, smart, and worthy.  Stylish and charming.  Beautiful.  Loved.  I’ve got a whole list of happy adjectives to repeat to myself as a reminder of the things I have going for me.  I know and recognize that truth.   

I always say that I live in hope and though much of 2022 felt like I was grasping for that hope in the midst of inky darkness, the year ends better than it began.  That’s hopeful and happy.  Here’s to 2023, with its new beginnings and living in hope.  

Self-Care and Kindness

In the aftermath of the break-up with T, I looked for ways to be kind to myself.   This is not a trait that comes easily to me but if ever a year called for kindness to myself, it is 2022.  I vowed to remember the little niceties that make my days better.  So it was that even when JT was out of the house, I set the dining room table and made supper for myself.  

Over the last few months, holding to this habit has paid dividends.  I sit with candlelight, music, something to read and I enjoy an evening meal.  There’s nothing quite like a cloth napkin, a home-cooked meal, and a seat at the table to remind myself that though I may feel bewildered and bruised by the last few months, I am still worthy.  

And I’ve the soup to prove it.

Gratitude: Playing Hearts

I love to play games - especially card games - and during Christmas in California there were a lot of opportunities to play.  I enjoyed all of it but I especially enjoyed playing Hearts on Christmas Eve. 

I spent most of my tween years resenting my kid status and remember being allowed to play Hearts with the adults with great fondness.  Seated at the table with my grandparents and parents made me feel like I was being taken seriously, the singular goal of my adolescence.  My Dad is a fiend at the game and, as I recall, he would “shoot the moon” with frequency; that he was often successful impressed me then.   

On Christmas Eve, my nephew C dealt out a game of Hearts and I played with him and my Mom and Dad.  True to my memory (and his history), Dad smoothly shot the moon on the first hand.  He did it the deadly certainty I remember from all those years ago.  My Mom saw it coming but, like the rest of us, she was powerless to stop it.  C was impressed and that was fun to see.  I haven’t played Hearts with my Dad for years but this game brought it all back.  It was one of the nicest hours I spent during my holiday and I am so grateful that C dealt me in.

Seeking the Power of the Universe

I have a vivid memory from the year I moved to Nashville, of going for a Fall walk at Radnor Lake and being among the trees.  They were vastly different than the pine forests I saw on my childhood visits to the Sierra Nevada mountains, but, like those trees, their greatness was a comfort I hadn’t realized I needed.  They brought me peace and a sense of the universe beyond me and my temporal concerns.  From then on, I have seen the woods and tall trees as my place to seek peace;  to offer gratitude to the universe; and to fill my thirsty soul.    

This past Summer, when things were at their hardest, I shared this story with JT and encouraged him to seek that power and peace for himself.  The trees helped me through those days and I hoped that they would also help him.  In November, after my partner and I went our separate ways, walks in the woods were my comfort and solace when things felt their most difficult.   

For my birthday I received a tiny silver charm with a tree.  It was part of a surprise gift box I bought myself and that I received a tree charm felt like the universe was looking out for me.  I’ve been wearing the charm of late, a talisman of the trees, as I find my way forward in my reorganized life.    

JT and I head home to New Jersey tomorrow.  With plenty of time off still on the horizon for me, I’m looking forward to a daily walk in the woods for the rest of the Winter Break holidays.  Among the trees I will soak in the power of the universe and turn my face toward the sun.  

That’s happy.

Home'ish

I’ve come with JT to California for Christmas, to spend time with my family and to try something different as I am once again single at age 55.  Clovis feels like home in some ways —— my family; places and scenery that I recognize; stories and jokes that are familiar.  The neighborhoods where my family lives are all new but the tidy rows of new homes look familiar to me, even if they aren’t the neighborhoods I grew up in.  I find such streets comforting; the newest blocks of them tidy and matching in a Disney sort of fashion that I find charming.

I had forgotten the way holiday lights look in the misty fog, but the  sight is familiar from my childhood and it stills retains its magic all these years later.  I love the holidays and the traditions, even those that are different from my own, and I’m glad to feel included.  I’m thinking about the hard parts of 2022 - there were a lot of them - and the gratitude I feel now, as the year ends.  I’m thinking about the coming of 2023, not bringing expectations to that prospect, but with a reminder to be gentle and kind toward myself as I see what the universe brings for me.

There’s a blessing to be found in that, as I am in my hometown at peace.  Clovis is a world that often felt foreign to me when I was growing up here, where I didn’t often feel welcome or a part of it.  I feel at home with myself now and that is enough, good, even.  I am grateful to be here and look forward with confidence that I always manage to locate hope when I need it.

Brrrr

We are smack dab in the middle of Winter right now and last week’s storm made this clear.  The snow was pretty and the light at sunset was splendid.

This Winter has seemed darker than usual and so I turn to familiar comforts.  Bright colors and stripes are lined up in my closet.  My cozy red flower hat helps to keep my eyes on the prize.  

Living in floral hope around here.

February 1 Flowers

 If there is one truth in my world, it's that flowers make everything better.  To say so long to the struggles of January, I brought home some pink tulips.

That's happy.

Week Five

Every school year, sometime around week five, I become convinced I have developed a terminal illness.  My body aches at the end of the day, supper seems like an enormous undertaking, and I crawl into bed at 9 pm, already half-asleep.  I debate how to tell my family that my time is up.  Then I call my sister, a fellow teacher whose year starts a bit earlier, and she reminds me that it’s week five, and my condition is chronic but not terminal.  Soon after that, I gain my school legs, and I’m fine. 

This morning, I got up at 5:30 am, crawled into the shower, and was pleased to discover that overnight my vision had magically improved so that I could see clearly.  Two seconds later, my glasses were dripping wet.  I had gotten into the shower with them on.  

It’s week five, y’all.

Fall in Sight

The backyard dogwood tree is rather a harbinger of things to come.  It’s my first sight of Spring in April and come September, its leaves begin to turn ever-so-slightly.  I enjoy a daily check of the changes at hand.  This was the tree three weeks ago.   

Last week, a few more leaves had begin to turn.  

Yesterday, color was coming to all of the leaves on the side of the tree that faces West.  

This tree barely reached the roofline of the first floor when I moved here in 2005.  These days, it’s rather larger than that, though still very much in the shadow of Old Man Tree, and always a treat when I spy its branches.

Old Man Tree October 1

September of any school year is typically exhausting but September in pandemic school was well beyond that.  In the first full week, we quarantined more than 20 kids;  the next week brought another dozen at home.  Students have been a bit off the rails on the adolescent behavior front.  It’s been a challenging month.   Each day, I’d come home and take some time to admire Old Man Tree, the sentinel of time in my back yard and a reminder of the many things that endure even as life seems upside down.       

For all the difficulties of September, the teaching and learning - with every kid in class and none on Zoom - has been absolutely splendid.  I love that part of school again and it’s a most-welcome development.    As we settle into October’s shortening day, learning feels almost normal.  Mother Nature has been kind to us when it comes to outside recess and the changing leaves are here.

Old Man Tree is getting ready for the next season.  Under his careful watch, I’ll be ready as well.