The missing walk report: 090313

For whatever reasons I feel obligated to write something when I miss a walk report perhaps it's merely habit now to do this? Maybe I need to reinforce my thinking granted these entries are more for me than anyone else. In case you stumble upon this I'll explain, these posts are often journal-like and with that they can be rather "off-the-cuff."

Yesterday I was focused on getting clear on a process that I have admittedly taken on in a rather piecemeal fashion. I'm going through probate on my mother's estate. She will be gone 6 months tomorrow. There's a lot in the background. There are the emotions, the absence, the memories--constant reminders living here in my childhood home. There is both fondness and heartbreak. There is also a level of frustration in seeing how lives were lived here for close to 60 years now as an adult investigating the "remains" almost quizzically sleuth-like. Why would you do that? Why didn't you do this? What were you thinking? I have found some things too that are heart warming. Letters for one...

Letters between my parents during their separation during World War II. The ones tied in blue satin ribbons from my future dad to my future mom, always with the stamp upside down and numbered in the bottom left corner. For the e-mail and texting world of today, the upside down stamp was a message that said, "I love you" and "I miss you." There are dozens and dozens of letters. The ones from my mother are not so revealing. I see my mom in them, the person I knew all of my life. I see her undying love for my dad despite remarrying and decades passing. But from my father I see a person I never got to know. My father was killed in a tragic auto accident in 1961. I was a couple of months shy of my 5th birthday. In these letters I see a very sweet and caring man. I see a quaint and often simple & uncluttered Midwestern way of thinking. I see his love for my mother. I see a man who probably would've been a really great dad.

Something that also rings in my head reading the letters from my dad, my mom often said to me from teen years into adulthood, "I see a lot of your father in you." This would frequently make me wonder, "how could this be?"

Undying love. Somethings are good to hold on to but you also need to let go and bring your life back to you and those around you when there's a loss. You need to find a balance between fond memories, the loss of a loved one, keeping grief at bay and living out your life. My mother wasn't very good at these things. She carried her loss to her grave.

On a shelf, up above our kitchen sink, was a set of salt and pepper shakers of a boy and girl kissing on a bench. According to my mom these figurines represented my parents, Elsa and Pete. When I was about 6 years old my sister and I were in the kitchen with our mom. Our father was gone now for over a year. I don't recall what mom was angry over but she slammed an upper kitchen cabinet door just next to the shelf and the little boy figurine, "Pete," came tumbling to the floor and shattered. Our mother burst into tears. I said to my mom we could fix it, glue it back together but she insisted there was no fixing to be done and proceeded to throw the broken pieces away. Something happened to me which captured this incident as though it were on film in my memory banks to this day--all of a sudden I realized that death was permanent. My dad's absence took on new meaning that day. Many times over the years it bothered me that my mom kept the figurine of the little girl sitting alone on that bench looking to kiss my father once again. I didn't think that constant reminders like this were very healthy, they keep you from moving on and they suck you back into the grief you once knew too well. You can probably feel the sadness now just looking at this.

Three weeks after my mother passed away I went outside and did this. Now to free myself of the connection it made with my mother for over 50 years.

I wrote "off-the-cuff" but I've wanted to tell this story for awhile so while I started out thinking I would explain the absent walk, it simply started to flow from me. The reasons for missing the walk were rather typical anyway, tired, my back was just killing me yesterday (today it's just being a bitch) and it's hot here last night still 90º near 8 PM. In fact right now it's 103º and this room is 87º so I'm going to turn on the house a/c and have an iced coffee. Thanks if you read this, it felt good to write it down.

Today's walk report: 060213

Every moment tells a story...

I've said this before about my walks. I'm not quite sure if I mentioned it here though. If so, excuse me but I think it's worth mentioning again. It occurred to me some years back that my walks are telling me a story. Without trying to get really deep here since it would probably bore us both I'll simply state that my walks often feel like an entity unto itself and that entity talks to me. Use your own imagination to figure out what that means, you can think that's wacky or deep, it doesn't matter to me.

My morning today was absorbed by one event, I needed to plant the crape myrtle tree I mentioned here both yesterday and the day before. What I did not mention was this tree had a dedication of sorts and that dedication was to my departed mother. She passed away at my side, here in this house on March 5 of  this year, not quite 3 months ago. The tree tribute idea originates from my sister, Kris. I, however, was trying to make an effort for almost 2 years to make this house feel more like the home it once was while our mom was still alive and that included living things throughout the landscape outside. Just 5 months ago I was seeing myself taking care of my mother for some time to come. I was hoping to be able to take her outside so she might enjoy the yard. I was also hoping to take her to the garden I frequent during my walks. Over a year ago I worked hard to at least paint the front of the house so it looked OK once again. At the time mom was going out just once a week with me to see her hairdresser and once a week with my sister for lunch. Both of those dates were already showing decline by the time I put the paint away. Outside almost everything was dead and despite my rather black thumb I tried to get some stuff growing. I had, in fact, done alright with a sort of hopes and dreams casting of wildflower seeds last fall along with some not so strategic planting of California natives with fingers crossed.

Here's a partial view, from my mother's bedroom window taken just 2 weeks after she passed away. Her final morning I opened up those drapes and described what was happening outside. I told her about the weather and pointed out the 1st 4 California poppies had bloomed, visible from her window. While I sensed that visually she was no longer processing I also sensed that she could hear what I was saying and had some sense of understanding. When I needed to cry I left the room and did so, quickly gathered my composure and went back in to hold her hand, caress her hair and tell her I loved her.

The tree being dedicated as a lasting memory for my mother has no ties to any beliefs spiritual or otherwise. It is simply a living recognition to a woman who meant a lot to me.

That's the flavor which started my day, it stuck with me throughout my walk and of course is following me as I type these words and post these images. I brought my mother with me today.

This is a wall at the elementary school both my sister and I attended. The walls were simply beige back then. I attended part of my year, 1965, right behind that wall. Room 20. The expression on the wall I see everyday called out to me on this day. It has a story that goes along with my mother's passing away and that story is conveyed here on my sister's blog, posted two days after mom left us.

The bulk of the walk was from there a trigger for fond memories of my childhood. This is what the walk told me, to hold onto precious memories and that the past is part of who I am but it also sparked a new motivation in me to move forward and grow where I've been planted. Perhaps that should read where I've been replanted. I've been hanging onto a disconnect in a way, to a different past. One which took place 27 years ago when I left this Valley and said I would never live here again. Today jolted me into the reality that I do live here again and that I need to make the most of it and regain my focus on how, not where, I want my life to be.

So the balance of the walk was pretty much one of introspection but I'll leave you with a pretty picture. Callistemon pallidus, commonly known as Lemon Bottlebrush.