Personal Growth

Rock and a Hard Place, You Say?

/ Pam Goode / 6 Comments

Have you ever felt like you’re going nowhere? Doing the things you’ve always done and knowing that not a single one of them is getting you anywhere? I’ve pretty much done this run before — or even a gazillion times.

So yes, I know that feeling too well … but that’s not what I’m here for. What I’m here for is change. And though it isn’t easy, we all need it now and then. In fact I think the older we get, the more important it is.

So tell me, how do you jump into change, and how does it affect you? Scary? Delicious? Much easier than expected? Shoot me now? I think the decision is the hard part, and the jumping is the easy part. And I have ZERO doubt that most of us become so very much happier after the jumping. I know I have.

What’s changed me the most? Without a doubt, travel. Getting out there and seeing, learning, sharing, throwing off your “usual” and jumping into everything that moves you. And you know why?

Because being stuck between two huge rocks is never the answer.

@pamgoodewrites/sophieswildhair
Image taken by Pam Goode, in Ireland.

Easy? What’s Easy?

/ Pam Goode / 5 Comments

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.

I’m worth that much.

We’re ALL worth that much.

@pamgoodewrites.com/sophieswildhair

Tedium, A Primer

/ Pam Goode / Leave a comment

Tangles and knots and confusion, scraping dried spaghetti from between the tines of my grandmother’s sterling, reading directions, coaxing nits from a toddler’s locks, de-weaving your dreads for tomorrow’s interview at Bank of America, proofreading the company’s “Five Hundred Uses of the Industrial Bolt” newsletter, scrubbing the toilet, bad sex. We’ve all been there; NO ONE needs an example of “tedium” — otherwise known as “bored and weary of it all.”

And why? Plenty of us have pretty much anything we need, and plenty more have even more. We were born in a golden age and many are still doing well. Seriously, can’t we all just be grateful and sharing? How hard is that?

And yet we hate It. We Hate It Intentionally. We Hate It until someone else does it for us. We Hate It almost enough to toss the silver. We chop the hair; we stray; we seek excitement and a Higher Level of Existence — that one just around the corner that allows us to afford maids and gardeners and cooks and a steady revue of hilarious houseguests, studly romancers, and adoring bimbettes. That one where we can . . . lie in a Barcalounger and . . . doze while the television blares. Ah yes, we’ve arrived — bored and weary of it all.

Welcome.

The Days We Never Forget

/ Pam Goode / 12 Comments

“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.

Thank You Mom
Love Always

Holding Firm

/ Pam Goode / 8 Comments

I saw a house in England —
stones enjoined by mortar
braided into artistry
like kings and queens,

and made my way to study her —
to touch and ape this gorgeousness up close
and OH!

I saw not braids nor fancy icing cake —
designs made plush for those
with fancy fortunes to expend,

but saw instead a simple cache
of rounded river stones, quite niblet-sized —
embedded piece by piece
and skin to skin.

and laughed to see a castle built
so much like me —

pebble by pebble,
and holding firm.

Pam Goode

The Merry Days

/ Pam Goode / 6 Comments

So far I’ve made it through hauling Christmas regalia out of the attic, hanging stockings, and standing by with a ready hand while my husband lifted and settled the tree. We have dinner plans — scratch that — we had dinner plans, but then the bottom fell loose and now I have no idea what the rest of the day holds. And I’m okay with that. Really. When you see your brother once a year, you smile, hug, and take what you can get.

And what’s change really? Life is never set in stone. N E V E R. I learned that lesson at the age of four.

So I pulled out my attic stash, rounded up the pink twinkle lights that keep me happy and sane, and dove in. And yeah, it took hours, even with our small four and a half foot tree. Because, well, you know. We all know, and it just ain’t easy. One side of the living room window is a bit smashed across the glass, and once I limb the ladder, I can’t really lean in far enough to extend the lights from one end to another. I’ve been doing this for years and always took the time to make it perfect. Now I’m just happy to see the lights at all. “I grow old, I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled ….” Oops, sorry to run off course.

When I was growing up, we always kept Christmas a secret. I was in my early twenties, my sister 3 years younger, and my brother quite a bit younger when the three of us walked into the living room together — my sister and I in tights and a top and my brother — ever the creator — walked in fully dressed in his own handmade Santa suit. Yes, I said Handmade Santa Suit.

I’ll never forget the awe of it, and I’ll never forget how much we can accomplish if we take a bit of time to drop the everyday and and add a bit of creativity. .

P.S. Apparently Jingle Bells was never intended to be a Christmas song, but hey, it sure worked.

Happy Holidays to all!

Pam Goode

Plumbing the Depths

/ Pam Goode / 7 Comments

This is the third post I’ve tried to write.

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.

And that’s a start.

Staring Into Space

/ Pam Goode / 18 Comments

This morning I knew exactly what I wanted to say. What I needed to say. It was clear and concise — a mix of horror and loss.

This afternoon, I can’t tell my front from my back. I can’t complete a sentence. I can’t remember where I was headed when I left the house. Maybe I just don’t want to remember — to lose these feelings of safety, sharing, and creativity — these days of love and laughter that held much of my life before this morning. It was a good life — filled with happiness, joy, women working together, and love.

And then this morning my husband misread the clock and accidentally trotted downstairs an hour early. I did the same an hour later and by then hell had already broken loose — at least in my house and my heart and the hearts and souls of so many. I’m accustomed to waiting and waiting and waiting for the election results, usually taking a day and a half or so. When have the polls ever been ready in less that a day??? This didn’t seem like a good omen, and it certainly wasn’t. I dropped into my chair and stared at the TV for only a few minutes, and then spent most of the day staring into nowhere, which seems appropriate.

I’ve read part of the manifesto put out by trump and friends, and yes, it scares me sh***tless. And yet somehow I put much less concern into it than I should have. Tonight, if I’m thinking clearly, I’ll delve further to acquaint myself more fully with Project 2025 and the demons that lurk when we’re not looking. I won’t make that mistake again, but is it too late?

Crumbs

/ Pam Goode / 2 Comments

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.

© Pam Goode, 1995
Adapted 2024

Her Garden

/ Pam Goode / 4 Comments

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.

© Pam Goode