How Old Are You?

The air was crisp this morning.

Not crisp like a packet of crisps, but bright, cold, clear and fresh.

There's just something about fall that makes it my favorite. The spicy smells, the wind, the rain, the gray skies and growing early darkness in the evenings... the early morning sun.

Fall is like spring, but reverse.
You start with the lovely earthy, fresh smells and progress through the sun warming the chilled frost on the blades of grass and the bark of trees, to the dry peppery smell of crunching leaves which cascade into winter.

I need a scarf, I thought to myself as I sprinted through open front door.

Seuss had escaped to the front yard by pawing the door open and it was only because I heard the screen gently bang shut behind him that I knew he'd gotten out.

He was rolling delightedly on the pavement, and then, at my approach, he strolled daintily (if you can call a giant black Maine Coon Tabby dainty) around to the car, winking at me and rubbing his chin and body against the yellow paint of our vehicle.

Sighing to myself and smiling at him, I calmly walked behind until he looked over his shoulder up at me, and sat down.

I scooped the large cat up and his fur was cool, then warm in my arms. He immediately began to purr fiercely, his eyes widening and then closing to satisfied green slits.

He was covered in twigs, leaves and dirt from his little roll.

Why the pavement feels so good to him, I'll never know!

Humming to myself, we strode back into the house.

Plopping him down, I grabbed a light and soft scarf and wrapped it loosely around my neck.  My black cap was slipped onto my crazy hair and coffee in hand, I slipped out the door for a second time, turning the lock behind me.

Walking through the neighborhood, I ran into a fellow and his dog, whom I'd met before on my morning excursions.

We smiled and exchanged pleasantries. I was struck by the briskness of the morning air; noticing he was wearing only a t-shirt and shorts.

Walking down the block and across, I paused by the corner to admire my favorite big old house with the mature trees and wrap around porch. Inhaling deeply I felt the minty, cleansing, frigid air whoosh in and out of my lungs.

I continued on.

Down the sidewalk path, past the old trucks lining the street, across to the big white house with the placard, onto my favorite street.

The one where all the houses seem bright and cheerful; somehow reminding me simultaneously of the old ranch style stone places from my early childhood, as well as the New England victorians. All brightly colored and muted too; beautiful gardens, sunshine filtering through the trees.... I love this street.

As I walked through the cool, I thought... I wonder why I feel old sometimes.

You see, I'm not talking about stiff joints and muscles old (though that happens too); I'm talking about my soul.

My soul feels old.

I don't mean simply the familiar fact that it's been inhabiting my living, eating, breathing cells for almost 29 years now; I'm stating the fact that my SOUL is OLDER than my body.

It just has to be; I can feel it.

Things aren't surprising to my soul.

The way it feels when music of any kind is playing; it likes to vibrate and swell and respond.

The way it feels when I dance or sing.

My soul lives in the center of my being, but sometimes it creeps itself up into my heart and like a warm and furry critter curling up, circling around before bed, it snuggles and wraps around.

This is why I cannot deny my heart anything. Believe me, I've tried.

Any time I attempt to ignore how my heart feels, it completely bites me in the behind -- every, single, time.

My brain occasionally thinks that it can override my heart; that in fact, it is logically in control-- NOT so.

When I think I must go against my heart, I learn the HARD way that it is futile to resist; the heart knows better than the brain speculates.

My heart is willing to entertain ideas from my brain, but never, NEVER will my heart relinquish control.

The heart has more power, you see.

The brain is simply an extension of the heart at the center.

Ever heard of those wild stories about transplant patients? I remember reading one about a fella' who had a heart transplant. Before the procedure, he eschewed red meat and certain types of music, and several other things. After the surgery, he found himself using phrases that he never used to use, craving steak, and liking genres he'd never thought possible.

One of the phrases he used was, "We're copasetic," and I think he said it to the wife of the heart donor, or something, and she gasped, because that was a sentence used by her heart-donor-late-husband.

Muscle memory indeed.
SOUL memory.

Ok, here, I found the story about the  Heart Transplant fellow.

Anywho, I'm not sure why that popped into my head just now, but it makes PERFECT sense to me.

Echoes are real --- energy echoes --- traces of everything that's happened; past, present and future.

Circles are profound for a reason.

Ok, I'm waxing ridiculous here.... but I mean it.

Music, words, touches, smells, tastes, memories, deja-vu, intuition, dreams, reminders, feelings... all of it has meaning when it needs to, and sometimes when it doesn't.

I know because my soul tingles inside my cells every day; and it's OLD.

It's compassionate and it has lived through more than my body has--- it identifies with things that I have never experienced, but which feel true as though I had.

It's one of the reasons I love people of all ages; they're funny, familiar, interesting and my heart reaches out to them of it's own volition --- my body must follow.

My soul is very old, and I'm quite glad it's retained some of the wisdom it had before settling into my body.

Physically I'm pretty young: 29 this November.

However, as my body grows in age, my soul begins to delight because it is OLD, though I am not... yet.

My red-hair has some bright white unicorn strands in it's coppery blend;
my hyper-mobile joints give me more grief than they used to after hyper-extension;
my system wants more raw veggies, fruit and nuts-- less alcohol, sugar and grease;
my stomach argues against caffeine and processed foods;
my system longs for the ocean --- not the pool;
my skin must have it's moisturizer and goodly doses of water all the time;
my muscles must work and stretch-- they have to move to stay toned as they used to have time before-- now they do not;
my elimination system cannot wait or be ignored for long;
my allergies are both worse and better;
and yet....

I am excited to be growing older-- this is a journey that everyone must make, no matter what else they'd like to do.

I want to be the kind of Grandma who has a nickname that isn't Gramma' or Grandmother or Grandma, but more along the lines of Mimi, Gran, Baba or some other hybrid cute old lady label.

Next time, I'll post about the midnight cookies. Halloween is coming up, so it'll be perfect.

For now, I simply know that my body is slowly, but surely catching up to my soul. Certainly my soul will outlive my cells; it's already far older than I think I will ever live to be.

I think there's a joy in life that apexes; I try to live each moment as though it were the time of my life, the continuous and flowing BEST moment of my life.

Sometimes it is and sometimes not.

All I know is that I'm not scared of being old; I'm looking forward to it.

I'm in no hurry of course.  It's about the journey, not the destination, but the age of my soul gives me glimpses of what is to be.

I hope it happens.

My soul is old, and I'm sure it has more wisdom than the youth of my body.

My soul is old; and I am thankful.

It's Been So Long....

It's been so long since last I wrote; quite busy has been life.

My novel's length has moved along, but blogging-- dull the knife.

J's schedule changed, and rearranged our lives seem now to be.

I hope that next semester switches back for him and me.

The good news: in Vermont we stayed and had a lovely time.

With fresh food, rain and laughter all; twixt parents that were mine.

Soon fall shall sweep into the air; crisp leaves and pumpkin things.

The spicy smells, the scarves and bells to toll in winter brings.

My food woes lift and sink again; it's difficult to bear.

Now salads reign; inflam-X shakes and vegan most my fare.

This summer past, not first nor last my choice of happenings is.

To those I saw, or did not see: my love for you I give.

Shakespeare would say, "You'll rue the day!" of shattered timing shift.

Our wedding plans with reprimands, has February slipped.

On Valentine's, my heart be mine, my fellow soon I'll wed.

To think that three short years have past; time happily spent-- fled.

Some troubled thing my mind doth bring up to the forefront now.

Explain in vain and hopeful must I be until that vow.

Oh creatures here, and reading there please know we'll make it through.

There's not that places lesser deeds before the ones ring true.

With this I leave my blog bereaved but with some stronger hope.

Next time I post; it won't be long, I'll use a faster stroke.

Rain Rhymes with Pain, but Please Don't Use It.

I long to feel the rain pour,

My body aches with muscles shorn,

Can't bear to see you any more: Leave well enough alone.

---

I must needs taste the wet come down,

The water running, swirling round'

Soft, swallow up my heart and drown this hole beneath my breast.

---

Ears strain to whispers-- thunder start,

Rumbling, rolling deep, to thwart

The thoughts that spaced too far apart make me forget myself.

---

Commence with the storm,

Weather no surprise,

Raining, drenching cold,

Blood beats warm inside.

---

Lightening quicken air,

Water take me where,

Cleansing downpour falls,

Crashes over walls.

---

Heavy liquid lands,

Flows up every space,

Swirls the muddy ground

Floods into this place.

---

Black and inky torrent,

Drips on every surface,

Maddening the torment,

Quelching in its purpose.

---

Soak my skin and bones,

Slick me like the stones,

 Fly through night, mine-own; I shall lift my light.

---

Climb atop the bridge,

Stance upon the ridge,

Toes sink in the pitch; Worlds shine bright below.

---

Wingspan stretch- full spout,

Fingers spread fanned-out,

Open armed about; Laughter burbling up.

---

Liquid strip my clothes,

Beat upon my flesh,

Wash away my woes,

Help clean up this mess.

---

Pitter, patter, pound,

Leaping from the sky,

Raindrops make the sound,

Waves crash by and by.

---

Seek my soul sustained,

Drench me to the core,

Hope interred remains.

Rivulets keep score.

---

Deafening the sheets,

Fill me to the brim.

If this love repeats,

Take my heart from him.

---

Wrap me in the rain,

Steep my soul that's stained,

Fill me up again; Stars mix with the rest.

---

Slap the streets so black,

Rivers, streams attack,

There's no looking back on this broken bit.

---

Slicing through the air of night,

Trees sway forth and into sight,

Winds that whip with all their might; Silence is the rest.

Yesterday, and Today.

Thank You Neighborhood

Walking through the neighborhood, see the ground upon I stood.... warm.

Drifting through the open air, a garden here a garden there... fragrant.

Temperature is most delicious, cool, clean and quite nutricious... breath. 

Stepping through the sunlight falling, cascades on the pavement calling... wet.

Shadows dancing through the sun, trees that sway and rooted ton... weight.

Glancing all around my body, morning walks are sure a hobby... fresh.

Memories-- things oft and late, flitting through mine peaceful state... soft.

Time is tender in this place, far away from running race... joy.

Feet tread lightly on this walk, see a person stop to talk... meet.

In this purpose hallowed be, blessing rock and plant and breeze... honest.

Opening my door I find, I leave mind distraught behind... free.

Have a care and blessed be, namaste and love to thee... heart.

Religion's not of what I speak, I say nature, take a peek... open.

Breathe in light and sun and air, take your time and have a care... be.

Tend your life as garden weed, pull the strife and feed the seed... trust.

 What you seek you'll surely find, leave the pain and fear behind... see.

On this walk I do declare, fancy is this morning air... here.

Beat my heart and flow my blood, feel the life that through me thuds... strength.

Close my eyes and feel my skin, tickled by the lightened wind... true.

My world is what I make it, aye, life is choosing living by... thought.

Returning home I feel sensated, relaxed, renewed and hurt abated... I shall walk again.

-------

Warm fragrant breath-- wet weight.

 Fresh soft joy? Meet honest free heart! 

Open be. 

Trust. 

See here: strength-- true thought. 

I shall walk again.

----------------

Some Weekends are More Difficult than Others.

Some Weekends...

Alarm doesn't sing, it shouts. 

The time isn't in, it's out.

The plan isn't good, it's poor.

Our feet can't get out the door.

Forgotten is traveling alone.

Mindless a body-like drone.

Too many things left behind.

Strange that we look, but can't find.

Run to the car, scramble in.

The gas light's on E again.

The doctor is waiting for us.

We're trapped behind a great big bus.

No coffee has J had this morn.

I have; he's grumpy with scorn.

We're en route to knife and pain.

Wisdom Teeth removed from main. 

First the nitrous, then the drip.

Into the IV it slips.

J goes out, he seems at peace.

I am ushered to my feet.

Reading in the waiting room.

I feel worried, gloom and doom.

He'll be fine-- I tell myself.

If he's not they'll call for help.

Soon they bring me back to him.

Brightly lit; the room's not dim.

J is groggy, cannot see.

Reaches for my hand, "It's me."

Doc says everything went well.

J can leave and soon will swell.

Lots of rest but please eat food.

Give him drugs to improve his mood.

In a week we shall return.

Follow up exam to learn.

Now must get J to the car.

Weaving, bobbing, it's not far.

Driving home he's feeling sick.

Stomach churning, pain that pricks.

Soon we're home and he's in bed.

Resting softly, propped up head.

Ice packs, pain pills, mushed up food.

Drugs that make him float un-glued.

Swelling cheeks and headache hot.

Rub his feet and soothe his lot.

Cranky, cooped-up, tired and sore.

Advil helps, but not full-score.

Still no sleeping, sweating sick.

Dial up the doctor, quick!

Says it's normal, but if not.

He'll see us; tomorrow sought.

This is how our weekend went:

Difficult, but finally spent.

Ah, Memories... Do You Remember, Recall, Review?

I Remember.

I remember when the days were full of sunshine, green grass and tree hugs.

When the light smelled of rain; the sun of dust on the flagstones.

When I was little and the trees, cars and buildings were... not.

I remember my sneakers slapping on the hot, smooth concrete, worn down by tire treads and bicycles.

The haze of heat, wafting and hovering just above the ground and along the skyline. 

Tasting lemonade, sweet tea, and the dark delicious shiver of AC as you step indoors... from out.

I remember soft, wet earth, the smell of dirt off the garden hose, the wet grass sparkling in the sun.

Round fresh tomatoes, warm from the afternoon, glowing in the evening on their spicy vines.

The sigh and whisper of the cool breeze through the trees, outstretched and reaching against the sky.

I remember being called in for lunch, for supper, and to get ready to go somewhere... respectable.

The skinned knees of summer, spring and fall; concrete changes temperature but never texture.

Popping over to neighbor's houses, to talk and learn and explore their lives too.

I remember the soft, firm hands of my mother; her skin like... satin.

The rough, square handsome hands of my father; dirt from the gardens beneath his nails.

The lazy creak of the porch swing as we sat and shivered from the warm rain in the heavy night.

I remember lightening, thunder and staring wonder-struck at the storm.

The buttery, toasty, sweet smell of baking pies, cookies and cakes.

The salty, rich, fragrance of soups, sauces, roasts and stew.

I remember the cool, crisp raw growing things; picked and eaten happily on the ground...by the vine.

The singing smell of pumpkin bread and melting butter; filling the house with it's spicy, deep warmth.

The fall leaves changing colors and the air itself growing crisp and peppery.

I remember warm, sweet smelling sweat glistening on... skin.

The fresh, clean smell of open water; gleaming like molten glass on the surface.

The fantastic mid-weight of a warm quilt- fresh from the dryer, wrapped around oneself.

I remember voices laughing on the wind, leaves twisting and flipping their underbellies upward.

The squelch of cold, cold mud under bare feet; thick like peanut butter left in the icebox.

The taste of candy; gooey and melted from sitting in a pocket too long.

I remember music floating through the neighborhood, oldies and contemporary, classical and jazz.

The stale smell of wood-polish, varnish and leather in the murmuring carpeted quiet of church.

The scolding for tearing my Sunday tights and muddying my dress; climbing trees... to avoid attending.

I remember singing with my family to my father playing the piano. 

My mother perched on the couch arm beside him, her body turned toward the sound.

The still of the night and of the early morning before everything ends... and begins again.

I remember soft lies, kind eyes, lullabies and awkward sighs. 

Not knowing what to say to someone new, interesting and different smelling.

Suddenly shy; sneakers make circles in the dust, or across the grass.

I remember all of my senses alive; taking in; wishing I was older and younger at the same time.

I remember the adventures I had with the people, animals, trees and world I knew.

I remember... and I hope I never forget.

When It Rains, It Pours...

FINALLY! It's thunder storming... my absolutely favorite weather.

Is it odd that rain cheers me up? Aside from the fact that our state has been on fire; I think not.

I'm always able to think more clearly when it rains.

Yesterday I made cookies with the following (all organic or all natural) ingredients: Irish butter, salt, raw sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, almond milk, coconut flour, brown rice flour, oatmeal, raw pecans, dark chocolate chips and loving, kindly intentions.

They came out very well, though I have to say I like "The Good Life," brand of vegan dark chocolate chunks the best for baking.

Tonight, my plan is  to make veggie soup with (again all organic and all natural) sweet vidalia onions (my favorite onion), salt, pepper, cabbage, cauliflower, red wine, vegetable broth and mushrooms. I will begin with coconut oil for my simmering fat, but I may add butter.

I go back and forth about butter-- but one thing's for sure, Irish butter is my FAVORITE-- to cook with, spread on biscuits, you name it.

We'll see what happens.

I've been feeling rather blue lately, and I'm not entirely sure why. Most likely, it's because I've been shirking my writing projects; thus I feel the need to mentally flagellate myself, which I know is in and of itself counterproductive.

However, I am only human.

I keep mulling and spinning all these ideas in my head. I owe you an entry on "The Type of Grandmother I Hope to Be," very soon.

I also owe you the first few pages of my second book writing project.
I'm still nit-picking through my edit phase of the previous novel (the first few pages of which I posted here).

I am currently attempting to get back to basics.  I henceforth dub myself a writer, and I will treat my projects with the respect that I owe them; that is to say that I will dutifully work on them as though I were getting paid for my services--- because, in fact, I am.

The amount of pleasure I gain every single time I work on them is HUGE.

Why then, have I not touched them in two weeks, you ask?
The answer is because I am afraid of the dual nature of both failing and succeeding.

For now, it is time to make soup, write, drink tea, and eat lots of vegetables, nuts and fruits to feed my soul and nourish my brain.

Speaking of amazing food finds, "Outside the Bread Box," is a CO brand that has made the most delicious toasting and sandwich bread I've ever had in my life -- Vegan, Gluten-Free Oatmeal Bread. It has no egg-replacer, no crappy canola oil. It is made with identifiable ingredients and olive oil.

Be still my blessed, beating, gluten-free heart --- I can have SANDWICHES and TOAST again!

Thank goodness for small favors... and awesome people.  I actually called the bakery the first day J and I tasted this bread. I rang them up and thanked them profusely. A sweet, indulgent lady with a lovely warm laugh told me to pop by the bakery the next time I was in Colorado Springs.

You can bet your BUTTONS I will.

I hope everyone has been well, and that there are still folks out there reading! :-)

Love, Hugs and RAIN to you all!
May your puddles be jump-worthy, your rain barrels be splashing full, and your summer nights full of stars that remind you of years gone by, and years to come.

<3