Promise

milkshakesandheartaches:

I hope on the 

ashen stone

that will stand

above,

you will sing

me a song

of how much 

my life affected

thee.

Do not weep

or leave me

flowers that

will wither,

just promise

to bestow your

beauty for

those whose

eyes still see.

Yes. This. Thank you for writing it. Monday it will be six months since my husband died. “Sing a song” and “bestow beauty.” Life is happening now. We are to live it. Grieving is part of my/our journey. We loved. We mourn. We miss him. We remember. We are still alive. Speaking for my boys and I. So many loved and cared for him and prayed us through. Our family that we made together. We are thankful and blessed. Again and again. “Sing a song” and “bestow beauty.” Got it. Will do. Yes. This.

February 22, 2014

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“Mud Season” by Ellen Stimson @ellenstimson

It started one late fall morning, when I read an excerpt from Ellen Stimson’s first book, “Mud Season” in “Reader’s Digest” that had me grinning and laughing. When my oldest son, age 13, woke up I suggested he read that mini tale about rain, cows, a skunk and chickens. He chuckled too. He did. Laughter is even better shared. That was sometime before Christmas. I then ordered several copies of “Mud Season” to give as gifts, and wrapped a copy for myself in Christmas paper too, Mom Style. I began to meander and mosey through it, reading while I ate my meals, often standing up in the kitchen. I’ve never been to Vermont. I love cheese. I’ve always wanted to visit New England. Some of my friends have chickens. I buy farm fresh eggs from them, brown and white ones. Part of me wants to move and live anywhere but here, but we’re staying put. We are. It’s A Good Spot. Earlier today, at 9:27am, I wrote in an email to a friend, “Lots to do and I just want to curl up with a book in bed and tell the world to go away. Maybe with an F thrown in, some days. Unplugging today as much as I can. Breakfast is next. Went to the store first.” Then, at 11:08am, I wrote to her again saying, “I just finished reading “Mud Season” by Ellen Stimson. Thought of you a lot as I read because I loved the way she told her story – honest, funny as hell, with excellent cussing. I sat and read in a quiet house, with my last cup of coffee, while my Blue dog snoozed on the love seat next to me, his head by my side. I’m crying because I read to the end and she included recipes – cheese and cream laden ones. Oh my. More too. All of it really. Through the past few years, during my husband’s cancer fight, I couldn’t read much, but I could write. I love to read and “Mud Season” was a fun book. Memoir. A saucy, sassy one.” The beauty of “Mud Season” is that it felt so much like a multilayered conversation with my closest girlfriends. They are an amazing group of strong, fascinating women with beautiful smiles and musical laughs, who simultaneously pray you through a storm and help you find your smile with stories from their lives. That’s what friends do. Books are friends too. They keep us company, teach us stuff and are meant to be shared, like a good meal and laughter. Poor, Ellen Stimson. I found her on twitter and have been tweeting to her as I read along. At 11:28am, after I finished reading, I tweeted her this picture and said briefly:
“Dear @ellenstimson,
I finished Mud Season this morning. Smiled, laughed and cried w/Blue by my side.
~Janean”
The end. Now the dog is awake, off the love seat and barking to go out. No more time to type, because nature calls, both the dog’s and the beauty of outdoors with glitter on the snow in sunlight under a blue sky, even if the temp is 1*F. It’s time for me to “write for real” with a purpose. Memoir. It beckons me. My first book, “The Blue Collection,” is hiding, right out in the open here at Tumblr. It is a collection of all these micro posts, poems and stories about me and my dog, Blue. Woof. Again. He’s really gotta go at 12:45pm.
(Time lapses.) I took the dog out. My Aunt Janet called as we circled the block. I didn’t slip on the ice as we talked and laughed rat a tat tat fast. Familial shorthand. I saw a friend walking her two little white dogs. Knew today her husband was to hear Doctor News. It wasn’t good. Damn it. Hugged her. Caregiver support. Walked home. Read and replied to emails. Tweeted some. Phone got down to 3% battery before I plugged it in. 2:16pm now, as I’m finally going to click, “post.” I know where the day has gone. Words. The ones I read, the ones I wrote, the ones I spoke. The day has been gobbled up with words. I just remembered to feed the dog. I can hear his food go crunch. It’s time for my lunch as my stomach growls a reminder. “Mud Season” charmed me. That’s what this post is about. I am a rambler. Brevity eludes me, except in poetry, and I’m OK with that.

February 7, 2014

I can’t make you

turquoisetangle:

I can’t make you

I wish I could

you’re bigger than me

I can’t stop you

you won’t listen

I won’t beg

do what you have to do

the door closes

I cry then

my eyes are dry now

no longer tired

I wonder

when you will come home

knowing that you will

I won’t call

you know the way

when you’re ready

come home

even though

I can’t make you

© 2011 Turquoise Tangles

That feeling when someone suddenly “Tumblr loves” something you wrote a few years ago. You reread it. Sigh deeply and cuss (just in your head). Somehow you nearly forgot. Does anyone else tag real life personal drama as, “creative writing” and hope the outer facade of reality doesn’t crack? No, me either. After tagging that way a few times my husband “called me on it” so I stopped. Stopped writing quite so honestly. Stopped tagging anything “creative writing.” Started talking about the dog, Blue, then just a puppy. A lot. Time flies. Speed varies. I’ve logged nearly 1,000 posts here at Tumblr since joining in November 2011. Poems. Photographs. Stories. Quotes. Reblogs. All tweeted too, if you’re counting. The best, most interesting, jaw dropping, heart aching, twisting, tugging, wrenching, soaring writing from the past several years has all been done behind the scenes. Just in case you’re wondering, this poem, written on a long ago night, was foreshadowing. I’m glad I was brave enough to write it and say it at the time. I still remember the fight. Faded. Fading. Letting go. We were fire and fire, fire and ice, hot and cold. Yet, we ended “just right.” We came through the fire, all pride set aside, and we loved with our walls down for the very first time.

January 6, 2014

Time to play, “The Matching Game.” It was my husband who collected Hallmark ornaments. First Star Trek and then later, when they were released, Star Wars. He always said they were worth more if we kept the boxes too. Unpacking boxes and unwrapping from bubble wrap to hang them on the tree. Then, less than a month later, pairing up the ornament with the picture on the box and wrapping them up in plastic bubble protection once more. Love. His for space movies and their universe of collectibles. Mine for him. Our sons share his love of SciFi. I’m boxing them up carefully because someday this collection will be divided between my boys and hang in their respective homes. When that day comes there will be room on my tree for different ornaments. You know, all the non-SciFi ones.

January 1, 2014
2:35pm
I’m still procrastinating by writing, but at least I started AND I’m standing up!

moving forward

I purposely stayed out of my Online World yesterday. I wanted to enjoy the moment I was in. I did. There were many beautiful ones. Smiles. Hugs. Laughter. Presents. Discarded wrapping paper. Happy boys. Funny Blue stories. Pictures. Memories of Mike spoken aloud. Other memories held close inside. Not too many tears. May the joy and magic of Christmas live in your hearts all year. Christmas is all about the LOVE. Let’s carry more of that into the new year.

December 26, 2013

Taking Stock…The Things That Matter Most: my body…broke insideso no one can seebut i know now i will be finei’m…

takingstockofwhatmattersmost:

my body…broke inside
so no one can see
but i know now i will be fine
i’m on my knees…finally me

i look to the Heavens
my arms spread open wide
sometimes Faith takes time
for those who are broke…inside

He see’s what others cannot
He accepts my faults from above
He takes my hand and leads me home
He sacrificed His Son to show His love

He is my refuge and my fortress
He is where my strength comes from
He protects me in the shadow of His wings
He cares for me, loves me
He forgives me again and again
He provides for the sparrows
and also for me and my boys
I am thankful
So very thankful
What a journey it has been
Climbing mountains so steep
Wandering in the vast wilderness
Desert dry as we sought an oasis
Mountains moved by Faith
Paths appearing where there seemed no way
Hope springing eternal
A fount of many blessings
Through it all we pray
Renewal in the final weeks
Walking through the valley
of the shadow of death
God’s promises are real
His covenants
He goes before you
He prepares the way
Fear not
Do not be ashamed
He will never leave you
Pray “Your will, not mine”
Be still
and know that He is God
The God of Moses
The God of Daniel
The God of David
Father of Jesus
He is our Father
in Heaven
He is there
He will heal your heart
Trust Him today

October 27, 2013
two months and a day since my husband died

Taking Stock…The Things That Matter Most: my body…broke insideso no one can seebut i know now i will be finei’m…

Chicken Italiano laughs

Supper was nice. The three of us sat down to eat. Then, my oldest son spilled half his drink onto his plate. I was glad I cooked a bunch o’noodles because there was plenty to dish up more. Erin, my friend since second grade, and my mother remember the story I told next… About the night I made crockpot Chicken Italiano long ago, a nice supper. I can’t recall the year right now, but my oldest son cried all through supper about it being, “the worst day ever” because we expected him to taste/try the delicious food I’d made. My husband picked out all the tomato chunks out of the pasta sauce and left them on his plate. Then my youngest son accidentally spilled his ice water into his dad’s lap, at which point my husband’s plate, with uneaten tomato chunks, flipped into the sliding glass door blinds. I made a nice supper!!!! This is what happened instead that night. I remember. The boys laughed tonight in the retelling. There is more to the story, but it is a Blue-emergency. Today was/is A Good One. Best of all, it’s not over yet.

October 2, 2013