sitting on a bench, waiting for you, waiting for me, waiting for us

I'm a believer. I'm not ashamed of it, it's who I am. Not a believer in the sense of enforced childhood participation in the church of my parent's choice. A believer in the sense that deeply to my center core, I believe in God. Don't know which God but in my world there is a God. I'm pretty sure it's the same God everyone follows. Different names, same deity. A creator.
As a believer I do not associate with any church or congregation. I fly solo. Just me and my beliefs.
My belief in God's creation goes from seed to bloom to wilting but beyond that I'm not so sure. Is there an after life? Sounds good but I won't know until I know. Being blessed enough in life is good enough for me. I do believe that at the end those who went before us will be sitting on a bench at the door that leads to who knows what.
As my Mom was dying, I was fully confident that in the room with us in spirit were my Dad and her Mother. Just sitting on the bench waiting for her. They were patient. Their souls quiet while we waited. Me to say "goodbye", them to say "hello".

Last Fall as I sat with a family friend at her nursing home, I felt that same quiet company but this time not my family but her's. Her sisters and brothers, the one man she truly loved. All waiting for her to step into their arms. As we held her hands and felt her breathing stop I knew without looking that her soul was walking away arm in arm with those she loved so much. They'd been waiting. They were ready, she was ready. They went joyfully toward the door that leads to who knows what.

I do not fear death, nor do I actively seek it. I know I've written those words before. A fellow blogger's recent posting has me thinking about that great beyond and what waits for us. When I try to picture it I'm not seeing streets paved with gold or a gaggle of virgins. I'm seeing nothing. Just blank space, empty canvas. I'm sure it will fill in someday. Colors and shapes and hopefully faces I know and miss. My childhood friend, Gregory taken from life by Leukemia. Not an easy thing to grasp as a child. My first "date" Andy, his mental pain so overwhelming that he felt he had no choice but to stop the noises in his head himself. My Aunt and Uncles, friends I knew, murders, suicides, illness, old age, accidents. The means didn't matter. For each of them as I mentally look back the images in my mind tell me their soul was met with tears, love and hugs. And then they walked away, somewhere, with those who waited for them.
If you're a fan of 'Dead like me' and I am, then you know at the end of each episode as the reaper freed the soul, that soul went off into whatever it was that Heaven was for them. I like that. I hope for that. But I'm not sure. The only thing I am sure of is that as my Mother passed, as Aunt Sally passed, those they loved so deeply were all there just sitting on a bench waiting for them. And as their souls moved on, they went with those loved ones and walked through that door to know one knows what.

There may be a heaven. There may not. What I do believe is that as I go and my loved ones say goodbye to who I am, those who went before me will be right there to say "hello. We've been sitting here on this bench waiting for you. Let's go."

For sale, one slightly used but deeply loved shiny object

I sell on ebay. I should be doing it regularly but it seems like I went on a one year sabbatical.
I also collect stuff. The problem with the buying of shiny objects is it leading to collecting shiny objects which leads to clearing space so you can buy other shiny objects. It's a nasty nasty circle of life.
Sure I could keep my mountain of shiny doo-dads and gee-gaws but then my family would put me on an episode of 'Hoarders'. I'd be the woman snuggled up inside walls of books. I'd be lying on my couch made of books and looking at my shiny stuff arranged in tidy stacks around me. Just, my books and my little dog and of course, shiny objects out the wazoo. Before I start thinking that kinda sounds nice....it's  ebay time. I photograph and describe the items one by one. I use the 'Pickers' and Antique Roadshow-speak  ".."Vintage" "Rare Find" "Highly Collectible" "created in the 1800s, 1900s.".. " I carefully describe the item. I list any flaws and I praise it's values. But I don't put the whole story on there.
All about 1880s silver and crystal condiment set with holder I pulled out of a quarter box at a garage sale in Greece, NY. I could mention how I stood there and picked each piece out myself. Took a while but it's worth it.
I don't get to explain how I bought two full page comic strips from 1903. To be fair I bought the frame. I didn't care what was in it until I pulled it out of the closet to use it and was floored.

I never give the real story. Everything I buy has a story, every single thing I own has a story. I have a wide selection but what amuses me one summer has to be rehome so I can be amused next summer.

Except books. Books go free. I leave read books with friends and family with the promise that the new reader will pass it on when they finish it. I never want them back. I never expect them back.
Sometimes what I set free comes back to me. It must love me. Growing up I had a poster that said so and as you know, 1970s posters do not lie. When a book returns to me I put a post-it with 'free to a good home' on it and leave it at the drs office, hospital waiting room, restaurant, any place you can put it down.
Not the rest of my collections. Every year items must be eliminated from the herd. Tia's natural selection.  For me, the thrill is in the hunt. I guess I've taken my love of sports and winning to a different more middle aged woman friendly level. According to my math skills I am over middle aged since I will never see 102. Blame my NYS public education if I'm wrong. I like to see other people's crap and possibly buy it. I enjoy talking to strangers and bonding for the short amount of time I'm in their drive way. I've met people of all types. Retired school teachers with a deep interest in birding. A family that took in wrestlers from Germany in the 1980s. Couples married late, couples together 50 years. Most strangers but occasionally someone you know or should know. People from the old neighborhood, people you used to know in HS, even people you used to date. Familiar strangers. Socializing with a perk.

I just have to find a way to support my addiction. Tah Ebay dah! I like to go to flea markets and buy things I like, love or am amused by. Over time some specific groupings have appeared. Those I keep. My 1980s Basketball collection. Stockton to Malone baybee.. My Niagara Falls collection. That will end up donated as a whole  to some sort of museum. The rest is forming a straight line to hit the exit.

Sundays and Mondays are ebay days. I place my ads. Then it's the wait. 3, 5, or 7 days of checking to see if I have watchers. Maybe bidders. Possibly questions. For me like losing children. I listen to music (Julian Lennon) and get to work. Sad to be giving up beloved items, I know I am fickle enough to replace them as soon as Spring hits.

Goodbye Tootsie Toys,goodbye Coca-cola glasses, goodbye silver spoons and sewing kits. I'll miss you.
Goodbye baseball cards, goodbye purses and popcorn tins.It's been real.
I'll remember you all fondly. I'll relive the time I found you and how much I made from you when you left. I promise you that if we ever run into each other again. Me with money burning a hole in my pocket and you on a table, price tag slapped lazily on you. I won't stop or pick you up. I'll keep on going,  I won't look at you sadly. I'll move along to my next find. My eyes will keep searching for that item that makes my eyes glow a little.

Today is Monday. I've got a full mug of coffee. Switching to Tracy Chapman, working music. Time to do what I hate so I can continue to do what I love. Just looking out the window at Mother Nature's PMS fury and wondering how long it will take to melt this freakishly large amount of sow. Snow up well past my waist. That ain't right. I want Spring. I want Summer. So I'm selling my old stuff and counting down to Spring and shiny new stuff.

Photographic memories

What to do with old photos? The real kind of photos, not the ones we take that never touch film. Some of my readers don't know what film is. They never had a Brownie or an Instamatic. They never bought film in cartridges or rolls, they never had to have it developed. Taking pictures used to be a process, you'd buy the film, use flash bulbs, using it sparingly because not only did you have to buy the film you also had to pay to have it developed. You'd either take it to a store and hand it over or you'd mail it off in the prepaid envelope and wait for a week or two to find the packet of photos in your mailbox. The only selfies you took were when your thumb accidentally got in the way of the lens or you hit the shutter when the camera was pointing down and you had a lovely picture of your left foot.
Those of you nodding your heads along with me know what I speak of. You also have photos or slide. Slide are photos you have to work twice as hard to see. But you have them, I have them. So what do we do with them?
I have mountains of photos. I don't throw them out because I dreamed once that I threw out all my photos and the people in them ceased to exist. Any of you book writing people who want to use that idea, it might make for a nice sci-fi short story. Just promise me I can read it! I knew my dream was a dream  but since then I've had a hard time throwing photos away. So I keep them and then the pile grows and grows and you know where this is headed... avalanche!
Now my dilemma, what do I do with these photos. Do I scan them and save them to some cloud in the sky? Do I learn to scrapbook and put them in nice neat piles of books? Should I return some to the people in them? I really don't know but I do know something has to give because there are too many of them. But how do you throw away memories like these:

Yes that my brother and me. I have photos of us growing up, of my kids growing up, of relatives as far back as cameras span. I have tin types, Kodachrome, black and white, color and Polaroid. I have slides, portraits, school photos, and negatives that ended up stray without an envelope to call home. I've got bins of old photo albums from my parent's childhoods, all glued in place with black corner holders and dates written underneath in white pencil.

I will probably weed through them all and liberate most from the herd. I'll scan them to save them and then comes my issue. How do I get rid of them? Do I have a bon fire? throw them in with the kitchen trash? bury them in shreds, I really don't know. Do spirits live with photos as many people think or are the memories so real that we feel the person in the photo? 

This is a real question: what do you do with old photos? 

Hear here! It all makes sense.

Snowplows pushing, train whistles blowing, airplanes flying, bus brakes squealing, children yelling. These are the sounds I know.

Heater clicking, cat meowing, neighbors shoveling, garbage trucks stopping, car doors slamming. These are the sounds I hear.

Voices yelling, my sons laughing, always moving, tvs blaring, phones always ringing.These were the sounds I loved.

Grandkids active, loved ones chatting, morning bird songs, daytime bustle, nighttime silence. These are the sounds I crave.

 

 

I've been having some problems with my hearing. It's slowly coming back but while life was muffled so I gave a lot of thought to my senses. Which would I choose to lose if I got to choose? Sight, sound, touch, taste,smell?

To taste a steak fresh off the grill or an ice cold beer in the middle of August? Savoring the flavors of herbs from my garden or berries from the farmers market? These are things I love. The sourness of lemon, the sweetness of Christmas cookies. I'd be so sad without those things, yet I could go on. 

The scents of Summer, Spring and Fall. The gentle smell of lavender and the lilacs every year. Fresh cut grass and gasoline, pine trees, popcorn, brownies warm from the oven. The smell of leaves in October, of the chill in the air.  I'd be so sad without these things, yet I could go on. 

The feel of my dogs soft fur, a hand clasped in mine, a hug from someone I love. The crumbling of dirt beneath my hands, the softness of a baby's skin, the feel of cool sheets and warm blankets. I would be sad without those things, I guess I could go on. 

The sound of my sons calling for mom, my granddaughter's voice, to hear "I love you", to say goodbye, to say hello, to hear the rainfall hit the roof and thunder crash and boom. Music playing, peopIe chatting, laughter flowing. It would be sad without these things, I wonder if I'd go on.

To see the faces I adore. To watch a movie, read a book, view a wonder. The sight of nature, God's pure world, the things that man has made. My eyes see heartbreak, joy, and sadness as I go through my day. I take for granted all I see. I forget the beauty around me. What I skip over today I know  I'll see tomorrow, this I can go without. I don't think I would or should go on but I know I could.

My Mother was blind in her last days. A process that robbed her slowly of the things she loved to do. My life is no big celebration of adventure and challenge and dares. I am nothing more than a simple soul who uses her eyes to savor life. My children, my granddaughter's beautiful face, the Falls, the parks, just me and my camera looking at the world. My ears are healing now. I can hear my idiot dog barking at the wind. I can listen to the sound of my grandfather clock chiming every little bit. I can smile when a friend calls me and talks to me for hours. It's still a little muffled but I hear it more each day.

Taste, smell, touch, hear, see.  I can live without those things. I wouldn't want to but I can. As long as I have just one.. my sight or sound or touch to keep me whole I know I'll always feel blessed even when some other senses go. I just needed a little wake up call to remind me how lucky I am. 

Snow Days (a blast from the past)

This is an older blog entry from 2/2010. It came to mind as I listened to the school closings this morning. I hope you enjoy it, snow days are excitement for kids but not for their parents whose work places don't close. Stay warm if you can!

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Laying in bed, listening to the wind I hear my Father’s alarm going off.

5am: I slowly pull my head and shoulders out from under my blanket to peer out the window, careful not to let the morning’s frigid air slip into my cocoon. With eyes barely open I squint to see in the darkness.. Snow, yes it snowing but is it enough? Quickly I slide back into the warmth and lay there anticipating, hoping, wishing.

5:30 am: the shower goes off and still I lay there hoping.

5:45am: he heads down the stairs as I lay there with my eyes screwed tight in prayer.
The smell of coffee rises up to me, the pans make noises in the kitchen. I hear the front door open as he brings in the paper. Please oh please let it be true.

6am: my brother’s alarm goes off. WCMF blares loudly once then twice. He’s up, it’s my turn soon. My prayers become frantic, I make promises both God and I know I’ll never keep. I’ll be good, I’ll do chores I’m not even told to do, I’ll do everything…anything.
Again the shower shuts off, it’s almost time. I peek out the window again, seeing nothing but darkness and the barest hint of light.

My turn now, I linger in my room. Slowly I make my bed, get dressed, pull my books and homework together. I head down the stairs defeated. I slump into the kitchen while my Father turns on the radio. WHAM comes to life. The newsman drones on about the President’s trip, about countries I never gave thought to. Then it’s time. The list. The list we never seem to make.

Eating my oatmeal I listen and think bad thoughts about the ones in charge.
The list is read off “Albion, Aquinas, Batavia, Brockport” It’s unfair, it’s not right, it never happens for us. “Churchville, Dansville, Elmyra” Why do we have to suffer, why are we always left out in the cold waiting for the buses that always seem to show up on time? “Fairport, Geneva” It’s just not fair, they hate us “GREECE” We look at each other, our spoons in midair. “did he say what we thought he said? Can it be true??

We jump to our feet, we yell and we scream. A snow day, a snow day!!! How lucky we are. The phone starts to ring as our friends call with the news “we finally have a snow day, what shall we do”