advent {day 1}

last year, 12~24

My Queen of Christmas is gone.

This was her beloved time of year.

She excelled in creating beauty,

comfort and joy for all in her realm.

The cookies, the stollen, the exquisitely

 wrapped and thoughtful gifts.

The advent calendar and wreath.

The Santa collection and real candles on her tree.

I hardly know what to do this year.

I wander between wanting to forget Christmas entirely,

to imitating her ways in her honor,

to finding my own style of celebrating.

And so, I am here. 

Unsure.

A little sad.

Finding my way forward in this

first advent season without her.

I am giving myself a little window to open each day,

hoping for a breath of renewal,

 and starshine to light my way.

Join Debi and Kelly and me for 24 days of advent, 2012.

soul print

the hand written word leaves behind an imprint of the soul.

the curve of the letter, the spacing,

 the light or the fervent press of

 ink to page, to card, to wall~

 all tokens and clues of

 the mind behind the hand that wrote.

cherish the flourish and scribble in

 an age that no longer cares for

 the soul-print underpinnings of communication.

the long hand note vibrates and wins the day

 years after its tucking away in a keepsake box.

there are no keepsake boxes for digital text.

stand in the kitchen with 50 year old recipes of 

blue ink on yellowing paper, the many she left behind,

 and hold the ream to your heart.

feel your heart grow physically warmer.

she remains in the imprint, the chopped walnuts,

 and teaspoons of lemon rind.

she remains in the ink and the warmth of your heart.

Horse Power~ part 3/ Go big, go Shire

Isaac the Shire stallion in his "meet and greet" stall at Equine Affair

oh. my. god.

 Isaac and me at the breeder's barn, Equine Affair

Lara the Shire mare at Equine Affair

Lara and the Shire mares at home~ Ox Kill Farm

Vicky (mom to the mares), Lisa and me

Not so afraid anymore!

 photo by, Lisa

Isaac at home~ Ox Kill Farm

Vicky( Isaac's mom), Lisa and me

The horse buggy

Until we meet again...

By the end of our horse power weekend, for me, it was all about the Shire draft horse. And wouldn't you know, not only are they renowned for their gentle attitude, the people that own Shires are salt of the earth. Gentle, welcoming, devoted, passionate. Horse people that welcome non-horse people like me with open arms and knowledge to share.

Lisa and I went from petting Shires at the full-immersion-event of Equine Affair to interacting with them in their home pasture. How was that possible?

I asked.

Simple as that. I asked the fully-available owners of Isaac, Gene and Vicky McCaffrey, (of the 173 acre Ox Kill Farm outside Albany, NY) if they ever accepted visitors. Their answer was a quick "yes" and "we'll see you tomorrow." Not only did the McCaffreys welcome Lisa and I into their home and offer us lunch, they gave us a full tour of their working Shire and cattle farm. What a gift. What a gracious, glorious gift. The information they freely shared was vast and filled with enthusiasm. I instantly wished I was their neighbor.

************

There is no telling, yet, what 4 days steeped in horses will bring to me. There has been too much information and new experience to fully take in. Slow digestion is called for. But intrigue has been ignited. I have dreamed of horses 7 nights in a row. I can tell you, though, these horses are healers. I am less sad than I was before meeting them all. Perhaps horses will show me the way home.

Horse Power~part 2/ Blue Star Equiculture

Orion~ famous NYC carriage horse adopted by the Yankee's owner

Adopted!

Friends and a forever home at Blue Star

Shire feathers

Miss Lisa~ dwarfed by drafts

Pre-dinner traffic jam

Awaiting the evening meal

At last, repast

Gracie

i do not exaggerate when i tell you, 2 hours on a november afternoon in massachusetts altered my life. there was my forever-friend, lisa, who made the discovery of blue star equiculture farm online, there was me, fascinated and nervous, and there was pamela. gracious, welcoming, passionate, wise pamela. she is head madam of the horse farm, and sports a rainbow aura like few i have ever encountered.

blue star equiculture is an organic farm that rescues, rehabilitates, offers retirement and long term care to horses in general and draft horses in particular. blue star cares for an average of 30 horses at a time~ some drafts come from the carriage trade (all have been well cared for prior to their arrival at the farm and have maintained wonderful conformation from doing the job they were bred to perform!), some drafts arrive when owners can no longer financially care for them, some when owners face terminal illness, some are thankfully rescued from slaughter.

pamela and her vast crew of horse-loving volunteers, along with veterinarians, an equine dentist and ferrier, have devoted themselves to making a compassionate difference in the education and care of drafts. they  believe the draft horse is a national treasure, without whom this nation would not have been built. they believe we owe it to these working-breed horses to give them meaningful jobs and purpose. to honor what we have bred in to them~ the need to move, pull, earn their keep and interact with humans.

what pamela did for me, unawares, was give me an instant and lasting appreciation for these creatures that have occupied my thoughts and dreams. in casually bringing lisa and i out amongst the herds, calling each one by name, offering pets and kisses, she melted away my natural fear of horses and confirmed my instincts to seek out the largest horses for the gentlest encounters. she gave us more knowledge than it was possible to process all at once and she gave it with a wide open heart.

i cried when we got back in the car. because there were no words to express the joyful overwhelm of 30 horses and a woman who knows her mission in life.

lisa an i have agreed, and pamela concurred, we are going back. the calls of our hearts say we must.

*************

blue star equiculture on facebook. "like" them for regular, touching updates on the horses!

Horse Power~ part 1

Duchess and Chyna

there are times when windows open and you must pass through. even if you don't know where they will lead or why exactly you need to drop everything and follow the cracks of light suddenly seeping through your ordinariness. most times, in following the cracks of light you become flooded with sensations that stand on the very edge of definition. in your natural tendency to name everything, you think you might be able to label the sensation joy. perhaps rapture. certainly bone-deep delight.

these windows seem most inclined to pop open when you have a hunch and no expectations. when you can be fascinated by the simple cracks of light and need nothing beyond that shimmer. when you hold the nonsensical notion of draft horses in a small pocket of your brain, for instance, and hold that notion for years, not having the foggiest clue what these horses can mean to an ordinary and recently painful life, you might suddenly, inexplicably find yourself on the cusp of a pasture teaming with 30 drafts. the chain on the gate becomes your window and dreamlike, you are led directly into the thick of the herds. 

despite having held these hulking beasts in a corner of your brain, you are very uncomfortable with horses. you describe yourself as afraid of the equine culture. but you let the chain slip off the gate, let the window open and do something about it. you trust. and to your speechless surprise that trust is rewarded as the white ambassador singles you out for a greeting. 

you hear the woman in charge of the herds yell to you, "that's iron mike" and you swear another voice piggy-backs hers and says, boldly, "he is a representative of the archangel michael." but you can't be quite sure because you aren't all that familiar with angels, yet you decide to believe it on the spot because the horse is a shire, after all, and quite possibly the largest, most gentle creature you've met.

he sways you past your fears in an instant with his easy manners and over-sized head waiting to be rubbed. you feel something within you shatter, dwarfed as you are in front of him. you pet him and thank him and leave the shards of your fear in the manure. you go forth and walk amongst the herds, flanked at times by 16, 17, 18 hands high horses, your heart having found some peace and a home.

{Blue Star Equiculture, Palmer, Massachusetts}

a turn of the page

my brother and me, dueling cakes~ we are scorpios

i was dreading my birthday. now i am not.


plans have been made to stave off the sorrow~ dinner with friends beforehand, a lunch date with dad,
a gypsy king, prepping for draft horses.

and cake. because from a very young age it has been a favorite food group, helped on by a mother who excelled in confections.

i boldly asked for one to be made for me, by a friend who could shame martha stewart. dense orange cake with marmalade filling, slathered with orange buttercream. heaven and guaranteed moaning at first bite.



let a new chapter commence. let me tuck her firmly in my heart and create a new year for myself of stories worth telling and life lived with eyes wide open.

the metaphor

Jane's Carousel, Brooklyn

The night of October 29th, 2012

An island of joy and hope in the storm.

{photo credit~ unknown. sent to my email from instagram}

this is what i imagine

this is what i imagine.

that when you pass from this world, a veil is lifted.
you are granted a view of what transpired in your life without the
tactics of filters, defensive measures, or oblivion.

some may call this judgement day.
some may call this hell.
some may call this sweet relief or heaven.

what i imagine it is, is simple truth.

truth that can set your soul free.
truth that allows you to make adjustments to your soul's path.
maybe even truth that grants you insight to your fondest relations.



i have sensed her trying to get my attention.
the 4 women in 1 day all wearing her black rain coat with beige trim and hood.
the singular chickadee and 3 male cardinals swooping into my yard.
the conversation with her niece at vinegar hill house.

i wonder if she sees me differently now.
i imagine it would be impossible not to.

just as i see her differently~ her secret and sentimental life revealed to me,
1 greeting card saved and 1 broach at a time.
her citizenship papers and locks of hair.

she is more to me than ever.
i now know our relationship continues.
we are miners of each other,
scratching for gold with silvered forks
and i imagine, finding it.

the great escape

runaway train

brooklyn bridge

brownstone row

elevated life

 reigning queen of tea

a feast for all senses~ bellocq

brooklyn ferry

carousel under glass

jane's carousel

my heart

hi-line, nyc

always, flowers

an open mind

from where i stand, the world does not look the same.
because i am thinking differently.
because my mind is more open.
my understanding, larger.

watching some one die, slowly, is like taking a hand-crank can opener to your brain.
fussy forms of thinking and analyzing gain jagged, bleeding edges until you simply must
rip the old lid off, exposing your grey matter to chaos.

eventually, a protective sheath forms to filter out
the dust particles and leaf mush,
but there will never be a lid again.
you have no choice but to remain open.
and figure out what the hell to do next, knowing what you know.



there looms large the absurdity of material possessions.
the ones that became utterly useless, devoid of purpose and meaning in the slow blink of an eye.
what to do with them, hers and yours.
how much do you really need?
how much do you keep for honor and sentimentality?
my god, where do you put it all?

a shoebox of photos and a ring would suffice.
it's paralyzing.

let it all sit, just where it is.
pray for strength and clarity.

reach for your new life in any way you can. an open mind is a wonder.

i was not expecting this

 

There is no explaining grief.
But I will say it has gotten more difficult as the weeks go by,
as the void reveals itself and the chasm to be crossed, vast.

For me, everything has changed.
I was not expecting this.

I do know the happiness of her children is what will help her
find peace in her world made new.

And so, there are waters to navigate.
Old skins to shed.
Previously unimaginable choices to be made.

I wonder if a new freedom and new shades of orange wait on the further shore.
I wonder if I am already there in some form,
waiting with tulips and jonquils to lay at my unshod feet.

eat a peach

her birthday celebration at the lake~

ultimate chocolate cake,

 homemade raspberry pie x2,

wildflowers.

and the last of her brandied peaches

which tasted like heaven itself.

happy birthday, my darling mutti.

i miss you with all of my heart.

photos by my sister-cousin, lisa 'sweetpea' jane, and her magical iphone

Big Life 2012

My God, this is difficult to watch.

But we must understand what is going on

in other worlds, because it affects our own.

My God, the elephants.

The giraffes.

Please, do what you can.

Even a prayer makes a difference.

long moments of mercy

Today we gather to celebrate her birthday. There will be chocolate cake with her name in pink icing and the last 2 jars of her signature brandied peaches. There will be tears.

But there have been long moments of mercy this passing week~ the regularity of work and the kind souls keeping track of me, a hug and empathy from her oncologist who also lost parents to colon cancer, flowers from a friend, a gift of home made wine, greeting cards filled with words of understanding and remembrances, conversations with friends around a food-laden table, and the irreplaceable comfort of cats.

Make no mistake, there has been searing pain as the reality of her absence sinks in. Yet, the field of possibility I sensed back in July is beginning to make itself known. I have no direction, just vague inklings. My camera might find its way back into my handbag. Little trips to newness might occur.

The redtail hawk on the phone pole, who swooped in a dipping arc to the next pole, said to me, "Fly forward."

the solitary pursuit

grief is an uncomfortable and solitary pursuit. it digs down to your roots and festers in crevices. it robs you of breath when you open her closet door and find her scent clinging to sleeve and hem. it makes each photograph a punch in the gut, each impulse to still buy her flowers a slap.

grief makes you wonder, for 3 long instances at 4am, what it would be like to follow her. then the angel of mercy presses down on your breast bone and suddenly the drought has ended. you marvel, in surreal fashion, at the soft animal sounds that escape your lips. you wake hours later, swollen.

grief makes you socially repugnant. no one really has the stomach for it, what with all that sadness getting in the way of busyness and gratitude lists, of staying calm and carrying on. loneliness is a side effect of grief.

you understand there will come a shift that will ease you out of the pain and the longing and the regrets. you understand life will go on and the cliche of time will indeed let you sleep. but in the uncomfortable and solitary pursuit of mourning love and companionship lost, you wonder how the fuck did this happen.

untold treasures

view from the sitting tree~ almost dry

new view of the sitting tree~ middle of creek

evidence of leisure dining~ middle of creek

in less than 2 years, 20 months to be exact, 3 women in my family have left. my maternal grandmother, my aunt, and now, my mother. there are moments it seems too much to process, all these empty seats at the holiday tables. to stave off overwhelm, out the door i went, headed for the solace of the sitting tree.

this year, fittingly, the creek is almost dry from our ongoing drought. yet, the embrace of her roots felt the same. i stayed with her almost 2 hours. in that time came a new understanding.

there is great activity in a creek bed exposed, especially from very small creatures. the squirrel and the chipmunk took full advantage of the shortened route to the opposite bank, racing over the rocks with morsels in their mouths. it was as if they were determined to take the fullest advantage of this road-hardly-traveled to increase their stores of wealth. as well, the people came, on a weekday no less, and bounded back and forth over the bed, pleased with new-found favor. in time, i too wandered over rocks in the middle and stepped to the other side.

this is what i was told~ in fallow times, where the soul feels terribly exposed and life feels parched for life, there are untold treasures and pathways laid bare. there are places within and under that can only be reached in the seemingly harsh and brutal exposure of loss. look for the morsels exposed, take advantage of the shortened route to new opportunity. trust that joy can exist, everywhere.

my sweetie pie

My body aches less. The early morning anxiety remains; a now-familiar kick in the gut by 3 am. I've waited for release, sitting quietly as I did while her body stalled and reversed its way to other realms. Finally, I beg her forgiveness. Out loud. A modest drain of tears flow. I'm sorry for the suffering I was not able to prevent.

A voice, some one's, tells me to look at my nature journal~ the one that morphed from daily sightings to record of our last month together. I had written, bleary-eyed, at the end of each day the happenings and snippets of our conversations. From the pages I heard her voice as I read the words of progressive days:      "My sweetie pie, my sweetie pie."   "I know this is hard for you."

From the pages, my healing begins to take shape as I am reminded of my full presence in her hours and days of need, of the blueprint agreement my soul made to hold her in the light as her life went dark. I am reminded of our continual hand-holding, her wry humor, the countless declarations of love.

I begin to understand, my guilt over the small things I could not grasp quickly or could not prevent is unnecessary. That the largesse of my fussing and company likely rendered the small moments inconsequential.

And so, a layer of guilt is released. I wonder if more guilt lies dormant.

There is a yearning inside for life.

Danke fur alles

For the blog comments, for the texts, for the letters, the cards, the phone calls,

 the in-person support, the silent prayers, the emails, the donations to hospice,

the hugs, the tears, the cookies, the dinners, the flowers, the understanding, the love...

I thank you from the deepest place in my heart

 for your great kindnesses and your steadfast support.

 Every bit, every bit of what you offered made a difference.

 It gave me the strength to help grant my mother's last wish,

 to assimilate the journey and let the healing begin.

the dark lady

if you ask me if i have slept well, i have not.
for a month.
except for last night, finally.
exhaustion has settled in.

if you ask me how i am doing, i do not know.
there is nothing to compare this time to,
this time where my mother is gone.

if you ask me where she is now,
that is what i find so difficult, painful, heart-wrenching.
do not placate me with platitudes of heaven.
i want science.
~an explanation of where does life-energy go when it transforms.


if i call out to her now, does she hear me?

i question if there was anything more i could have done.

but now, just now, it is not mine to know.

i let the dark lady take me and shape me in quiet despair.
i lay down in her realms of night and endings and death,
blind on the path to reconceiving myself.

i wait to be born anew.

Draft Horse Solace

belgian 4 hitch line up~ ny state fair

grey percherons

percheron 4 hitch line up

lead belgians~ 4 hitch

lor-rob farms belgian team

east bethany, ny

champion~ ny state fair/ 3rd best team in the US

If my soul is to mend, there must be gentle giants...