Inside My Mind

And inside her mind, she is running in the summer wind.
Inside her mind, she is running in the summer wind
Like a child again.

From "Child Again," by Beth Nielsen Chapman (a wonderful song about aging; listen to it!)

Some friends brought over two mares and a little filly (still nursing sometimes) to graze on our winter pastures for a while; they're eating it down and getting what little nourishment is left in the grass. They'll leave soon for a small paddock where they can get fed hay and grain, but while they're here, it's great.

I grew up with horses — watching them, raising them, riding them, even taming and training one from a baby, for riding. So it's really fun to see them right outside our windows again. It reminds me of my wonderful childhood...and also the fact that I won't live like this again. So I treasure it every day; all of it. But now, especially with the horses.

I got a pony at age six...the usual recalcitrant, pinto pony. Stocky. Headstrong. Stubborn. Fun. I loved that pony. Mom seemed to name a lot of our animals, and that pony became Twinkle-Toes. Twinks for short. One of my earliest memories is the excitement I felt getting that pony.

Dad taught me how to ride. He got a big buckskin mare of his own, named Honeygal, to ride as part of his work with the sheriff's posse. Volunteer position. He did it for fun, sort of. He did get to carry a gun, so I guess he was playing cowboy a bit. So was I. (And I still have his gun, a neat little pistol.)

I rode the legs off that pony. It wasn't too long before I graduated to Honeygal. I was fearless and free on horseback. I could ride off on my own almost wherever I wanted, and I did. I spent endless hours riding alone, often early in the morning and in the evenings, before and after school, and all summer, of course. Until I left college and moved to Texas. Then the horses stopped.

Dad got it in his head to raise Appaloosas, so we did that for quite a while. Dad and I loved the horses best; the rest of the family tolerated them; sometimes my brother Scott rode, too, but not much. Not like I did. Horses shaped my life in a big way.

So I guess now in my mind, I'm riding in the summer wind, like a child again. And it's great.

All the Lonely People...and Other Living Things

Only the lonely know
The loneliest number is one.
That's how life goes,
And loneliness is no damn fun.

In the World According to AARP, loneliness is fast becoming the new American plague.

I think loneliness has always been the saddest thing a living being can experience. It's tied to loss, but it's much deeper and much worse. The saddest sights, to me, have always been a lone horse, head down in a barren lot. Or a dog with a too-tight collar chained to a post, either barking in frustration or unfeeling in defeat. Or a kid sleeping on the street because he was thrown out or ran away from a horrible home.

The sadness in the world is overwhelming, which is why so many of us avoid seeing it, believing it, and certainly feeling it. We don't want to feel sad, or feel helpless to stop sadness, or feel guilty when we see sadness.

It's time to recognize that the saddest thing in the world is loneliness. And we have to try to do something to make it better whenever we can. The sad part of that is, we often can't. Or won't. And that makes our own souls sad and lonely too.

All the lonely people and pets — where do they all come from?
Uncaring homes.
Where do they all belong?
With loving friends and family.

Or even with loving, caring strangers who become friends and family, if even for a moment.

Retire, Retired, Retiring

When life takes the wind out of your sails
And everything pales in comparison to impending death,
It's time to reassess and do your best
To appreciate every moment...every breath.

Tough job, that — remembering to appreciate life when you're depressed about dying, even if it's not your own death that's immediately looming. You hope.

Lately I've been getting up very early. I usually wake up early and lie in bed, eventually falling back to sleep — or not. But a couple of times now I've gotten up and watched an old move on TCM, and it's been fun. (I'm talking the 4 a.m. movie...or earlier on occasion.)

Oddly, I've been feeling like I'm retired. The reasons don't matter, I guess, but the feeling is strange. No demands on my time. Free to do whatever whenever with no negative repercussions. Although, it's a bit disconcerting to have no pressing daily work or direction. Takes some getting used to.

Feeling retired makes me feel tired. Guess the thing to do is retire to bed and get more sleep.

Or get more work so I can really retire. Aaack!

My Memory Is Becoming a Memory

Where am I going? Where are my keys?

Can you help me find my glasses, please?

What in the world did I come in here for?

I cannot remember anymore.

It's so easy to say the past is dead and gone...but it's not. Our past is our memory — and a big chunk of our lives.

And it's true that tomorrow may not come, and that now is all we can experience, affect, and effect — but now is NOT all we have. We also have what we had. And we have dreams about the future — which means we also have what we don't have.

I can't imagine living with amnesia or Alzheimer's. If you can't remember your past, then who are you now? If you can't dream about the future, who will you become?

I'm not sure that just living in the now and for the moment would really be all it's cracked up to be. I know what people mean when they say that , but they also assume that you get to bring "you" with you.

What would you-me-we be in the present without a past and a future to fuel our lives? I wonder...but I don't really want to find out for myself.

Winging It Home to Texas

I spent my birthday at the bedside of a friend

In the hospital, and whose life, I'm afraid, may end

Before anyone would have ever believed.

Still, she rallied under the growing threat of cancer

That has spread and for which there's no certain answer.

And for now, we are all grateful and relieved.

I wanted and needed to go to Austin to support my dear friend Janet. Stage IV cancer is nothing to face alone...and she does have a wonderful support system. I just wanted to be there for her too, at least while she was in the hospital.

She made a remarkable turnaround in a few days as she responded well to the surgical "cementing" of several of her disintegrating vertebrae. She was weaned off liquid painkillers to oral meds. And she went from unable to move to walking with a walker.

A lot of Jim's family is still in Austin, and they took good care of me. Now I'm home. Janet got to go home. And there's no place like home.

She has a long row to hoe, but she's upbeat and determined. Time will tell.

I'm grateful for many things — including growing another year older.

Losing It

I lose it when I think about losing you.
I lose it when I think about your pain.
You should always choose love
But you can always lose love
And after that, your world is not the same.

No, nobody's died recently, but I have friend battling cancer and our last dog is close to its last legs...and you just know what's coming sooner than later. Sooner than you ever expected or dreamed.

I figure it'll be the same with my own life and death. Sooner than I ever expected or dreamed. And definitely sooner than I ever want!

So day to day is a great way to go...until you go. The bad part is...you must go.

The really bad part: I'm starting to feel like Woody Allen.

Happy Blogiversary to Me

"I've been blogging for a year!"
I proclaim ecstatically.
I'm trying to persevere —
Though somewhat erratically.

I was lying in bed last night, thinking when I should have been sleeping, as I do much too often for good sense or good health, when it occurred to me that I've been online for a year. Actually, to the day today! Cool.

I say "online" sheepishly. I still don't know what the hell I'm doing half the time. And I now have 3 semireal websites...always in progress.

But blogging is fun and fairly easy. So why don't I do it more? Why am I a slacker-blogger? I'm lazy.

But I'll do better this year! I promise. And I'm sure my Magnificent 7 followers will be thrilled.

I started this blog last year when I was about to turn 60. Obviously, I'm about to turn that corner, which was a biggee for me. I've still got the prime of my life to live through — no downhill slopes, for me, please.

Except for the inevitable losses. Stuff. Friends. Pets. Abilities. Sleep.

Stella Van, my mother-in-law used to say, "Life's a day-to-day thing with me." And she was calm and right and okay with the time she had left...no matter how long that was.

We have her ashes on our living room side table, and they're a comfort and a caution, just like she was.

Jim's sister brought them to us to keep for a while, because she's had them since Van died in 2005. It's nice to share! Thanks, Gig. (She's a great response poet; look at the comments.)

I have my mother's ashes, too, and those of one of our dogs. My fave, Ansel.

I have more to say about ashes and all that loss shit and whatnot, but later.

Today I celebrate my 1-year blogiversary!!

You're in the Jailhouse Now

Now if I had the wings of an angel
Over these prison walls I would fly.
I would fly to the arms of my poor darlin',
And there I'd be willing to die.

From "The Prisoner's Song," by Guy Massey

This was a song verse I remembered from childhood for some reason. And it came back to me when I was planning the next journal topic for the women in my writing workshop. It was our second session.

They wrote eloquently about the topic "If I Had Wings." A poem and a narrative description. They were all wonderful and all different. I'm learning so much from them every week.

The first week, they wrote about "What I Believe to Be True About Me." Wow.

You may recall I'm a volunteer with the Literacy Center at the Mesa County Library. Last time, I taught a US Citizenship class. This time, I'm launching a pilot project in the jail. The women said they wanted to do journaling and poetry. Write (ha!) up my alley.

So I went into a jail for the first time in my life. (And was even more grateful I hadn't been caught doing things in the past that would have landed me there.) It was weird.

The prison movies came alive, and it wasn't pretty. But it was different. It was empty.

Every week I walk through a series of doors so heavy they still startle me when they slam shut, even though I expect it. It's clean; too clean. Too white. Too stark.

I have to wait at each door until my buzz is noticed by "the tower." And in between each door, I'm isolated. Stuck alone between two doors I couldn't open myself if I had a grenade.

Then I walk to our classroom, which is big and empty and echoes everything. Plastic chairs. Bare walls. Three small tables for the women to use as writing surfaces. I have to sit in the sight line of the tower. If I don't and they don't see me for a while, COs (Correctional Officers) will come running. Thankfully.

But I'm not afraid. The halls are wide and empty. The seargent's office is close by. Heavy doors separate me from the population...as far as I can tell. Still, it's strange.

The women — we started with 7 — are great. Mostly in for drugs, theft, and domestic violence. (Yes, women hit, too. Escpecailly if they're violent alcoholics.) I can't tell you about them individually, but I like them all.

Last week when I showed up, one had been shipped off to prison in the early morning hours, and one woman had decided the workshop wasn't for her. The remaining 5 will stay, I think, until they peel off without notice as they are sentenced or go to fill their sentences.

Until then, we'll act like everything is normal. Because it is...we're the first, so whatever we do is what is normal. We'll see. I''ll let you know more as we go on.

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It's All Bigger Than Us

Well, I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had one more for dessert.

Okay, make that Saturday and a double dessert. Tomatoe. Tomato. Mox nix. It's results that count.

Anyway, so early it was still dark, I popped a bottle of Tecate, squeezed in some lemon juice, and went out on the front porch with Tess, our dog. Thinking of Janet and Mom and Dad -- losses you live with and losses to come that you'll also live with.

And as I tipped my head up for that first tangy, cold swig, I saw them. Millions of stars. And it was comforting to be pulled out and out and out of my head for a minute, remembering that, in the end, the only thing that really matters is love.

I think the thing to do is tell the people you love -- and who surely must know when they are dying -- that you'll love them and think about them and miss them every day of your life.

Though death will eventually pull us apart
The love that I feel will live on in my heart.

And if I'm lucky, someone I love will tell me that before I die. We have to learn to talk about the uncomfortable, scary, and sad fact of death...because we all have to live with it and, at some point, experience it.

It's hard to really wrap your mind and feelings around that when you're sad and sorry and feeling terrible loss...and lost because you don't know what to do or say to comfort yourself and the dying person.

But we owe it to ourselves and them to try.

Lyric credit for the opening lines: Kris Kristofferson, "Sunday Morning Coming Down," one of the greatest songs in the history of the universe by one of the greatest songwriters. Fact.

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