Down The Drain

and with this length of rope one might hang himself OR... one might go out and lasso whats truly desired....

This is the good news as well as the bad, when we folks are presented with a string of any kind -

I laugh a lot about the remarkablity of coincidence

I think a lot about how rudimentary life is and how everything leads back to everything that came before

Karma and karm-again

All my problems cycle to water, return and initiate with, are founded in and lead back to it, when broken down.

Noticed especially in the last years, water has resounded in all my strife and in all honestly, in all my joy.

As of late...

I've struggled against the pipes in the old, grey house... what flows or currently what doesn't it seems.   

First back up and now simply no pressure.   None whatsoever.  Who would ever have thought that not having pressure in one's life might not be quite nice.  

I'm at the lake house and a dense, brown, rust scented substance spews out of pipes that literally groan when pressed.   

After a visit from the highly apologetic and notably pleasant plumber, out of frustration I lead dogs and kids to the water's edge where everyone, no matter how cold the lake is, seems to simply crave entry. 

 It is irresistible.   

I cannot win. 

I tread endlessly.  

I came for the water and the altitude and the age of the place, but it is the very water, altitude and age of the place that drains me, like water from a leaking bucket, when what I sought all along was replenishment. 

12,000 he said.

12,000 I thought.

Has nothing to do with money, but it has everything to do with fighting the tide and that has everything to do with everything wrong and everything right in my life and life in general.

Our adult body is approximately 50 to 75 % water.

We are submerged in fluid prior to birth.

It cleanses us.

We consume it constantly, hidden in all forms, solid and liquid.

With each breath we release, there is an "insensible loss" of water,

we simply cannot live without it, but we can survive quite some time without most anything else.

Water is everything we need and yet in excess it floods and kills us (think tsunami)

without it we shrivel and die

While in search of it, in all convenience, it costs us constantly and can ruin us or our beloved crap at any time (think mold)

If love is like oxygen

then water is life

we are nothing without it

In every goshdarn situation, good or bad, I learn something and maybe this is why I've learned to stay so calm in bad situations.

Because I know that in everything big or small, wet or dry, there is something to find, something to learn, some way to grow, something to gain, even when we lose.

Man would never have sought the cave, if not for the rain...

About my mother, here in my life...

From where I sit, I can see my tree, big and colorful.
From here I can smell the pine.
From here, from where I sit at my desk in it's Christmas tree induced relocation to the den, on this soft and subtle morning, it's Christmas.

My mother sometimes sends me little letters about my blog.
She encourages me to write a book.
I have.
She didn't like it.   (nor did I)
So...

Recently in a note from my mom, in regard to one of my blogs about my life and actually about my death, titled Obits and Other Nonsense, she asked me what might be said about her and about her life.
This morning, from where I sit, looking at my very, very large tree, with my large dog beneath it, after having driven my own precious daughter to school, a simple thing I do daily but something I treasure more then I can express, while I sit here sipping coffee afterward, I realize that everything I write, most things I do, a lot of what I feel and much of who I am is directly related to my mother and the life she lives.
Like the Beatle's song, She's Here, There and Everywhere; in all my days, in all my moments, in all my accomplishments and in my errors, my trials and tribulations, my choices, my misgivings, my laughter, my cooking, my skin, my breath, my children, in my shoes, but not in my sewing (she makes beautiful quilts - I can no longer thread a needle).    Bits and pieces of my mother's life exist in every word I write.

We tenants of the womb never truly vacate our beloved landlord.

I hope you know Mommy, in my life, I love you more...

2+0+1=3

There's a theory, at least in my life there has been; my Mother always said that death happens in threes.   Since millions of people die daily I gather the meaning is more personal or relative and that it indicates quite simply that we lose things in 3s, like people and opportunities, sentimental treasures and other gifts...

I feel like I lost something today, but I can't put my finger on it and I certainly can't place three fingers on anything...

Grandma Jenny, at the young old age of 95, give or take, got booted off the Wii bowling league at the senior community where she resides today.  Recent blindness in one lovely eye has made her a less desirable bowling partner it seems.   I realize I loved her bowling days, mostly because she loved them so.
Bye Wii Bowlers.

My daughter and I have finished reading The Outsiders.   
I've torn through that perfect novel at least three times in my life, maybe more, likely four.   
I remain forever in love with Soda.
I'm gonna miss Johnny - again.


And whats the third thing killing off my day?   

Maybe it's that my old dog Dais is becoming annoying (more so then usual even).  If she bowled, I'd kick her off my Wii team.   I think she's not long for this world, just my gut instinct on dogs and life...

And my young rebel without a cause dog is still under the weather, after having gone all Bad Santa on me, devouring a chocolate advent calendar on Thanksgiving whilst I was out, which led to him nearly dying of Pancreatitis.  Dogs really shouldn't snack on cocoa, especially out of spite.  

But nope, it's not just those things, is it?

Maybe it's tonsillectomies for sweet boys of mine
Christmas tree pine needles on the hardwood floor
Shorter days
Longer nights
Yesterday's heartbreakingly beautiful sunlight coupled with unusually strong, striking winds
Perhaps it's the irreversible length of my growing "to do" list
What to wear to all the parties coming up with people I don't know or care for while the ones I love are doing the same thing somewhere else without me, otherwise fondly known as the holiday season...
Maybe it's that something over is over and something starting has started and things will never be the same.    I suspect that even if I read the exact same unrevised, beloved book over again, it won't come across the way it did the first time.
Maybe it's that the long year is ending and though it was iffy at times, 2 0 1 3 was kind of a beautiful number.

I sure hope Ponyboy made it to college...

Obits and other nonsense...

She was very silly.

She had an active imagination.

Needed lots of attention.

If I died at 12, this is what people could have honestly said about me.

If I died at 25, they'd have easily said the same things, for the most part.

If I died today, what would be reported in regard to me and the life I lived?

Two people would say I was their daughter.

Two would say I was their mother.

Four, their sister.

Countless their friend.  

A handful would say, "she was my best friend".

Quite a few would say they loved me.
Some believed - purple was her favorite color.

Some, I'm guessing two, maybe just one, oh hell maybe none - who really knows  --- might say I was in fact the true love of their life.   

Some might say she was one of the nicest women I ever knew, but they'd be exaggerating a little.
Some might claim  - "She hurt me"  (hey I'm sorry)

Maybe there'd be some who'd say things like, self involved, but I don't really think so.

Hopefully they'd say, "she showed up when she promised she would.

She carried her own load, did her work, didn't complain too, too much".
Bank would say she paid her bills, as evidenced by good credit.

Who would know to point out; she got goosebumps over things like hawks circling in the sky, the notion of mountain lions in the brush, old architecture, big waves, berries on the vine?
Most of her wardrobe was black.
She wore age inappropriate bikinis with reckless abandon.
She resisted the urge to jump when up high near an edge of any kind, just to see what it was like.

Would anyone know that I never ran out of toilet paper and why?  

Would anyone know how I struggled not to lie, but sometimes did, how I barely ever cried, how I didn't feel much physical pain, so much so that I damaged myself irrevocably at times.   

Could anyone say how I worried mountains over those I loved or have I hid that like physical pain as well?

Some might call me one of the funniest girls they ever knew, but maybe that was so long ago that it would have to go on the she died at 25 column.  

If all anyone said about me was that I meant to do no harm, well then I guess my life would have been a decent one.

I can say this for myself, my own epitaph (in third person of course...)  

She loved largely.

She would have stayed here forever, if possible, just to see everyone she cared for was safe and sound.
Baking relaxed her.
She never gave up on the notion of romantic love, no matter how futile it seemed at times.  (fits in the ages 12, 25 and very old indeed columns)
She made a ton of mistakes.
She considered herself an expert kisser.
She practically never read directions.
She preferred bread to meat.
She loved books.
She made a ton of mistakes, so many that it clearly bore repetition...
She was truly very glad to meet you.