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IMO: “Remember the good things.”

Carry the bag of potting soil from the trunk to the patio.

Stir the fish water and compost in with the soil.

Gingerly set the bulb, flower, and bush into its spot.

Now, sit there. And watch it grow.

My mother followed this routine continuously for sixty years.

I confess, I never got it. It seemed like a boring way to spend the day.

Talking to her little friends.

The birds, the butterflies, and the hummingbirds her favorite neighbors.

Her dog by her feet.

Her husband puttering in the garden.

Nothing was professionally done. Nothing was perfect.

It’s been ten months since her passing.

Today, I realized my efforts to create a beautiful patio,

All the toiling and the stiffness earned was for her.

Now, I make a point to sit on the patio.

I sit and watch the plants grow.

It is not boring at all.

In My Opinion

Auf Wiedersehen

 

I believe one should always leave on a high note.

Here’s my high C.

After almost nine years of blogging, I’m bowing out. Why? Illnesses. Books to write. Family drama. Death. Despair. Exhaustion.

My health is poor. I need to focus on improving that. Maybe in a year or two, when I am finally able to retire, if I’m not dead, I will resume my blog and start fresh. As for now, I’m a snake that’s shedding her skin and in no position to read or respond to your posts or have the creative juices to come up with something interesting to read.

Good riddance, 2020.

Love & Friendship,

Cindy

 

2020s, Colorado, family, In My Opinion, inspiration, love, nature, photography

IMO: Looking for Mom

Mom would frown and shake her head. “Good, God, stop crying. I wasn’t a saint, you know.”

Grief is a heavy activity. Doing one’s best not to cry is hard to do. Talking about it is exhausting. The permanence of her departure is a rock that’s heavy to carry. Just when a few days go by when I am not overcome with emotion, I start to relax. Then, boom! Triggers abound, and I am weeping in the car before heading into the grocers, or I am about to enter a room full of people. On goes the smile and I am ready to explain the puffy eyes and red nose as the result of a bad attack of allergies. 

Last week before the students and staff arrived, I walked down the wide, dark hallway of the school searching for hot water for my cup of tea. Out of nowhere, Mom’s face appeared sharply in front of me. Was I hallucinating? I was back at her side, patting her hand while she breathed heavily. I looked at her and her eye opened and stared at me. It was freaky to see her staring eye. Did she know it was me? I talked to her anyway, hoping she could hear. “Jenny washed you, Mom. You’re clean. You won! You are here in your home and we love you. We’ll be okay.” And just like that, she faded away and her eye turned to stone. In the dark hallway, I burst into tears and rushed back to my classroom muttering, “It’s going to be one of those days.”

Well, of course, none of us are okay, but we’ll adapt. I take comfort in knowing she’s in a better place. I believe that.

I don’t know about you, but when I’m overwhelmed, I always want to run away from home. So Jim and I did. I know God’s in nature as well as the church, and the colors and smells of nature is a place I go to connect and regroup. At Vallecito Lake, I saw Mom in what she loved about nature. 

The 15th was her birthday. I was glad to share the fall day with Mom surrounded by the beauty of Colorado. My gift to her was not crying. I felt lighter. I didn’t feel pain. She would have approved.