Well, we all know the answer to that. Lately it’s been harder and, to be honest, I really don’t understand. Sure, we get old and people change for one reason or another, but overall I just don’t get it. Maybe I never will. And honestly, I’m not okay with that.
And in truth, I really don’t want to be okay with it. I want to be wildly engaged in life. I want to do things, see thing, love life and relish every minute. Is that so hard? I really, really, don’t think that’s too hard for any of us.
It comes along with all those things we’ve always wanted to do with our lives — DO THEM.
It comes along with good days and bad — make it work for now and then make it better.
It comes with love. Real love — the smile you see on the face of everyone you pass.
I can do that.
I want to chat with my girlfriends weekly and make fabulous plans that may or may not come true, and that’s still okay.
I want to try everything, and I’m okay even if I don’t like it after all.
I want to be able to say what I mean — and have someone understand. And care.
It doesn’t matter if you’re 13 or 98, It doesn’t matter if you’ve visited every single spot on the globe. It doesn’t matter how wealthy you are. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been bad or good. It doesn’t even matter if you really, REALLY want to live forever. The clock keeps ticking and you can’t stop it.
What we CAN do, is live and love.
And when I say that, I mean LOVE with all your heart. Love the good days and the bad days, but mostly, every single &%@$& day. Love for both the young and the old. Love for what you’ve lost and for what you’ve gained. Love for what you believe, and yes, love even for those you don’t believe.
So love MORE, dance MORE, hug MORE, talk MORE, share MORE, protest MORE, think MORE, imagine MORE, create MORE, help MORE, and jump delightfully into every possible moment you have.
And if you need to, change — and change NOW. You’ll be glad. So glad. I promise.
Some say the purest death is to be ravaged alive by beasts — a final communion with creation and instinct. I could give myself to the lions as red men gave their flesh with joy to birds of prey, a feast laid high on offering altars of pine, their bodies rising bite by bite to fill the mouth and longing arms of god. And if I should die on African soil at the pawing of tigers or men, I pray the ants will piggyback my sun-pressed crumbs across each undulation of the ancient and bare breasted earth and leave me soul to soil, to nurse the hungry wild and mingle with the stars.
NOTE:Artist, Writer, Wanderer, Introvert, Philosophical Rambler, Teacher, Worldwide Art Retreat Leader at wildhairadventures.com with LauraMcRaeHitchcock.com and pamgoodewrites.com
“It’s not bad — we think you’ll be fine” and suddenly the words leap from “We’re just not sure why this isn’t working” to “I’m so very sorry, but this is all we can do,” and before we knew it, she was gone.
Today is the day my Mom died. It was 5:30, March 30th, 2006.
I remember every moment of that day, as do my sister and brother. Still. And Forever.
Death is so surreal — and often, so unexpected. Even when you know it’s coming, it jumps at you like a growling hyena, and you wonder if you’ll every understand.
If you’ll ever get past it.
My mother’s death was one of those “wait, WHAT HAPPENED??? sequences that spilled suddenly from “It’s not bad — we think you’ll be fine”, then morphed strangely to “Unfortunately we’re just not sure why this isn’t working” to tears and more tears right up to “I’m so very sorry, but this is all we can do.”
We stayed with her night and day, and still before we knew it, she was gone.
Mom was one of those women who could (and would) do everything. She loved us, fed us, had a fabulously and almost childish laugh, danced, taught us how to sew and create and curtsy, get along with Dad, AND be a bad ass??????
My sister, who gardens like a similar first-class badass in addition to raising sheep (LOTS of them) and growing food for the family, pretty much took on Mom’s role and keeps us together.
Three children — each forging their own path and as different as night and day. It didn’t matter a wink how different we were (and still are). I’m so deeply grateful that we’re all still together and helping each other along the path. Life isn’t always easy, and that’s an understatement, but we love each other.
I have a friend who tosses fabulousness here and there every time she has an urge, and let me tell you, those little urges materialize often and keep her sane. Me? I tend to scribble my deepest thoughts on random pieces of paper that will never see the light again. I save them, sure, but they’re a tad elusive nevertheless.
Isn’t that the description of life?
I love writing. It takes me to a place outside of everyday life, and the truth is that a lot of me lives in there. It’s not an escapist thing — it’s more like plumbing the depths. Finding peace. Finding light. Finding home and sharing it.
Life around us is changing, and I’ve decided to move backwards a bit so that I can move forward in a more purposeful way. Frankly, it isn’t easy when you’re dealing with hyperbolic changes in our country. I know I’ve said it before, but ….
I think this is the shortest post I’ve written in many moons. And the long and short of it is that life has changed rather suddenly and in many, many ways. And though I haven’t yet found the secret to holding on, I’m doing what I can.
Some say the purest death is to be ravaged alive by beasts — a final communion with creation and instinct. I could give myself to the lions as red men gave their flesh with joy to birds of prey, a feast laid high on offering altars of pine, their bodies rising bite by bite to fill the mouth and longing arms of god. And if I should die on African soil at the pawing of tigers or men, I pray the ants will piggyback my sun-pressed crumbs across each undulation of the ancient and bare breasted earth and leave me soul to soil, to nurse the hungry wild and mingle with the stars.
I sang all day in the dirt. Peat, sawed up wood, manure, and what once took the shape of leaves come happily together in my hands.
Good dirt smells. First like the parts put in, and rather less than pleasant as you might expect — and then all excited like a promise. Earthworms writhe, excited and aware. They know full-out what’s to come: the breaking down of life into blackness — and then rebirth.
Whoever thought beauty could burst from a handful of chicken shit???
We are so much more than we know, simply because we don’t take the time to see.
To be honest, I have very little recall of most Fourth of July festivities. I don’t dislike the day — I’m just ambivalent. Actually, wait . . . . . . . okay, maybe I’m not ambivalent at all.
The best thing I remember about the fourth of July is children. I love seeing their bright faces, watching to see which balloon figurine they’ll choose and then stand in eye-popping awe as a masterfully (and surely exhausted) moustachioed man (or woman) twists and turns and blows and wiggles his way into the skinny balloons until THWACK! And suddenly the child is magically holding a pretty darn good replica of a dog/spaceship/tuba/baby girl/….. And mind you, this is all AFTER we’ve stood in the forever-line for tiny-tot-face-painting.
The saving grace, of course, is the look in their eyes and the glee lighting the entire night sky.
Don’t ask me why, but something popped into my head rather suddenly over the past month. And because our time on earth gets shorter by the day, I jumped on it. I’d love for you to jump in too.
I chose the name above because I want it to encompass the world. It won’t, of course, but that can still be my goal.
P.S. You do not need to be a woman to support women.
Details: My plan is to bring women of all ages, sizes, ethnicities and dreamers together. It seems to me that our lives as women are changing daily, and certainly our options are changing already. I won’t fixate on politics because I’ve never been that girl — though I’m beginning to realize that maybe I should be. We definitely have power, but can we control what’s going on now? — or what’s ahead?
What I do know is that we can always stand for peace and right.
Toward that end I hope to share these messages across the globe. And guess what — after one email blast and a couple of days, we already have women signed up from sea to sea in the the US, as well as multiple countries beyond. We need to use our strength. We need to be the women we are without keeping quiet. But most of all, we need to support and learn from each other. Nobody’s going to do this for us — especially now.
So far I’m mostly self-funding this women’s project because that’s my option, and that’s how much I want to bring us together. But as women, we’re inevitably strong, and our fierceness will get us farther into the future than we know.
So here’s what we need: Contact with each other; Appreciation for each other; Sharing with each other; Understanding and supporting each other as much as we can. And then movement: Saying yes, laughing together, brainstorming together, supporting each other. And yes, changing the world, even when it seems like what we do is the tiniest offering. We’re so much stronger than we know.
A Plan: We ALL need a plan, and so far we’re amazingly in sync. I’m good with a plan — I can do that — BUT I can also learn even more if I’m talking and brainstorming with others. Through this project, that’s exactly what we’re doing, no matter how closely or far apart we live, no matter our ethnicities, our shyness, or our uncertainties, we’re already doing it. It’s a pretty good start, and the most exciting part is that 99% of these women volunteered on the own.
Help We Can Use: Cutting templates from fiberglass mesh (perfect for you if you love cutting perfect 6-inch circles); mailing fiberglass mesh templates, talking up the project.
Mailing Templets: The cost to mail three 6″ circular fiberglass templates is variable but quite small across the US. Beyond the US, we’re currently working with women from Australia, Ireland, France, Italy, and Puerto Rico. I’d like to be able to help with the cost of mailing overseas.
Taking Part: If you’re interested, text me. We’ll be delighted to have you involved!
Sam has a touch of fire. When we got to be almost friends he would put his hand on my shoulder when it was time to leaves the parties we both went to and he said goodbye.
He would come up behind me and there would be the hand, and I would know it was Sam without even turning because his touch was fire.
One night I went to a party and I wore a sundress with no back. When it was time I thought he won’t touch me now. not tonight.
But then we were leaving and there was the hand again, On my bare shoulder this time and it was fire.
Night after night always the same, and when the hand came without stopping I was hard pressed to look him full-on when I said goodnight, knowing the eyes would be there, And I couldn’t tell yet what they were saying.
So I mumbled low at the floor, not wanting to leave until I knew, but needing the cool night air and the dark ride home to keep his touch from showing plain.
Pam Goode Writes 