I purchased a gift for myself several months ago. It is an advent calendar filled with fountain ink in 25 colors. I have been worse than a six year old waiting for December 1st.

Finally, I opened my gift to myself this morning. Today’s ink is Baltic Breeze. It is a steel blue with coppery flecks.

I wrote an impromptu poem inspired by the morning and the ink.

I haven’t written much of anything since my mom died. I hope to finish 25 poems or paragraphs with these pretty inks.

It’s the last day of 2023. I wish that I could say that 2023 was a fabulous year filled with adventures and joy, but the truth is that 2023 was a year of hard-learned lessons and a fair amount of turmoil. Those things came with some personal growth, to be sure, but as far as “best year of my life,” 2023 doesn’t register in the top 10 (or the bottom 10, I supposed, for which I am grateful). 

I’ve given some thought to what I would like 2024 to look like. Rather than “resolutions,” which always feels like rules to be broken, I’m going to set some goals to be met. 

1. I’m going to get healthier. I gave up on the exercise when I developed a fibroma in my left arch, and rather than focus on things that I can do without pain (walk, run short distances, lift, bike, dance, yoga…), I focused on what I can’t (run long distances), and used just gave up. I also stopped logging my food, started eating candy again, and generally ignored all of the diligent prompting of my Apple Watch to “stand, move and breathe.” I’ve been stuck at the same place that I plateaued in 2015, 2017, 2019 and 2021 before regaining wait each and every time. Thankfully, I’ve only gained a small handful of pounds, so my clothes still fit. This year I would like the inches to melt away enough to get into the next-size smaller wardrobe that has been waiting in my closet, unworn, for several years. What a great reward that will be!
2. I’m going to “get out there” more. At Christmas time this year, when my stocking project donations rolled in, I was reminded once again how HUGE my network of meaningful people is. Seeing your shenanigans on Facebook, I sometimes feel like I am ”in touch” with many of you, when the truth is, I haven’t spoken to many of you in many years. My goal is to share a phone call, a lunch, or maybe even *gasp* a 5k with one or more of you per month. Let me know if you want to be added to the “list!”
3. I’m going to create more. This blog pretty much went by the wayside after Mom died in 2017. I have a half dozen partially-completed writing projects on Novlr. I have scores of ideas for craft projects rolling around in my brain, and often rather than just START one, I pick up the phone and scroll though news, Facebook or a game and lose myself down a rabbit hole instead of setting those ideas free (even the bad ones) to make room for more.
4. I’m going to do more things outside of my comfort zone. I haven’t been on a horse or a motorcycle since I was a kid. I’ve never touched a snake or a lizard. I haven’t sang karaoke in 25 years. I’ve never read one of my poems to an audience – online or otherwise. I haven’t played piano in front of an audience for at least 30 years. Perhaps 2024 is the time to “stretch” just a bit.
5. Letting go – I’ve accumulated a house FULL of things that I don’t really want or need. Many of them are attached to memories of people, and so I hold onto the things believing that the people, many of whom are departed from this life, would want me to do so. I give myself permission to let go of things that bring me no joy and serve no purpose in my life. Likewise, I give myself permission to let go of other people’s resentments and to remember that for every person who doesn’t like me, there’s probably at least one who does like me. After all, even a perfect peach won’t taste good to someone who hates peaches!

There are things that are going GREAT, that I would like to keep moving in the right direction.

• LOVE – Mike and I have had ups and downs over the years, but in the feeling loved department, I won the jackpot. Add J&M and the dogs/cat to this equation, and my heart is full.
• CAREER – I will celebrate my 5th anniversary as an assistant Erie County Prosecutor and legal counsel for Erie County Children Services in a few days, and I can’t imagine doing anything else. 
• STOCKING PROJECT – Betty’s Stocking Project finally has a name and a Facebook page. This year it served 84 children and raised over $6200. I want to continue to grow this and spread the JOY that it brings me each year.

I hope to come back to this post on 12/31/2024 and see just how well I did on moving in the right direction.

Happy New Year to you, my friends. Thank you for holding me up when it feels that I will fall. 

Love,
Be

“life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass – it’s about learning to dance in the rain” ~ Vivian Green

It’s hard to believe that it’s July 23 and the summer is half over. Typically we being camping in mid- to late-May, but this year is different. We finally took the camper on her maiden voyage for the year to the park that we visit most frequently.

I’ve been having some health issues, and I haven’t been as active this summer as in the past. I resolved to spend a piece of the weekend being active. My plan included a 2-3 mile hike with the dog and a paddle around the lake on my inflatable kayak.

Gracie and I had a fabulous 2.5 mile hike in the morning, and in the afternoon I decided to inflate, haul and launch the kayak all by myself for the first time (Mike generally gives me a helping hand). There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and I was looking forward to paddling to the far end of the lake and back. I estimated it would take about an hour.

Mike called out to me, “there’s an isolated path of raining coming in about an hour…” I answered, “If it comes, I guess I’ll get wet.” He countered, “if there’s lightening, get out of the water, okay?” I agreed, an headed down to the kayak launch, leaving him to tend the dog (and perhaps to take a nap). I decided not to take my phone so that I didn’t need to bother with a dry box.

I launched the kayak successfully only to remember that I forgot to install the skeg (the little pointy thing on the bottom that allows you to go straight). I hauled the darned thing back out of the water, fetched the skeg and flipped the now-wet kayak over to attach it. Skeg installed, I headed out to the open water. There were lots and lots of kayaks and canoes on the lake. Surely, there wouldn’t be a crowd on the lake if there were a storm coming, right?

This was only my second voyage on the inflatable, and it took a while to get a rhythm going. I was nearly to the far side of the lake when I noticed a very dark cloud. Very dark. I paddled harder. Perhaps I could complete my circuit before it reached my location. I made it to the turn around and started back. I could see rain in the distance. “No worries. Rain doesn’t bother me. At least there’s no thunder,” I thought to myself. As if God was reading my mind, I heard the first rumble off in the distance. I paddled harder. The sun was still shining everywhere but under that dark cloud. Perhaps I could outrun it!

The raindrops began to fall. They came slowly at first, and then harder. As they began to pound the lake, the thunder crashes began, and I headed to the boat ramp that was half way to my destination. By the time I arrived, several other kayaks and a paddle board had been hauled out of the water by their occupants. A parade of pickup trucks and cars lined up to pick up their soggy campmates. Our sole vehicle, however, was waiting for me at the other end of the lake.

There was no shelter nearby, so I stood in the rain. I watched the mist rise off the lake, and a grey heron wading near the shore. I felt the rivulets of water streaming down my skin. It was only wet – not cold, so I wasn’t miserable. Instead, I felt very alive.

I hoped that Mike wasn’t too worried. I couldn’t call to let him know because I hadn’t wanted to be bothered with a dry box. He had no car, so he couldn’t come find me.

I wrung the water out of my very wet bucket hat and took off the sunglasses that were so water streaked that I could no longer see through them. I realized that I was alone, and I began to dance (just a little). I closed my eyes and swayed to the soundtrack in my head. I had no concept of time at that point. When I returned to the camper, Mike told me the the storm had lasted about 45 minutes. It didn’t seem that long to me.

When the thunder was once again far off in the distance and the rain had slowed, I launched the kayak and completed the journey. I hauled the kayak out of the lake, put it back into the car and returned. He was out in front of the camper in his chair, watching for me. He admitted to being a little worried, and I told him how I had honored his promised and got out of the water when the storm came. He helped me get the kayak out of the car and I changed into warm, dry clothes (which felt awesome, by the way).

I took no photos (no phone, remember), but the memories will live in my head for a long time, I think, because I did something new, by myself, and I kept going even when things weren’t going as planned. I literally danced in the rain and was in no real hurry for the storm to pass.

My first mother was a teenager. She loved me for 9 months and smuggled a camera into the hospital to try to capture of memory in a photo. She never caught a glimpse, I’m told, and she was caught with the purloined Kodak and returned to the surgical floor – away from the maternity ward.

My second mother was a foster parent – a woman devoted to caring for a child through a transition. I don’t know much about her. I know that she sent a hand written note with me (that has been long lost) to let my new parents know what I liked and what sort of routine I’d had. She had the hard job of round the clock care of a newborn. She went through those sleepless nights so that someone else could experience motherhood. She would have been there for my first smile and may have witnessed the first time that I rolled over or slept through the night.

My Mom adopted me at three months of age. She took over where the foster mother left off. There were still many sleepless nights. There were skinned knees and hurt feelings and teenage heartbreaks to nurse me through. When I married and had children of my own, she still had sleepless nights, because when I was sad or scared, she stayed awake praying.

I spent my last Mother’s Day with Mom in 2017. We bought her a pink rose bush for outside of her front window. She loved pink roses. Soon after, her final illness would first take her strength, and then take her life, but not before it took her joy. As the cancer spread to her brain, the shell of her that was left was no longer my loving mother. She was suspicious of me and she was hateful. Those last months were a waking nightmare for all of us. I sent my children to be with her when she was like that because the nursing staff said I upset her too much. When I didn’t go, she asked for me. When I did go, she raged at me. It was hard on my children. I don’t think I realized how hard until much later. As mothers, we don’t want our children to hurt. As daughters, we don’t want dying parents to be alone. What an awful conundrum.

I connected with my birth mother (Mum) for the first time at 29. We parted company and found each other again several times over the next 25 years. We would go very long times without speaking. Sometimes she initiated the silence, and sometimes it was me. No matter the time that had passed, we began again where we had left off, finishing each other’s sentences and talking for hours. We reconnected in summer 2023 for the last time. Her life was ending, and we made up for lost time. She told me stories, and I listened, knowing that parts of them were true, and other parts while not true, were the way she wanted me to remember them. I listened, and she held me until she no longer had strength, and then I held her. We shared stories until words were no longer needed. When the cancer and the medication made her too tired to do more than murmur, I sat on the floor and held her hand and said goodbye for the last time.

This Mother’s Day (2023), I have no living mother to celebrate. I can’t pick up the call and say, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom/Mum.” No little children will bring me burned toast and a flower from the garden as “breakfast in bed.” My daughter and I have a difficult relationship and lives hundreds of miles away. My oldest son recently moved to the other side of the country. My youngest son lives here, still, but doesn’t really like holidays. Still, I remember when they made me dinner, complete with a gluten free cake. The three of them (perhaps just the older two) worked for hours. We played Munchkin on the deck late into the evening. I remember, kids. I really do. It was a happy, happy day for me.

My thoughts turn now to my foster mother, whose name I never knew. Is she still living? Does she remember me, nearly 56 years later? Thank you, foster mother, for sharing your love.

My loving husband offered to take me to the nursery to buy pretty flowers – my traditional Mother’s Day gift and outing with him, but I begged off. I’m not in the mood. He understands, or at least tries to understand.

For those of you who celebrate, Happy Mothers’ Day. For those like me, to whom Mother’s Day is tinged with sadness, may the day land gently.

I have a stressful job. I work in the legal system and my cases involve abused and neglected children. Sometimes it’s stressful. One of my favorite ways to unwind is to take our camper to a campground with no wi-fi and very spotty cell phone coverage. My husband and I stay for 2-3 nights. We typically take the smaller of our two dogs (the other dog prefers sofas and air conditioning). Poppy is a medium-sized tri-color short hair mix of unknown origins. The (allegedly) has some Australian shepherd and border collie in her heritage, but I think that’s pure speculation.

Poppy takes long hikes with me. Between our forays into the wilderness, she is content to find shade under her dad’s chair and occasionally reluctantly offer a paw in exchange for a treat.

I have a favorite camp site. It has a sunny pad with lots of grass in the front (that’s where we park the camper) and in th eback, it has a large clearing in the woods. The clearing is surrounded by tall trees with overhanging branches. It’s shady on the sunniest day. The first time I was here, the clearning was filled with gold finches and rays of sunlight. I dubbed it “the cathedral,” and I reserve it whenever i can. Unfortunately, it’s a popular spot, and it’s often bookd out for several months in advance.

I was lucky enough to secure ”the cathedral” for this past 4th of July holiday weekend. We arrived on Saturday morning and got the camp set up. The campsites on both sides were still empty. We grabbed some lunch, and Mike decided to nap. I took my journal and some drawing supplies back to ”the cathedral” for a short time. I should have stayed longer.

I decided to spread a mat out on the grass and stretch out on the ground. Poppy joined me (actually, we wrestled on the ground as she burrowed under me and I tried to stop her). Eventually, we both found a comfortable position and snoozed.

A short time later there was a commotion as two cars pulled up to the camp site on the north of us. Two adults and three children poured out of the vehicles. The adults began hauling tents and coolers out of the cars, and the children (approximately 9-11 years old) screamed ”it’s a dog,” and interrupted our nap.

The woman screamed (yes, screamed) ”you have to ask before you pet the dog” and the children started petting and then asked, ”can we pet your dog?” Poppy likes children of this age group, so she allowed herself to be smothered with pats and offered a few kisses. One of the girl declared Poppy to be her ”new best friend.” After a short time, the children were (loudly) summoned back to their camp.

Poppy and I went for a short walk. When we returned, the camp site to the south was occupied by a young couple and their two-year-old daughter, who we will call Hattie (not her name). Although ”the cathedral” was clearly not on their camp site, they had set their tent up on the outskirts of my sanctuary. The clearing is large, so I decided to ”not sweat the small stuff,” and share the space. That was a mistake.

I took a seat outside the camper (the side away from Hattie’s family) with a book and a cold glass of water. Poppy was clipped to a cable that kept her well within the limits of our camp site. She wandered a bit and came to sit by my chair. Moments later I heard Hattie shriek ”doggy” and she appeared around the corner without a grown up. Mom made her appearance a few seconds later and said, ”Hattie loves dogs.” Poppy is not used to tiny people, and I told Hattie’s mom so. Hattie’s mom assured me ”Hattie’s grandparents both have dogs, she knows how to be nice,” and proceeded to try to ”help” Hattie pet Poppy. I told Hattie ”that’s enough,” doggy is tired.” A melt down followed.

Hattie ”visited” another 3-4 times in short order. Poppy and I finally went inside for a while. We had really both had enough.

The next morning, I looked outside and saw that ”the coast was clear.” Hattie was nowhere to be seen. Poppy and I headed for ”the cathedral” for some quiet time. We had just made ourselves comfortable when Hattie screeched ”doggy” and came out from her tent. Mom said, ”she wants to relax. Let here relax” but little Hattie was on a mission.

Hattie was wielding a bag of gold fish snacks. Poppy loves gold fish snacks. Hattie waved the snacks at Poppy. Poppy thought it was a game and snapped at the snack bag. Hattie shrieked. Poppy jumped into my lap and the next several minutes were filled with me turning away from Hattie with Poppy in my arms and telling Hattie (and her Mom, who had finally arrived) that Poppy wanted the snacks, and this was no longer safe. Mom again assured me that ‘Hattie loves dogs and her grandparents have dogs” and I told Mom, ”Poppy doesn’t have experience with little people and she is afraid. Please take Hattie back to your camp” Mom reluctantly dragged Hattie back to her camp site and another melt down commenced. I may or may not have been called a rude name loud enough for me to hear.

The afternoon had turned very sunny, but my shady spot in the forest was unsafe. Poppy and I walked several camp sites down the road to a picnic table that was (partly) in the shade and far enough away that Hattie wasn’t likely to appear. Poppy missed her Dad, who was comfortable in his favorite spot at our camp site, so we ventured back to our own camper and hoped for the best.

On Sunday, Hattie appeared during Poppy’s breakfast and again during her dinner. She appeared again around dusk, and I told her “doggy is going to bed” and closed my faithful dog inside the camper for the night for her own protection. By this time I had lost track of the number of times that Hattie had walked from her camp site and around to the other side of our camper without an adult intervening.

Although we carted in enough fire wood for two nights’ camp fires, we never lit one, as Hattie was sure to appear. Poppy and I did spend lots of time walking (away from Hattie) and managed to have a nice weekend. It wasn’t the weekend that I had planned and hoped for, but it was still a nice weekend away from most responsibilities.

I hope that little Hattie grows up still loving doggies (and with all of her fingers intact). I hope that Hattie’s mom gets a rash somewhere uncomfortable.

My life has not been a fairy tale (quite). There have been ogres and witches and perhaps a giant, though.I have been the wicked stepmother. I have worn the red riding hood, but never the glass slipper. I have been awakened by a kiss, but never poisoned by an apple (at least not yet).

My life has not been a fairy tale.

The domain for this blog recently renewed. I almost allowed it to expire, but I wasn’t ready to let my workds die. Perhaps some day someone will remember me and run across my words.

I’m well beyond once upon a time, but not quite to happily ever after. After all, those are the words that end the story, aren’t they?