I won't do what I don't want to do

Again, compelled by another writer and creator, I have to introduce you to the F*ck It List. This is an idea by Amy Krause Rosenthal that is intriguing. Instead of the Bucket List that so many people have been talking about for years now, let's decide what we will not tolerate. What will we refuse to do or put up with?

I think I started working on this idea years ago and love that Amy KR has put it into words. She does wonderful short videos where she takes input from people from all over and combines them to give them a voice. Her work is quite powerful and shows the power of intention.

So, here is another list. I am clearly a list person, as many have probably figured out already. It helps me organize my thoughts;putting things down on paper helps me see things more clearly and prioritize. Since I am such a visual person, if I write things and read them, I am also more likely to remember them.

Amy KR suggests to start with Top 5 things you DON'T want to do.

1. Clean the bathroom.
2. Lose a child.
3. Work in the food service industry. (again)
4. A triathlon.
5. Birth anymore babies.

And, as she did in her list, I will also add...

I will not tolerate:
1. Spending time with toxic people that effect me in overwhelmingly negative ways.
2. Racism.
3. Hate.
4. Not making time to be creative.
5. Being stagnant.

What is your Top 5?

Creature Comforts

Katherine Center is someone I have discovered in the last six months. She has written three novels, of which I have read all three, and she has a blog and a YouTube channel as well. Her work is wonderful, as she puts her writing together with fabulous photographic images by others and creates these incredible uplifting, yet simple pieces. A May 2010 post on her blog made me want to make my own comfort list.

As much as I would like to, I do not really keep up with any particular blogs. I revisit some here and there, but I don't really have the time to read the ones faithfully that I prefer. Even the ones I subscribe to. But, here is my list...I'm sure incomplete, but it is amazing how many things I thought of once I started thinking...

a warm bath
a glass of red wine
a good book
a friend that understands me
the beach
the sound of waves
collecting rocks
a cup of Aveda Comforting tea
my grandmother's chicken with dumplings
the memory of my mother letting me sleep with her after a bad dream
fresh homemade food
hugs from my kids
snuggling under blankets and reading to my boys
snuggling with my husband
finding something new that resonates in every cell of my being
writing
the beauty of hand-written words on paper
creating
a deep breath
music
dancing with Calder
creating art with Grady
a card or note from my aunt
cooking with my sister
being alone
citrus
beautiful and/or powerful images
rain
fresh produce at the farmer's market
a good pen
when Grady spontaneously says, "I love Mommy" and gives me a hug
a sunset
warm, comfy socks
my jammies
my bed
watching the birds eat from our feeder
watching the animals in our backyard
painting
envisioning our house fully decorated and furnished
my boys while they're asleep
staying home
peeper frogs singing their song

What is on your comfort list?

My Collection

When I was under ten, I used to collect little ceramic/porcelain animals. I loved them. They were so delicate and miniature. I had a special shelf that I kept them on and dusted them lovingly. Great joy was in the finding, admiring and keeping of these little animals. Eventually I grew tired of this collection and got rid of them. One big factor in this move was moving itself.

Over the years, I have had several collections. In The Happiness Project, Gretchen Rubin writes about collections and that she has never had one. This, I doubt. I think she is not looking close enough. She may be thinking very narrowly, as in picturing a glass curio cabinet with breakable china or a room overflowing with teapots. If she looked closer, she would find that she does, in fact, have collections. For this book she wrote, for instance, she collected other writings on happiness, though she didn't call it a collection. She certainly has a collection of books in her house. Most people do. And, most people have a collection of friends, family photos and clothes. She actually decided to collect bluebirds in the course of her book and found several select bluebirds (of happiness) for her office while she worked. Perhaps she is defining a collection as something whose sole purpose is to be collected and then sit idly on a shelf collecting dust itself. To me, this is exactly the wrong kind of collection to have. Or rather, the scope of this definition is wrong, as it is far too narrow.

I, too, have a collection of books. I go through mine periodically and only keep the ones that I would read again, or that are extremely special to me. Probably the subject I have the most books on is childbirth and related subjects. But, rivaling that is my poetry section. One of my former chapters in my life, I spent writing poetry and I still find it an art form that brings me great joy and comfort. It is no mistake that it was a poem that inspired this blog title and content. It was instead, serendipity.

My collections have dwindled over the years, as I had children and came to believe that the more stuff I have, the more I have to dust. And I just don't want to spend any more time dusting than I have to. In scaling down my likes and my possessions, and to some degree separating my wants from my needs, I refined what I really love to be surrounded by and it has turned into a feeling of warmth and authenticity I am surrounded by now.

My most treasured collection that I have is my collection of mothers. I didn't realize for many, many years that is exactly what I have, but it is. And perhaps it seems like it is cheapening their presence in my life to call them that, but I certainly mean no disrespect. Instead, only the greatest Respect. This is a side effect, or rather, a side asset to losing my mother at six, I suppose. And, the first mother I collected after my own mother, was my Aunt Diane. Then came my best friend Erika's mother, Mary. She welcomed me into her arms and her home like I was her own daughter. After that, wherever I moved, I seemed to find at least one older woman who was my friend, first and foremost, but also became like a mother figure to me, in one way or another. This is because women are amazing. Centered women who have found their truth accept you as you are, and that is a true gift. I cherish these women in my life, all of my Mothers. And while I still miss my mother with every cell of my being, I know that she is in my heart, and perhaps she has even sent these other Mothers my way. Regardless of whether that is true or not, I still welcome them and treasure their wisdom, love and acceptance. I am rich.

Do you collect anything? What, if so, and what led you to collect?

Absence makes the heart ache

This week, my dear aunt has been visiting. It has been a short visit and I feel sad about that. On top of that, I also am grieving losing her. She is right in front of me, yet she is not there. And it makes my heart ache.

After losing my mother at six, my aunt was my confidante. In my years growing up, she was the only one I could talk to about my mother and not be told to stop. She would listen and she understood that I needed to know things. She held me while I cried. And cried, and cried. She told me about my mother. She showed me pictures of my mother. Of my mother and me. She took care of me. She loved me like a mother.

My aunt has always been an incredibly loving yet morose person and my visit with her this time has been eye-opening in that she is beginning to face her own mortality head-on. She has early-onset Alzheimer's and she is in the stage where she knows her symptoms. It is so hard to watch, when she can't find her water glass, her (eye)glasses, she frantically searches for something because she thinks she has misplaced it, when the truth is that it is sitting exactly where she knew it was just five minutes ago. She is disabled in a way that does not really get recognized. It's hard to put a finger on. She cannot remember how old my kids are. She can't remember what we did yesterday. She does still remember me, thank goodness. That is a huge blessing. And, when I talk of something that happened long ago, a huge smile appears on her face, partly because she can remember it.

My aunt is very smart. She was a nurse in a cardiac office before she had kids. She used to be a fantastic photographer. She introduced me to the Pink Panther movies and has been one of the few constants in my life. She was published in medical journals in regards to Pacemakers. She exuded love. She is funny, creative and so incredibly loving. Yet all that is being undermined by this deterioration of her memory and this horrible disease that is taking hold of her. She has told me many times in the past two days that you are born with Alzheimer's and that it just gets increasingly worse. I probably have it, and this will too be my path. My maternal grandfather had it, but he had a much later onset than my Aunt Diane. This early onset (she is in her 60's) is so disturbing to me and it leaves the person and all his/her loved ones completely powerless.

I have known and still know people who are oblivious to life, to so many things. It seems to me that the oblivious ones should be the ones targeted with this disease. But that is not how things work. This disease knows no boundaries and it is so painful to see someone who was so in tune to others' pain, so empathetic, so alive despite all the struggles she has had, to be diminished so immensely.

She is right in front of me. I can reach out and hug her. But there is a part of her that I can't reach anymore. And the absence of her makes my heart ache.

Inspiration Blooms

For years, I have missed writing. Maybe even mourned it. The urge to write has been there, but by the time I had the time, I was too exhausted either emotionally, psychologically, mentally or physically. Or all of the above. Kids do that, whether it is a good day or a bad day. Parenthood is all-consuming. At the end of a day, I feel too wiped out to do much but zone out either by reading or by watching mindless television. I used to write every day...for hours sometimes. But, no more. For a long time now, writing has been a bird that flits in and out of my peripheral vision. As my kids have gotten older, their needs have changed. In turn, mine are beginning to be revived. It's about time.

While on our trip to Iowa this summer, I read a poem. I had been toying with the idea of doing a blog for some time, but was stumped at what the right name would be or what the focus would be. I could never find the right name...until I read this poem. And, being who I am, I couldn't possibly begin something without a title. (Insert writing professor cringing here. It's been a while since my last writing workshop.) So, here is the inspiration for this blog. The multiple meaning of the name really appeals to me and that spring is part of it only makes it that much more fitting. Spring is my absolute favorite time of year, when everything begins to grow in order to bloom, when the white and gray of winter is replaced by vibrant greens, purples, pinks and yellows. In that regard, it reflects an attitude; spring being perpetual is fiction, but wouldn't it be grand. I also like the name because it describes what happens in my head. There is something always ready to overflow and the number of ideas I have could be dangerous. In college in Advertising class, my Professor even told me, "You are a great idea person, but execution is not your strong point." Um, thanks?

In Quakerism, there is a saying that, The Way Will Open. This has been proven to be true to me so many times I cannot even begin to put a number on it. When I don't know the answer, the right solution does not come to me. I sit and I wait, I move onto other things, with this conundrum idle in the back of my mind, whatever it is. When it all falls into place, a book with a certain title, a moment of quiet...long enough to read without interruption, a poem that is a little piece of beauty and tranquility, a small snapshot of what I am seeking...it brings me a little bit of peace. And it feels right. The Way Has Opened.

In Perpetual Spring
by Amy Gerstler

Gardens are also good places
to sulk. You pass beds of
spiky voodoo lilies
and trip over the roots
of a sweet gum tree,
in search of medieval
plants whose leaves,
when they drop off
turn into birds
if they fall on land,
and colored carp if they
plop into water.

Suddenly the archetypal
human desire for peace
with every other species
wells up in you. The lion
and the lamb cuddling up.
The snake and the snail, kissing.
Even the prick of the thistle,
queen of the weeds, revives
your secret belief
in perpetual spring,
your faith that for every hurt
there is a leaf to cure it.

Amy Gerstler, “In Perpetual Spring” from Bitter Angel (New York: North Point Press, 1990). Copyright © 1990 by Amy Gerstler.