Sparkle and Grit

So Long Aunt Helen

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Sun, 16 Oct 2016 10:41:00 +0000

These are my Facebook posts from the last two weeks.

Ten days ago:

My mother and I are preparing to do a very hard thing today.

We will be awaiting the arrival of her older sister, my Aunt Helen. She will arrive by ambulance and be transferred to a hospital bed in my mother's living room. Then we will wait for hospice to arrive and tell us what the next steps are.

Aunt Helen is 82. She took a nasty fall in the bathtub last week which led to several days in a chair where she was unable to get up or call for help. This breaks our hearts more than any words can say. On Thursday night she was taken by ambulance to the hospital where it was discovered that she has cancer in her liver, lungs, kidneys and bones. There are no available beds in hospice right now so she will stay with my mother until that changes. She is in good spirits and morphine is controlling her physical pain. She eats pudding for breakfast and ice cream for lunch because...in her words....WHY THE HELL NOT?

Yesterday I found myself alone with her and we chatted about regular stuff for awhile. The conversation went a little deeper and I was able to tell her how proud I was to have her as my Aunt. How much I love to tell people about my brave Aunt Helen who moved to New York City as a single woman in the 1950's. She has always been a role model for me. Some of my favorite childhood memories are the ones of visiting her in Manhattan. I was so in awe of her city life and I remember just standing at her apartment window on West 55th and counting taxi cabs as they hurried by. After a long day in the city we would come back to her place and drink ginger ale and eat pretzels before changing and going out to dinner. I felt so fancy staying someplace with a doorman but I must confess I was totally infatuated with the incinerator and loved to take the garbage 'out'. It doesn't take much to impress this country girl, huh? She taught me how to walk and talk and be a 'city girl'. Don't look down, don't go too slow, look strong and determined, NEVER act like you don't know where you are...just keep walking. Pretty good advice for life too now that I think about it. She always encouraged my dreams and sent me interior design articles and brochures from colleges in the city. I wanted to be just like her and move to the city after I graduated. I wanted to be an interior designer and go to school at FIT. I was accepted there and so excited about how my life might intertwine with Aunt Helen's in the big city but life had other plans for me but that's another story for another day. Aunt Helen is tough as nails and she tells it how it is whether we like it or not. She doesn't fool us though...under her tough exterior is a very tender heart who truly loves us all through her sometimes difficult and gruff ways. I told her that even as she faces her own death she is teaching me so much. We held hands and I said "I'm really going to miss you." She said she was really going to miss me too. Then we cried....just a little. I told her how much I admire her and what a brave adventure her life has been. She responded by saying that she was about to go to another world and have a brand new adventure. She is one of the most stoic people I know but she admitted that she really needed a good cry. This is one of my wishes for her now...that she allow herself to have a really good cry. She has earned it. This conversation was.....Tender. Raw. Vulnerable. Real. Surreal. Almost like watching a scene from a really good movie. Except it was our own beautiful and precious life.

Is this too much to share here? I don't think so. I decided that as a writer I want to share this story of how healing and love can shine through some of our hardest days. I heal and process through writing. That has always been my way and now is no different. I am deeply grateful for this chance to have a proper goodbye with my Aunt and tell her all those things that would have weighed so heavily on my heart if I had never been able to share them with her. We don't always get that chance. Maybe if you are reading this you might think of someone you love and just tell them whatever it is you need to tell them.

Right now. Don't wait.

I also decided to share so that those of you who feel inclined can hold us in your thoughts and if you are the praying kind that would be good too. But first a word about prayer....PLEASE don't pray for healing....she is ready to transition from this world to the next. She is onto her to next brave adventure. Please pray for her dying to be peaceful, as pain free as possible and surrounded by those that love her. I believe in sharing our sadness and our times of loss because none of us can do this alone. This is holy ground where we grieve together and allow our heartache to be witnessed. Having her for an Aunt was like winning the Aunt lotto. Lucky me.

Thank you for 'listening'.

I love this photo of my mother and her siblings.
From left to right: The baby is my mom being held by her sister Nelda, brother Tom and their big sister Helen. 1943ish

Eight days ago:

Aunt Helen. Here she is....this is for all of you who have taken the time to comment or react to a post, called, sent a private message, texted or sent kind thoughts or prayers. We appreciate you and we have leaned on you more than you may realize.

She is declining more with each passing hour and we are thankful for these days we have spent telling stories, laughing and sharing our hearts. She is preparing for her final rest and we strive to make this transition as pain freeand as safe for her as possible. She is surrounded by people who love her. She is aware and grateful that we are there. She's not opening her eyes very often now but she hears every word we say and lets us know that by randomly shouting out answers to our questions or comments on things we are discussing. We can't help but laugh and be grateful that some parts of her are still so intact and reminding us of her fortitude and grace. I am so glad my sister is here now and I love overhearing them talk about their shared memories. We each have our own unique and special relationship with this force to be reckoned with otherwise known as our Aunt Helen.

These times are sad but sacred. We are ready to say our goodbyes and pray that her end is near. My mother let her know this morning that she can let go and we will be there to send her off.

A little story to go with the photo:

She wears the sun glasses to keep light from hurting her eyes and my mother gave her that black shawl the other day to keep her shoulders warm. When I saw the shawl combined with the glasses I had to take this photo because this is the very essence of Aunt Helen. She will go out as she lived....in style. As my soul sister Lisa told her.... 'Helen!!! You look like you just stepped off Park Avenue!!!!' She laughed and smiled at this comment and I believe she even sat up a bit taller. This is when I captured the picture.

The moment I saw her like this I was transported back in time to a day in Manhattan when she was holding my hand and hailing a taxi with her other hand. She was wearing a long coat with a wide belt tied off to one side and black leather boots. She had similar sunglasses on and I just remember looking up at her with my wide eyed little girl eyes and being in such awe of my fancy city Aunt. I asked her if she remembered and she smiled and said she certainly did. She remembered the boots, the coat and the day.

You can take Aunt Helen out of Manhattan but you'll never take the Manhattan out of her.

Two days ago:

Aunt Helen hailed her final taxi just before 2am this morning.

She was always one to take care of business and keep her affairs in order. They gave her 3 - 6 months to live on September 30. Instead she went from diagnosis to death in just two weeks. This is not surprising as she was a dot your i's and cross your t's kind of person. At her bedside in the hospital two weeks ago today my mother and I heard the details of her very advanced cancer. Aunt Helen looked at me and said "If you have anything to say Kimberly, say it now." She was honest, direct, abrupt and had no tolerance for drama. I aspire to be more like her. My final conversation with her was around noon yesterday when she asked "Why would someone have to die like this and could we just get the job done?" I took her hand and kissed her forehead and said "Let's do it today Aunt Helen" to which she quietly whispered okay. She wasn't afraid, just determined and an inspiration to all of us right up until the very end.

As long as I can remember Aunt Helen has always used the term 'So long' when saying goodbye to us in person or on the phone. I've always liked it and wondered about it's meaning. There are various theories on its exact origin but the one I like the most is that it comes from New York City where Irish, Italian, Jewish and Arab immigrants lived together in the 1800's. It is common for the Jewish people to greet and say goodbye to each other by saying Shalom and the Arabic version is Salaam. Over time this was adopted by the Irish and Italians and became Solong. This makes sense as our family originally came from Ireland into New York City.

I also discovered this from Walt Whitman which was his last poem in Leaves of Grass.

So Long

An unknown sphere, more real than I dream'd, more direct, darts awakening rays about me...So long!
Remember my words -- I may again return,
I love you -- I depart from materials;
I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.

I find this poem to be a fitting tribute this morning.

The general meaning of Solong is:

'Farewell, until we meet again.'

In that spirit we say 'So Long Aunt Helen'

Helen Marie Lynch
May 2, 1934 - October 14, 2016

My Apologies

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Wed, 12 Oct 2016 15:42:00 +0000

AN APOLOGY TO ALL THE WOMEN AND MEN STILL SUPPORTING AND DEFENDING DONALD TRUMP:

I'm so sorry you don't have better quality men in your lives.

This is NOT locker room talk. This is NOT 'boys being boys'. This is NOT how all men talk. I promise you this is true.

Young teen boys may try out this sort of thing but as they mature into manhood many men hold themselves to a much higher standard. They honor the women in their lives. They know how you treat one woman is how you treat all women. They know that young girl is somebody's daughter, that woman is somebody's mother or somebody's wife. They understand that how men treat the women in their family is a legacy that lives on and teaches all the young boys born into that family for generations to come.

I'm so very sorry you do not know these men and I'm terrified if you are raising your sons to think this is acceptable behavior.

If you are a man reading this and still supporting and/or defending Donald Trump then I sincerely apologize that you have not had better role models in your life. They are out there and I hope you search high and low for a mentor and get schooled in what it means to be a true gentlemen. Your sons and all other young men in your life are watching and your mothers/grandmothers/aunts/sisters/ daughters/granddaughters are either reaping the benefits of your honorable words and actions or paying the price for your lack of understanding of what it means to be a real man. This 'boys club' is not cool or funny or just the way that men are. Set a higher standard for yourself and live up to it. Be part of an elite club called GROWN ASS MEN.

One more thing...if you are a Christian who preaches family values I won't be able to trust your words anymore as this behavior does not support that belief.

I love you and I will not unfriend you on Facebook or stop speaking to you. I respect your choices but please promise me you'll give this some thought and deep reflection.

My Grandmother

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Thu, 03 Mar 2016 17:28:00 +0000

*Remember in that last post when I said I wasn't a poet? That I needed more words? Well, here come the words. That short poem about my grandmother just wasn't enough to say who she was and what she taught me in my early life. Some of my best childhood memories are the times I spent with her. I wrote this many years ago and decided it was worthy of some quick edits and then sharing with you. Fix a cup of coffee and take a walk back in time with me. I hope it stirs some good memories for you too.

Wanda Elizabeth Dickinson Lynch

She was born in 1906. That would make her 110 if she were still alive today. I like to imagine that she could be. I gave my oldest daughter the name Heidi Elizabeth to honor her.

Life at my Grandmother's house was easy and peaceful. The first thing you did after opening the door into the kitchen was go straight to the fry cake jar. Fry cakes are donuts but better. What I wouldn't give for just one more of those delicious wonders. She always put extra cinnamon on mine.

Grandma never wore pants. She had house dresses and good dresses. Good dresses were mostly for church or the occasional wedding or party. She never drove a car and did not own a TV until one of daughters bought her one in 1957. My mother tells me that before they had the TV they would go to a neighbor's house to watch the Arthur Godfrey show. Try to imagine neighbors sharing a TV today. If it was ok for my mom and her siblings to come up the hill to watch TV they would hang a sheet on the line. That was the green light to come on up. Isn't that the loveliest image in your mind?

My Grandmother was part of the Ladies Aid (they made quilts I think), the Rebekkah Lodge (I have no idea what they did), she taught piano lessons out of her home, she was the choir director and the organ player at her church. She had a multitude of friends. So many, in fact that the State Police had to direct traffic at her funeral.

Every Easter the men from the church would haul the church piano up onto the back of a pick up truck and drive it to the cemetery. We would be there before sunrise, waking and driving while it was still dark and then huddle up together in the cold morning air to watch the sun come up. My grandmother use to get right up on the back of that pickup, play the piano and sing "The Old Rugged Cross". I can still hear it now. What a voice she had. It was a voice for the opera and I imagine in a different time and place that she could have had some pretty big opportunities. I wonder if she ever wondered about that. My guess is no. She seemed to make the very most of the life that she had been given. You might say she bloomed where she was planted. As far as I could tell then, and now looking back, I would say she was one of the most content people I have ever known.

Sometimes when I think of these memories my head spins at how different life is today. I can feel an ache and a longing for those sweet and simple days spent with my grandmother. Neighbors stopping by for a chat, clothes hanging on the line, eating Neopolitan ice cream, watching her can vegetables from the garden, resting on the couch with a cool washcloth on our foreheads on hot summer days.

When I was little my Grandmother would sometimes reach into her pocketbook, take out her change purse and give a dime each to my cousin and I. This was a lot of money for her to part with. She never had much and yet she seemed like one of the richest people in the world. She had a warm and cozy home, good food, wonderful friends, God, flowers growing all around her house, books to read, songs to sing, a piano to play and a grateful heart. We would walk with our shiny dimes down to the corner store, the floors were wooden and the storekeeper knew us by name. There was a glass front case with penny candy and a small chest freezer with popsicles and fudgesicles. A dime allowed us to get a frozen treat and FIVE different pieces of candy. We were so happy walking back to our Grandma's house waving to the neighbors as we went. Hello Myrtle. Hello Marilyn. Hello Virginia. So content without a care in the world.

I use to sit for hours and play canasta with my Grandmother. This game could go on for days and it often did. We would set the game up on the dining room table and then eat in different places. "Where would you like to eat today dear?"

On the TV trays, on the front porch, the side porch or the little kitchen table? I loved all of these choices and each spot had it's own special magic. I took these decisions very seriously. The side porch was often where we would eat our lunch, the front porch was for afternoon snack and a rest. Grandma would say "come on dear, let's sit a spell." So we did. We smelled the peonies that lined the front walk, we watched the neighbor Virginia work in her garden, the neighbor boys being boys and the occasional car go by. We were in no hurry to get anywhere, there was nowhere to go. We were present to the moment and we didn't have to meditate or read a book to know how to do this. We would shuck peas and drink lemonade. The TV was not on and we didn't have the radio on either. We just listened to the sounds of life. Sometimes for a treat we would use the TV trays to eat our dinner and watch TV. Trapper John, MD was a big favorite. We never wondered if this was bad for us or if we weren't connecting as a family. We just thought it was fun.

Popcorn was the standard evening snack. If I was there she would holler from the kitchen "dear, I will put butter on it since you are here, I normally don't". I always had my doubts about this and still do. I am pretty sure melted butter on the popcorn was a regular thing at Wanda's even if she was all alone. We would always put the leftover popcorn in the gas oven and the pilot light kept it fresh for the next day's snack. After playing cards or watching a little TV we would go to bed. She always prayed on her knees. She had two twin beds in her room and I would kneel with her next to her bed. She prayed aloud with just a little light coming from the bedside. Her version of a night light was a hankie over a lamp. A fire hazard I suppose but we never thought about that. The soft glow that was cast around the room from whatever color hankie she would choose was so beautiful to me. I can see that room in my mind instantly and just the memory of it comforts me. Chenille bedspread, windows that looked onto the front porch, a bible and a jewelry box on the dresser. Simple, organized, cozy and most importantly, safe.

She never called pajamas by that name, they were night clothes. She wore an apron as part of her outfit and only removed it if we went somewhere. Sometimes she even forgot and would wear it to the store under her coat. Going somewhere meant getting a ride because my Grandmother lived almost twenty years beyond her husband and she still managed to have a beautiful and full life without driving or owning a car. Her common phrase for children was "Bless their heart." I didn't think anyone said that but my grandmother until I spent a year living in the South. Even though that phrase can be used sarcastically I think it is a pretty good idea to go around blessing hearts.

The last time I spent the night with my grandmother was about eight weeks before she died. It was 1986. I was a junior in high school. It was January and I just felt like having a good old-fashioned sleepover with my grandmother even though I had my own car, a job, a boyfriend and lots of social commitments. I called her and asked if I could visit. She said "come on over, dear, I'll be here". That was the last time I would ever hear those words. We had fry cakes and played canasta. I drove her to the store myself. We had dinner on TV trays. We watched a little TV and popped some corn. She never said "do you want some popcorn", she would just get up from her rocking chair and say "I think it is time to pop some corn." And of course, we had butter on it. We drank Faygo soda and ate the popcorn out of the blue melmac bowls one last time. When it was time to put on our nightclothes and pray, she said "come sit beside me on the bed dear, my knees are aching me tonight." This was the first time I ever saw her not pray on her knees at bedtime. So we sat side by side on her chenille bedspread with our handkerchief nightlight. And we prayed. The next morning came and we got ready for church. She let me wear a special pair of earrings from her jewelry box and she told me to keep them. She had never done this before out of the countless times I had sorted her jewelry box and played dress up with my cousin. I was happy she gave them to me but something inside me knew. I drove her to church where we sang and prayed some more. We came back to her house, had a snack and then it was time for me to go. We hugged goodbye and I told her that I loved her. She said, "I love you too dear." A month later she was diagnosed with cancer and the month after that she died.

I still miss her like crazy sometimes. There are moments I smell her or the smell of her home and I wonder if I am being paid a little visit. Her apron hangs on a hook in my kitchen. She missed my graduation from high school and college, my wedding, my children, my entire adult life. She would have added such richness to the lives of my children. They don't even know what they have missed. I hope somehow that there is at least a small part of me that reflects her and they can feel the strength and grace and wisdom of a woman they never knew.

Many years ago while looking out the screen door at my family celebrating my mother's birthday my Aunt took me aside. She said she had never seen this before but she had to do a double take when looking at me. She saw me standing at the door and for a moment she saw her mother. She looked again and still she saw it. She came inside to take a closer look and once more she saw the face of her mother.

And so it goes.

I'm NOT a Poet, but.....

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Tue, 01 Mar 2016 13:15:00 +0000

I am not a poet but I sure do admire the ability to use less words yet still communicate so much. Me? I need more words. That's just how it is. However, I do believe in pushing myself to try new things and discovering my growth edges in the process. I often choose familiar and safe because growing is hard. I might embarrass myself. Someone might laugh at me. I might fail. In the end I want to choose growth as much as I can and move past my self imposed limits about what I can do. I want to live fully and try new things and know that I said YES to new and uncomfortable things both big and small. I want to be at the end of my life knowing that I tasted as much of this life as I possibly could. So here is just a teeny, tiny way that I pushed myself to try writing a poem. Several years ago I took part in a creativity project to help us daily to create something and challenge our own ideas of what we are capable of. Of course when I saw that one of the days was writing a poem I wanted to skip that part.
Why?
Because.
I am not a poet.
I can't do it.
I don't know how.
I will look stupid.
People will laugh.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
I think I have reached a place of just being bored with my fear and with my own excuses for not being all that I can be. I am more fearful now of reaching the end of my life not having done all that I wanted to do. That's what will look really stupid.
Do you feel like that too?
Over the weekend I found the poem I had written in the creativity project. I wrote it about my grandmother who has been gone 30 years and who I loved so very much. Instead of thinking...'this is stupid' or 'I'm not a poet'....I just thought what a very honest and sweet tribute to my grandmother. I hope you feel inspired to push past your safety zone today too. You really have nothing to lose. We all have a one way ticket on this earth and a day that will be our last day. Let's not waste these precious days that we do have. I don't believe in being fearless. I believe in being scared to fucking death and doing it anyway. Take one tiny step towards that thing you think you can't do.

It's one thing for me to write a poem, it's another thing completely to share it with all of you. Here I go....

Daisy

We ate fried cakes in the kitchen

She put extra cinnamon on mine

We shucked peas on the front porch

Her in her house dress and apron

Me still in my nightie

She swept the floor

Hung clothes on the pulley line

And played hymns on the piano

We knelt to pray each night

The smell of peonies wafting thru the window

Popcorn parties on TV trays

Watching Trapper John MD

Her name was Wanda

Some called her Daisy

We played canasta games that lasted three days

We ate fried chicken and radishes

When she lay dying

She wanted root beer

And I brought it to her

Please Don't Give Tissues to a Crying Person

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Thu, 25 Feb 2016 18:05:00 +0000

If you are grieving or someone you love is experiencing grief, please do not underestimate the power of your presence. I often quote Iyanla Vanzant who says: "A wound needs a witness." Some of my most healing moments have come when I had a loving and compassionate witness for my tears. People who did not try to fix me but simply let me get it out. Sadness can be uncomfortable for many and their urge is to cheer the sad person up. What sadness really needs is validation and a safe outlet. Tears need to flow. I shudder when I hear parents say: "Stop your crying. There is no reason to be crying right now." If your child is crying they are crying for a reason that is very, very real for them in their emotional world. This is true for all of us. There is always a reason for our tears. We don't need to fix it with the mind or the intellect. No matter their age, just let a crying person cry.

Many years ago I learned the theory behind not offering tissues to a crying person and that was reinforced in my grief training. It is important that I make tissues available for clients but I never offer them when they are crying.

Here's why:

Tears serve a holy purpose and are a part of our grand design as humans. When scientists have studied tears they have found that tears of sadness have a different chemical makeup than tears of joy. When someone is ugly crying they are in a process. It is healthy. It is good. Although it can seem like a kind gesture to offer a tissue it actually stops the grieving person's process. You are essentially saying, "mop up your tears" or "stop crying". They feel obligated to take the tissue and start wiping away their tears. This stops the release of the pain they were in the middle of purging. We have all done this and it has been done to us. Please don't feel bad about that. When we know better we do better. It is a cultural norm to hand a tissue to a crying person.

What's often true is that huge displays of grief can cause discomfort for those nearby. It makes us feel helpless. We want to fix it and it can also trigger our own grief. A person knows when they need a tissue and they will reach for one. Let them cry and snot into their sleeve and fall on their knees if that's what they need to do. Just practice being a safe container for another human to let it all out. When we get scared off by another's pain it only makes them feel more alone. There was a time when I thought I might, but as far as I know nobody has actually ever cried their eyes out.

Our tears are liquid grief and we need to treat them as such. Whenever you are crying or witnessing someone who is crying, you are standing on sacred ground.

Thank you

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Wed, 24 Feb 2016 17:23:00 +0000

Thank you.

A million times, thank you.

Releasing anything into the world can be scary.

The vulnerability required is daunting.

But then....once you do it, it really isn't that hard.
It is actually harder to expend energy hiding parts of our real selves. The phone calls, private messages and texts that I received in the past two days since sharing my blog in a more public way has been the best kind of overwhelming. I actually had a joy headache Monday night from all of the love, encouragement and the brave people sharing their stories with me. What an honor. I never could have imagined the kind of response that I would receive. I love connecting with all of you so please feel free to reach out to me anytime.

I named my blog Sparkle and Grit because I know that you can't have one without the other. My gritty times have taught me so much and made me a better person. They have given me an even greater appreciation for all that is good in this life. My broken heart has opened me up to even greater levels of love and compassion for myself and others. The depths of my despair have allowed me to feel an even greater joy. We cannot escape grief and loss, they will be a part of each of our lives at many points. We can only let them do their work inside of us. Allow the pain. Give it airtime. Find your safe people. Cry. Know that every single one of your feelings matter. There are specific tools to help you through the pain attached to a loss of any kind and I will write more in depth about that in a later blog.

But for today... I will keep it short and sweet and filled with overflowing gratitude for all of you and for this amazing, sparkly and gritty life. I'm glad we're in this thing together.

Thank you again from the depths of my heart.

Down to My Last Two Percent

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Sat, 20 Feb 2016 17:01:00 +0000

Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.

And everyone you love is made of stardust

and I know sometimes you cannot even breathe deeply,

and the night sky is no home,

and you have cried yourself to sleep enough times that

you are down to your last two percent,

but nothing is infinite,

not even the loss.

You are made of the sea and the stars,

and one day you are going

to find yourself again.

- Finn Butler

If I could tell you just one thing today, it would be this:

If you are struggling and feeling lost,
you will find yourself again.

You may not feel that at all.

Your circumstances may not indicate that is even possible.

The landscape of your life may feel like foreign soil.

I know this place very well.

I spent so much time last year wondering how I would ever recover from my losses. It had been a series of blows over several years. I wasn't sure who I was anymore. I wasn't suicidal but I did lay in bed at night and think that death would be a welcomed relief. I would look at my precious sleeping daughter. I would think about the life she would have if I died and that gave me a teeny, tiny glimmer of hope and a desire to keep going. I had a baby idea that maybe I would eventually find my way out of the darkness.

I clung to that idea.

I tried to believe what my friends were saying.
I relied on their love and support as if my life depended on it.
Because it did.

I lived out of a suitcase for 11 months.

For the sake of a good story, let's just round that up to a year.

Several trusted friends kept telling me how brave I was but I can assure you that I did not feel brave in any way. I felt completely and utterly broken. I would say, "Maybe one day I will look back and see that I was brave but right now I don't even know who I am." I have never cried so many tears in my life. I thought maybe they were going to name a new river after me. I had never felt so scared and so vulnerable.

Nothing looked the same.

Everything that I thought made me...me, was gone.

The people, places and things that were part of my identity,
the very fiber of my being.....gone.

I went from living in a town with less than 1000 people and the nearest city having a population of 30,000 to living in a city of more than half a million. I went from living on a dirt road to dealing with multiple interstates to go anywhere. I cried when I realized I didn't even know where the grocery store was. I had to use a GPS to find food. I had no idea where I was, literally and figuratively. I went from a 3000 square foot dream house to all of my belongings fitting in a 10x12 storage unit. I had a 7 year old daughter, $1400, a suitcase full of clothes, a box of books, my car and wonderful friends who so lovingly said......
"come stay with me for awhile."

I believe that life will show you on the outside what needs changing. When the players in your game of life stop playing fair or being kind, it isn't about them. It is about you and what you need to change. It can be very hard to look inside and see what's wrong, that is why we often need an outside circumstance to show us exactly what we need to see. And trust me...it will show itself multiple times in different ways. You have many chances to get the lesson. Eventually it will be too painful to ignore. I will tell you that story another day but trust me...there was a defining moment where I knew my life was going to change in a huge way. It took a good long while before I was actually putting my things into storage and driving away from the life that I had known. It was not an an easy decision and it was not an overnight decision. It was a full year of soul searching. Including four months where I only got out of bed to take my daughter to school. For real.

Somebody recently told me that I was a runner.

In their opinion I had run away from my problems creating even more problems for myself and others. I entertained this idea for less than 60 seconds. Someone who stays in a marriage for 25 years is not a runner. Someone who lives 5 miles from their hometown is not a runner. Someone who has emotionally and physically cared for their aging father is not a runner. Someone who has raised 4 children as a stay at home mother is not a runner. I felt the urge to say all of these things in order to defend myself and that probably lasted less than 60 seconds too. I felt attacked and of course my initial reaction was to defend myself. But why? What good would that do? I have become very guarded about how I choose to spend my precious energy. Defending myself is no longer important to me. I am more than happy to carry on with MY life and let you think whatever you want to think.
In fact, what you think is really none of my business. I have a million better things to do than convince anyone of anything.

Did it matter what this person thought about MY life?
And what if I was a runner?
So what.
What I do know as my deepest truth is the only running
I was doing was running towards myself.

For the very first time in my life.

I knew my children were watching me and that they might someday need to search back in their memory bank for what to do when it came time to protect the women and children. Who was going to be their example if it wasn't me?

The funny part is that I have less problems now.
I have less sadness and way more joy. WAY more.
I have more peace and contentment than I have ever known.
I have more self-respect, more self-love.
I have more compassion for myself and everyone else.
I did not in any way relate to what this person was saying.
It was his reality, NOT mine.

*I feel it is important to mention here that you may be wondering who this person is, and although I want to keep that private, I will say that it is NOT the father of my children. I have a fierce desire to protect him and all that we have shared over our many years together.*

I have gotten more and more comfortable over the past year with being misunderstood. I am confident that I understand my life better than anyone else does. I have learned to trust both my feelings and my desires. I have learned that my gut feeling is the most reliable indicator I have of what is true for ME. I have learned that some of the voices in my

head are not actually mine. Imagine that.

I KNOW that I am not a runner.

I KNOW that I gave all that I had to give.

And then some.

And I also KNOW that when it was time to leave the party I stayed even longer just to be sure. I KNOW that my desire for the dream of my life to work out as my younger self had planned and envisioned was greater than my ability to see

what the truth actually was. I KNOW that circumstances beyond my control forced me to make an impossible decision. I KNOW that nobody but me knows the layers and layers of heartbreak and decision making that went into what they were so easily judging as running. It was not a decision that was made lightly and it was many years in the making.

I got down to my last two percent.

I had nothing left to give.

Nothing.

Remember calling 'Uncle' when we were kids?

If we were arm wrestling or some other physical challenge and we were about to give up we would call Uncle.

Meaning: I give up.

I can't do it anymore.

I have no more strength left in me. Uncle.

So, no.

I did not run.

I called Uncle.

I finally found the courage to act on the truth.
Life created a situation that forced me into seeing what I had not wanted to see. I had known certain things to be true and secretly knew that if push ever came to shove it would be impossible to deny what the truth was. And then of course, because life is like that....push DID come to shove.

The status quo was no longer acceptable.
If it wasn't going to change then I had to go.
I know this caused confusion and hurt for others.

I know judging me became an easy thing to do.

People that I wanted to be there for me virtually disappeared.

I felt despair, confusion, anger, sadness and loneliness.

Then, slowly but surely I started to feel joy again.

I started to imagine new possibilities for my future.

I started to understand that peoples judgement of

me was not about me. It was about them.
Most importantly, I stopped judging myself.

I surrounded myself with people who loved me without agenda. I found my safe place.
People who loved the authentic Kimberly,
not just the one that worked for them.
I began to trust the trajectory of my own life.
Somehow, all that had seemed so wrong
started to seem all right. My tiny, baby idea that
I would make it through started to grow.

I marked my progress by noticing that I was crying less each day. Then I noticed I would go a whole afternoon or evening without crying. Many months passed. Seasons changed.
Then it happened.
I went an entire day with no tears. Then several days and then an entire week. Please don't get me wrong...I think crying is a miracle and I cannot imagine what the state of my physical, mental or spiritual health would be right now if I had not let the river flow through me.

I don't feel alone or scared now.

My vulnerability became my strength.

I don't cry everyday anymore.

I don't think death would be a relief.

Instead of calling 'Uncle' I am calling:

"Olly, Olly Oxen Free."

Do you remember that too?
It is what we would call in a game of hide and seek, kick the can or capture the flag when something had changed in the game and we could come out into the open without
fear of losing the game.

Olly, Olly Oxen Free.

I am out in the open.

I am not afraid of losing the game.

I know that I can't lose.

I know that there are no mistakes.

Only lessons.

I am not curled up in the fetal position licking my wounds
or reiterating my sad story to anyone who will listen.

It's a Saturday morning, the sun is shining, the icicles are melting, I can smell the coffee brewing, the birds are singing and while I may not have totally found myself yet,
I am certainly on my way.

And you know what else?
I'm feeling pretty damn brave.

Leggins Ain't Pants

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Fri, 19 Feb 2016 12:53:00 +0000

It's Friday.

Let's start the day with a good laugh.
Lawd. Jesus. White leggins.
They ain't to be wore.
Period.

You will see this woman on Ellen next....mark my words.

Watch and see.

You're welcome.

Mom, You're a Skank

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Thu, 18 Feb 2016 17:42:00 +0000

The room was dark. The air was frigid outside and we were snuggled under one down comforter and two quilts.

I was just about to drift off when I hear the tiny,

sweet voice of my 9 year old daughter say:

"Mom, you're a skank."

Me: "Whatttttttt??????? What did you just say????"

Lilly: "What? I don't even know what skank means."

Have you ever tried to describe skank to a 9 year old?

I am not even going to try to recall my feeble attempt.

Once she got the general idea of what a skank was
she said "oh, nevermind then, let's just say you're a skunk

Me: But do I look like a skunk????
(secretly worried that I really needed to get my hair colored)

That comment made me remember this:

I told her about my cousin that I was once very close to, who had this uncanny ability to look at a person and could almost immediately recognize what animal they were. She would say some people are a straight up rabbit or horse and then you have your combo deals. Maybe a little horse mixed with something.....a dog, a cat or perhaps a pig. I do not have this skill and I would be highly entertained at how easy this was for her and she was ALWAYS right. Imagine the fun you could have at a mall, or an airport!!! Once she told me what she saw then I could instantly see it too. Sometimes that's all I could see. Instead of my neighbor talking to me all I could see was a talking giraffe. I know it sounds crazy but it's true!

We could not contain our laughter at this point so we called Heidi (the big sister) to tell her the skank/skunk story and get her on our late night shenanigans. Once we got Heidi laughing, Lilly decided she would try her hand at this 'person as animal' challenge with her sister as the first victim. This is where my laughter turned to tears running down my face. Her big sister is actually quite beautiful with gorgeous blue

eyes and crazy long eyelashes. She has long,

silky hair and a beautiful smile.

However, apparently when Lilly sees her

this is what she sees, and I quote:

"Heidi is a weirdish chipmunk with a touch

of badger and a touch of weasel."

Can you picture that?

What exactly is a weirdish chipmunk?

Oh. My. God.

This girl.

She pegged her big brother instantly by saying he

was a gorilla with a touch of owl.

You know what?

He IS a gorilla with a touch of owl.

He really is.

It's cold. Really cold. It's snowy and icy.

We have cabin fever.

This is how we entertain ourselves.

I was thinking maybe you might like to play this game too.

Three Things

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Thu, 18 Feb 2016 14:57:00 +0000

Each day when I drop Lilly off at school

I tell her three things.

1. Do your best

2. Be kind to yourself and others

3. I love you

Some mornings she beats me to it.

It's really this simple isn't it?

Three good rules to live by.

So let's keep it simple this morning.
I want to tell you the same things I tell my precious
daughter because you are precious to me too.

1. Do your best

2. Be kind to yourself and others

3. I love you

Tender Hearts

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Mon, 15 Feb 2016 21:25:00 +0000

Do you ever have days where your heart feels so incredibly tender you almost can't bear it? I sure do. In fact I have a very, very tender heart today. Nothing is wrong. Nothing sad or bad has happened. In fact, quite the opposite. The kindness that I have received, given and witnessed today has brought me to my knees. I am crying for no real reason other than the sheer gratitude I feel for this life and the way we all hold each other up and show our love in a myriad of ways. This life can and will batter us about. Things can and will happen that make no sense and seem so unfair. I am always amazed by the power of the human spirit to keep going when the going feels not just rough but impossible. Many years ago I read in 'A Course in Miracles' that in the end the only real thing will be the love we have given and the love we have received. I am starting to really see how true this is. It is the kindness we extend that matters most. It's the minute by minute, day by day and week by week love, support, kindness and understanding that we offer to one another that makes life so sweet. After 25 years of hosting her talk show Oprah said this is what people

really want...to be seen...to be heard...to know they matter.

“I’ve talked to nearly 30,000 people on this show, and all 30,000 had one thing in common: They all wanted validation. If I could reach through this television and sit on your sofa or sit on a stool in your kitchen right now, I would tell you that every single person you will ever meet shares that common desire. They want to know: ‘Do you see me? Do you hear me? Does what I say mean anything to you?’

“Understanding that one principle, that everybody wants to be heard, has allowed me to hold the microphone for you all these years with the least amount of judgment. Now I can’t say I wasn’t judging some days. Some days, I had to judge just a little bit. But it’s helped me to stand and to try to do that with an open mind and to do it with an open heart. It has worked for this platform, and I guarantee you it will work for yours. Try it with your children, your husband, your wife, your boss, your friends. Validate them. ‘I see you. I hear you. And what you say matters to me.’” — Oprah May 25, 2011

I see you. I hear you.

And what you say matters to me.

So simple yet so profound. The ways to be kind are really so easy. See people. Hear people. Make sure they know that what they say matters to you. Making them food helps too.

I am going to take my tender heart and make some comfort food for my loved ones, soak in a very hot bath, then put on my favorite pajamas and watch a feel good movie. How about you? How can you treat yourself and others with gentle kindness tonight?

I will leave you with this thought for today:

"My religion is simple.

My religion is kindness." Dalai Lama

Let's Talk About Boundaries. Again.

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Sun, 14 Feb 2016 13:22:00 +0000

We have to talk about boundaries again.

Why?

Here's why:

Isn't it amazing how you can so peaceful and content,

minding your own business, spending the day cozy inside

with sub-zero temperatures outside and then suddenly
be pulled into another person's reality?
An out of the blue phone call.
Happy to see who it was on the caller ID.

Someone you love on the other end.

At first all seems fine, just catching up on life since we last spoke.

Then, suddenly we have turned a corner into

a dangerous neighborhood.

An accusation, a judgement, hurtful words.

I know instantly by the way my whole body is having a reaction that my personal boundaries are being violated. I think of that movie 'Inside Out'...... I imagine all the whistles

and bells going off in my brain.

ALERT. ALERT.

HER BOUNDARIES ARE BEING VIOLATED.

SEND THE RESERVES. SEND THE SUPPLIES.

DO SOMETHING!!! DO ANYTHING!!!

Everything is jumping for attention at once in my mind.

Can you believe this asshole?

Why does he want to hurt me?

Hurt him back.

Hang up on him.

No, don't hurt him. You love him.

Ouch.

Under this anger this really hurts.

I feel misunderstood.

I feel judged.

I feel invisible.
I feel like I don't matter.

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

Tears well up. My heart is racing.

I let him go on. I try to defend myself a little.

I quickly recognize the futility of this.

Suddenly the wiser, more mature, emotionally stable version of me finds her way to the control board and says "If you want to talk about the weather or how my daughter

is doing in school then I am happy to talk but this is not

a topic that I want to discuss."

Click.

Wait, what?

Let me get this straight. You call me.

YOU bombard me with unsolicited advice, harsh judgement and the opinions you have sought from other sources while denying what I have told you is true for ME. Then, when I set a healthy boundary for myself, you hang up on ME?

Wait, what?

Quite some time ago I wrote a lengthy post about boundaries.

I have had to read it over myself many, many times.

Specifically the definition of boundaries.

As life would have it I had just read that definition earlier in the day and it was fresh on my mind. Little did I know I would need to use it so soon. When I decided to start writing here again and begin this 40 day project for lent I made up my mind I would stick to the original intent of this blog. It was: to pay attention, be astonished and tell about it. I also have the intention to be real and not sugar coat or only tell the yummy stuff.
The vast majority of the time

I am astonished by amazing, wonderful,

uplifting, beautiful moments.

I set out to look for these moments on purpose.

And then....sometimes I am astonished in

shocking and hurtful ways.

I want to tell about that too. Because not only am

I seeker of beauty, I am a seeker of truth.

I am guessing that if I need a reminder about setting

boundaries that you might too.

I love, love, love this definition of boundaries and think this should be a class we are taught in school. Imagine a whole curriculum based on this:

Personal boundaries are guidelines, rules or limits that a person creates to identify for themselves what are reasonable, safe and permissible ways for other people to behave around him or her and how they will respond when someone steps outside those limits. They are built of a mix of beliefs, opinions, attitudes, past experiences and social learning. Personal boundaries include: physical, mental, psychological and spiritual boundaries involving beliefs, emotions, intuitions and self esteem.

There is a lot here to take in.

Read it again. And again. And again.

My favorite part is:

"that a person creates to identify for themselves"

THEMSELVES

Nobody decides this for you.

You decide.

You become your own authority.

You get to know yourself well enough that you know what your boundaries are. You know that they might be very different from someone else. You don't care. They are your OWN.

You identify them. You create them. You enforce them.

You learn what it feels like inside yourself when your boundaries are being infringed on. You protect yourself when you feel this happening. You don't let other peoples feelings matter more than your own emotional, physical, psychological and spiritual safety.

I was astonished today at how many false ideas someone that I love deeply has about my personal life. Judgements that are not based on facts. I was astonished that someone thinks they know better for me than me. Perhaps I gave this person to much power in my life in the past and now they are a bit uncomfortable with the change in dynamics. If I do not ask you for advice than please do not give it to me. You may love me from the depths of your heart but this does not ever mean you know what is best for me. You are not having my experience. Love is not judgement. Love is not unsolicited advice. Love is not accusation.
Love is support. Love is saying

"I have no idea what you are feeling but I am here"

Love says "How can I help?" Love says "How about a cup

of coffee?" or "Do you want to go for a walk?"

Just as importantly we must respect the boundaries of others. Remember that idea that there are three kinds of business?

My business. Your business. God's business.

You are not me and you are not God so that only leaves

one business for you to be in.

Just for Today

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Sat, 13 Feb 2016 12:25:00 +0000

Today I am grateful for so much.

I was paying attention.

I was astonished.

I will tell you about it.

Waking up before the sun and listening to the birds.

Launching my website.

Getting great feedback.

Feeling brave.

The first day of winter break and

staying in pajamas until noon with my daughter.

The sound of the knife on the cutting board as I
chopped vegetables for chicken and dumplings.

Clean dishes dried and ready to be put away.

A clean bathroom.

A new broom.

The fifth day of no caffeine and the way

my mind feels clearer and my eyes brighter.

A friend bringing dinner and spending the evening with me.

The sound of her son and my daughter playing and laughing.

Cuddling up with them while they took turns reading
in a new book they had given Lilly for her birthday.

Listening to each of them share how they start their
mornings at school with their teachers and classmates.

Sad stories. Funny stories. Hard stories.

Laughter.

Understanding.

Truth telling.

Sharing old pictures of ourselves and agreeing that
life does something beautiful to our faces as we grow older.

A midnight snack of super sharp cheddar cheese, smokehouse crackers and apple juice.

It is astonishing.

All of the goodness inside of one day.

Just for today, no matter what is happening in your life, decide to look for beauty. Make it your job to focus on what is good. The more we focus on what we are grateful for the more we have to be grateful for. I have tried this even in the darkest times of my life and it changes my

heart and my mind.

every. single. time.

Even if you are going through your hardest days,

I assure you there are still things to be grateful for.

So go get a pen and some paper.

Pay attention.

Tell us about it.

You will be astonished too.

Life is a Beautiful Mess

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Fri, 12 Feb 2016 01:28:00 +0000

What I have noticed today is how very tender my heart

has become with each passing year.

I think it can go either way as we age.

Life is a beautiful mess.

It could turn us bitter and hard or tender and soft.

I look around my own life and just in this one short day

I have had my heart broken open multiple times.

I heard about the intense physical pain of a friend who just had major surgery and how vulnerable that felt to those around her bedside. They could not fix it but had to find a way to be in the room and love her through it.

Then I heard about the reconciliation of two family members that is long overdue. It brought tears to my eyes thinking of how easily a loved one or ourselves could leave this earth without saying "I love you" or "I miss you" or "I'm so sorry".

My mother told me a hilarious story today of bringing the ashes of her friend's husband to her. He had not been a

nice man or a kind husband for the majority of his life.

My mother made him (his ashes) ride in the back seat

on the way to his widow, and she told him so.

Something along the lines of "there's no way you

are riding in the front with me, you bastard".

When she got to their designated meeting place she handed the ashes to her friend who simply remarked he was quite heavy and then proceeded to put him in the passengers seat and tell him that this would be the first time in their marriage that he would ride with her and not criticize her driving.

These woman have been friends for over 50 years.

Marriages. Babies. Divorce. Sickness. Death of a child.

They have weathered the storm.

I felt like I was watching a scene in a great movie with the pain and heartache of a difficult marriage culminating in a parking lot with his wife standing strong with her friend

and ready to reclaim her own life at 76 years old.

I laughed so hard at this story.

The raw, honest, painful, hilarious truth.

Then later it was the excruciating heartbreak of one of my closest friends who has more on her plate right now than any human should ever have to deal with at one time. I can't do a single thing for her except call her multiple times per day and love her through it. Today she made such a strange noise I couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying. When I asked her she said I'm craughing....crying and laughing...which made us laugh and cry even more.

What more can we do?

Be there.

Listen.

Listen some more.

If we live close by we can make soup or pick up the mail or the children from school. We can do a load of laundry or clean a bathroom. Unfortunately I do not live near my friend so my support is done through the phone lines...but thank God for that. It was just one year ago that it was me who was sobbing every time she called and without her (and my other soul sisters) I am not sure how I would have made it.

Her consistent love and her ability to listen without judgement or advice allowed me to walk through the darkest days of my life knowing that I was not alone. She believed that I would not only make it through this heartache

but I would thrive and be happy again.

She believed it for me until I could believe it for myself.

My friend Lisa has always said "broken is open" and I

believe that is true. The more my heart has broken the

more it has opened. It sounds crazy but it's true.

"Grief can be the garden of compassion.

If you keep your heart open through everything,

your pain can become your greatest ally in your

life's search for love and wisdom." Rumi

That Rumi. He knew his shit.

So carry on with your own tender hearts and please,

let's hold each other up the very best that we can.

Pay Attention. Be Astonished. Tell About It.

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Wed, 10 Feb 2016 21:28:00 +0000

Lent?

What does it mean to you?

I did not grow up Catholic, much to my dismay. It's not that I appreciate most of what the Catholic church stands for but being a lover of beauty from an early age it just seemed right to me that worshiping God/Goddess/All That Is
should be done in a beautiful place and wow....Catholic churches are truly works of art.
The detail. The rituals.
I wanted the ashes on my forehead. I wanted the holy water splashed on me. I wanted to confess my secrets to the mysterious man in the box. I wanted to kneel on the bench and take communion. I wanted to learn how to make the sign of the cross on myself. I also LOVED Mary and how much she was represented. She was rarely talked about where I went to church, unless of course, it was Christmas Eve. Whenever I visited a Catholic church with friends growing up I was told not to do those things because I wasn't Catholic.
Don't kneel. Don't take communion. Don't cross yourself.
It seemed very serious business and I did not take it lightly.
I don't know what I thought might happen to me but I obeyed and watched with wide eyed wonder and a bit of envy at all the rituals that are part of the Catholic church. Lent was also something that I envied while growing up as it was not something we participated in. Can you believe it? I actually wanted to give something up. Again, it was the ritual I was intrigued by and still am. So this year I will celebrate lent. Many people honor the season of lent.
It is not just for Catholics,

and I have an idea......

I saw a Facebook post earlier that said to get a big, plastic garbage bag or a box and each day for the next 40 days (not counting Sundays) put something in the bag that you no longer want or use but something that would still be worthy of giving away. That beautiful sweater you just don't wear, that piece of art that doesn't speak to you anymore, those expensive shoes you HAD to have but have never worn....you get the idea. The good stuff. Then, at the end of 40 days you decide where you will donate this bag of treasures. Will it go to one place or will you give individual things away to specific people?
It doesn't matter.
You get to decide.
I really love this idea and I am going to join in the fun and lighten up my life. I am also going to blog each day for the next 40 days (not counting Sundays) and share with you where I am finding the sacred in the ordinary.

See that beautiful quote by Mary Oliver at the top left of my blog?

INSTRUCTIONS FOR LIVING A LIFE:

pay attention.

be astonished.

tell about it.

That was the intention of this blog when it first started and so that is what I plan to do.

I hope you can join me.

Baby Bird Funerals

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Thu, 04 Jun 2015 04:31:00 +0000

My 8 year old daughter and I are visiting some friends and earlier today I was watching after her daughter until she came home from work. The girls were playing happily when they found a baby bird on the ground that had fallen from it's nest. It was still fuzzy and the feathers weren't even formed. It was so sad to see this lifeless creature laying on the ground after it's first attempt to fly or maybe being accidentally pushed out of the nest.
Pretty soon the neighbor boys were there inspecting the baby bird too.
Their mother was hollering for them not to touch it while they were hollering back...'we are only using ONE finger'. As if germs and bacteria won't affect you if you just use the ONE finger. I love the logic of children. The girls were screeching at the boys and I was on the porch trying to enjoy the weather and happy for the chance to be outside in semi-quietness so I wasn't exactly thrilled with the bird circus. The boys left for a bit and I breathed a sigh of grateful relief. They soon returned (loudly) with tiny hand rakes, shovels,trowels and various other garden tools. The girls had been trying to move the bird with leaves.
But the boys?
They had a plan.
Pretty soon the bird was scooped up onto a tiny garden shovel and now what to do? The whole thing was getting on my nerves at this point because of the level of noise and the girls bossing the boys and the mother yelling at them and then the boys deciding to chase the girls and then ME with the dead creature on the shovel. I firmly suggested that it might be a good idea to respect nature and show a little more reverence for the birds short life.

I suggested.....Perhaps we should bury the bird?

YES.

They seemed intrigued with this idea and I was intrigued with the idea of them going back home and leaving me to my porch sitting.

I showed them an easy spot to dig and it was done and over with pretty quickly.

just

wanted

quietly

sit

the

porch

ALONE

As much as I appreciate and love children I just wasn't in the mood.
You know what I'm talking about.
I know you do.
I wasn't raised in a neighborhood and did not raise my grown children in one so it is a challenge for me to have the whole neighborhood show up to play. Some with parents nearby and some with no idea where there parents were.
Am I supposed to watch these kids?
Am I responsible for them?
Can I send them home?
What if they get hurt?
My nerves were frazzled and I just wanted to watch over my own daughter and her friend.

I was glad to see they had lost interest once the bird was buried and off they
went in search of another adventure.

Ahhhh......solitude....
something to read, a little cranberry juice over ice, a salty snack and I was in business.

And then suddenly one of the boys was back and before I had a chance to roll my eyes I was reminded of the innocence and the sweetness of even the rowdiest little boy.

Why was he back?

He wanted to mark the grave with his pinwheel.

He pushed the glittery treasure into the earth right next to where he had buried the bird and then stood there for a moment, very quietly with his hands behind his back,
paying his little boy respects.

It was tender, sacred and oh so sweet and I felt like I just witnessed a baby bird funeral.

And a little boy letting me see a piece of his heart.

Annoyance slipped away and love slipped right into it's place.

Take Care of YOU

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Thu, 04 Jun 2015 04:12:00 +0000

I went into my favorite juice bar today.
It is such a feel good place...happy people....great music playing....everything feels fresh, clean and healthy. While I was sitting at the counter enjoying my juice a man came in, ordered and then leaned against the counter to wait for his juice. I glanced over and noticed a tattoo on his arm. It said "TAKE CARE OF YOU".
A message right when I needed it most....
I love when that happens.
Those powerful signs that we know are meant for us.
The sacred in the ordinary.
Sometimes I feel too shy to speak to strangers but today the words were coming out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. I said, "I really like your tattoo, I needed to hear that today". He was incredibly friendly and seemed genuinely touched that I had said something to him. He shared with me the story behind the tattoo. It was always what his mother would tell him and other family members when saying goodbye...
take care of YOU.
It was a family thing and once his mom started saying it then everyone joined in.
I am going to suggest right here and right now that we all start saying that to one another every time we say goodbye. How about even INSTEAD of goodbye....
what does good bye really mean anyway?
Have a good bye? It makes no sense.
How about we stop that nonsense and remind each other of this
sacred truth as much as we can....

TAKE CARE OF YOU

It would have been too much for a tattoo but the rest of what his mother would say was something to the effect of....if you don't take care of you then you are no good to those you love or the world. His mother had passed away a couple of years ago and it spun him into a pretty dark place but with the love and support of his friends he made it through. I told him again how much I needed to hear that today and how grateful I was that our paths had crossed. I reached to shake his hand and instead he gave me a huge hug.

Two strangers who really are not strangers at all.

The daily part of taking care of YOU like exercise and eating right and praying or meditating are important but equally important is making big life decisions that take care of you.
The ones that allow you to be ALL of you.
The you that you came here to be.
The big scary life changing things.
The things that scare the shit right out of you.
Decisions that sometimes make other people feel bad, sad or mad.
It's not easy.....this taking care of you idea.
It takes guts and courage and a fair amount of mundane tasks in the mix.
I have to hit my yoga mat...again?
I just did it yesterday.
I have to eat healthy EVERYday???
and floss?
every. single. day.
Really?
It's funny how much the life of your dreams looks very similar to hard work.

Following your heart could include any manner of unpleasant things.
Things like living with uncertainty and walking away from relationships that no longer serve your highest good or leaving the job or house of your dreams
because a bigger dream is calling you.
Yes, it is risky business for sure.
But even riskier to not do so, don't you think?
My new friend suggested that I get a tattoo that said the same thing.
And you know what?
I am actually considering it because this story is just
too good and the message is one of the keys to living your best life.
Four simple words that form a creed to live by....

Take. Care. Of. You.

Please do this...
for the sake of yourself,
your children,
your partner,
your parents,
siblings,
pets,
friends,
employees or employer,
co-workers,
your neighbor,
the barista.......
do it for the whole wide world.
And go ahead and get it tattooed on your forehead or maybe just your arm...
it's up to YOU.

Red Geraniums and Peace Flags

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Thu, 12 Jun 2014 22:51:00 +0000

My father had major surgery a week ago and although the surgery itself went well he has had lots of scary complications post op. I am his health care proxy and help him navigate his medical choices and decisions. I never realized what a tall order this was until this week when some of the decisions were very serious. There is so much to do in the practical, physical world and then there is the emotional and spiritual journey that we all go on with an aging parent. It is truly heartbreaking to watch the big, strong man that has always taken care of you become weak and vulnerable. I could write for days on that topic and someday I will.

I'm short on sleep and good nutrition so today I just want to share a little something sweet about how the smallest things can help us through the toughest of days.

The hospital is about and hour and fifteen minutes from my house and I have been making that trip 8 days in a row. The hospital is top notch but for whatever reason the actual town that it is in leaves a lot to be desired. It seems a little 'sketchy' as my older children would say. It's kind of sad and depressing in that Mini Mart, I ate my lunch at a gas station kind of way. You see a lot of people who seem pretty down and out and that always pulls on my empathic heart strings. Sometimes it is so hard to have THIS heart in THIS world.

As you get closer to the hospital you have to turn down a residential street of older homes. Maybe built in the 1930's. You can see that it was once a tree lined street but apparently a disease came through and wiped out all the mature trees so now it looks like a new, old neighborhood. A few days ago I noticed one house that stood out to me. It was white and oh, how I love a classic white house. The shutters are black and the siding is kind of like an old cedar shake style. Across the front of the house below some old windows there are three window boxes. They are filled with red geraniums and then a string of peace flags hangs across all three window boxes.

I believe that God is everywhere.
In all people and places.
No matter what.

This little altar of simple beauty reminds me that there are people everywhere holding up the highest hope for this beautiful and battered world. I now look everyday at this lovely little church disguised as a house. It reminds me that the littlest things are often the most important and that we can never fully know the power of our small gestures or how much goodness might ripple out. I intend to drop a note on their doorstep once my father is out of the woods and let the people who live there know the comfort I have received from something as simple as some red geraniums and peace flags.

Let's Talk About Boundaries, Shall We?

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Fri, 24 Jan 2014 15:17:00 +0000

For the majority of my life I did not have good boundaries.
It's quite possible I had no boundaries.
I was kind of a poster child for the boundary 'less'.
It's hard and vulnerable for me to admit.
It's hard to make peace with, but it is a fact.
Facts are facts.
We may have MANY feelings about them, but at the end of the day they are still the facts. So it's true that I have many valid and important feelings about my lack of boundaries and the heartache that this brought into my experience.
At the same time I give thanks, for these are my soul lessons.

Do you have good boundaries?

Do you even know what they are?

Do you have good support for helping you figure this stuff out? (it's VERY hard sometimes) (and confusing)

Wikipedia says this about boundaries:

They are built out of a mix of beliefs, opinions, attitudes, past experiences and social learning.

The article goes on to talk about what personal boundaries include and they are: physical, mental, psychological
and spiritual boundaries involving beliefs,
emotions, intuitions and self esteem.

This is really important stuff you guys.
We have to learn this even if we are 44, 64 or 104.
We have to teach and model this to our children, our families and our friends. This is a precious life we are living and even if it's long it's short. We are constantly in a state of creation with our life. Every choice we make, every boundary we set or do not set. I am NO expert on this topic and in the midst of what I imagine will be a life long process. I beg you to seek professional help with this if you suspect it is stopping you from living life fully. You might need books, a therapist, many friends, a retreat, a nap and if you are anything like me you will need MANY, MANY hot lavender baths
and endless cups of soul soothing tea.

I can offer little tidbits of what I have learned so far.

LISTEN TO and BELIEVE YOUR GUT

TRUST YOUR FEELINGS…..they are your soul's GPS

START CONVERSATIONS WITH PEOPLE YOU TRUST

JOURNAL

WALK IN NATURE

BE GENTLE

DON'T DELAY….BABY STEPS ARE FINE

MAKE CHOICES THAT BRING YOU JOY

GET COMFORTABLE WITH BEING MISUNDERSTOOD

TAKE A BATH (and another)

DRINK TEA

IF YOU HAVE A PORCH…SIT ON IT

I suppose I could go on and on but you get the idea.
It is never, ever too late to start setting boundaries
and learning to love yourself.
NEVER TOO LATE.
Do you hear me?

This process has not been easy but choice by choice I am falling in love with Kimberly. The real Kimberly,
NOT the one people want me to be or think that I am.
I am remembering what brings ME deep joy.
And you know what?
It's not that different from what brought me
joy when I was 8 years old.

Isn't that amazing?

I am finding such peace in the simple things.
I am discovering what
serves me in becoming the very best version of myself.
I want the same for you.
I have really struggled understanding that I can love everybody and have the utmost compassion but everyone cannot be in my life. This has bumped up against my extremely loyal beliefs about family and long term friendships. I have been angry and sad and confused so many times. I have sorted things out in my mind like piles of laundry on a Saturday morning and all
I can say about it is this…. it SUCKS. Truly.
I have had to look long and hard at myself because after you get sick of focusing on what others have done you have only yourself looking back in the mirror. This is not to say what happened was ok or that others did not play a role. One of the biggest mistakes we make is thinking that forgiving and condoning are synonymous. People say and do horrible things. Betrayal is brutal on the heart and mind. I believe life will bring all of us to our knees at many times in life. Places where we throw our hands up in despair. Places where we sit in our living rooms all alone at 3am and say:
"What the fuck, God?
You cannot be serious.
This cannot be how this story turns out."
I came to a place of surrender unlike anything I had ever known. After I did the hard work to forgive and release others I had to then offer myself the same thing. That was the hardest work I have ever done. I know that others had their work to do with me. I had caused hurt, they had felt betrayed too. The softest place I could find for my heart to rest was knowing that I never, ever had intention to cause harm. For me that was the the turning point where I could start self-forgiveness and rebuilding my own life. Yes, I hurt people and people hurt me but I did not stay up late at night with a pen an paper plotting ways to hurt them. My best guess is they were not plotting to hurt me either.
It just happened.
There was nothing left to do but mine for the gold that I was certain existed in the rubble. I do believe that life is a classroom and everything that shows up is a teacher for us. Personal growth has always been a top priority for me and how could I have taken a PhD level course in boundaries without having my own boundaries violated and infringing on the boundaries of others?

It took three long years but I finally reached a place where I even felt like forgiveness was a little arrogant on my part.
If I was choosing to believe that everything was perfect for my own growth then was there really a need for forgiveness?
Maybe what I needed to say instead was thank you.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you for teaching me what I could learn no other way.
Thank you for saying and doing things exactly as you did.
It really was perfect.
My whole life is better now.
I have a peace and a joy and a contentment
that I have never known.
I realized that life was not happening TO me it was happening FOR me. I have more compassion
for myself and others.
I am clearer on my passion and purpose.
I am doing work that fills my soul.
I have never had so few material possessions
and I have never felt so wealthy.

So my message is this:
Please do the work.
Do the digging.
Set the boundaries.
Choice by choice you will come into alignment with
what is most true for you.
It will be hard.
You will cry.
You will mourn.
You might even wail.
I did.

But it will be glorious.

Why?

Because becoming all of who you are is the very best thing you can do for yourself and everyone that you love.
It's your part in evolving the entire human race.

It's a big responsibility.

I am too far in to turn back now.

Want to keep each other company?

On a lighter but still relevant note...here is a great quote
from one of my favorite authors:

"No, is a complete sentence." Anne Lamott

And here is a little something that I saw

on Pinterest that I LOVE:

If I cut you out of my life,

chances are you handed me the scissors.

Let's raise our glass to boundaries, to the truth and
falling in love with ourselves.

Lilly, Sweet Lilly

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Mon, 02 Dec 2013 19:59:00 +0000

Six years ago today my heart grew ten times its size.

We flew half way across the world.

We saw the Great Wall of China.

The Forbidden City.

Tiananmen Square.

Then we boarded a plane from Beijing to Nanchang.

We were told by our guide Dennis to get settled in our hotel room and freshen up and then return to the lobby. The lobby filled up one by one with families who were filled to overflowing with joy and anticipation at what was about to happen. We piled on a big bus, rode a half hour thru a city we had never seen, packed ourselves onto an elevator like sardines and then entered the holiest of rooms.

The room where our daughter sat on the lap of one of her 'aunties'.

The room where we would become parents for the fourth time.

The room that changed the shape of my heart.

We watched one by one as other families names were called out.

We watched their joyous tears.

Then we heard our own names.

And then.......

they placed the sweetest baby in our arms.

Our baby.

I am so grateful for all the mysterious things, both big and small, that conspired to bring us to that exact moment.

Lilly has graced us with her wisdom, her charm,

her contagious joy and infectious laugh.

She is a gift beyond measure.

I will never, ever forget that day.

Lilly....my sweet, sweet girl....

you are the bees knees

the cats meow

the frosting on the cake

the glitter

the gold

Thank you for calling on my heart precious girl.

I love you.

Even the Hard Stuff.

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Mon, 25 Nov 2013 15:38:00 +0000

I loved how the light was shining into the bathroom

on this late fall afternoon.

Our home is a work in progress.

I guess that's how most people feel about their home.

However, it is possible that I have an extreme case

of 'work in progress'.

We started building our house in 2006.

We moved in in 2010.

Do the math.

Yes, four years from the day we broke ground

until the day we moved in.

And you know how people say don't ever move into an unfinished house because you will never finish it?

Yeah, that's true.

Not funny, but true.

There are many days I am just so incredibly

grateful that I can overlook it.

Embrace it even.

Then there are the other days.

The days where I want to feel grateful but I don't.

Days where I feel ashamed that I still want more

when I obviously have so much.

I feel frustrated that none of my windows have trim around them. I feel so totally over my makeshift kitchen and my concrete floors. I allow myself a few hours to just feel it all. To feel that this was not the way I imagined things would be when we were in the dream of building our house. I didn't want the house for the sake of a big pretty house to impress people....I wanted the house for the life that would happen inside those walls. The memories that we would make as a family. The Christmas trees, the birthday parties, the all day in pajamas, movie marathon quiet days. All the days that happen in the ordinary life of a family...games of Uno, pots of soup, long hot baths, reading late into the night, big ugly cries filled with disappointment and the pain of loss or betrayal, heart to heart conversations with loved ones. I have loved houses all of my life, especially older homes. I love to think of the stories embedded in those walls. The joy and the pain, the laughter and heartache. The house bears witness to all of it and holds the space for us to grow and unfold day after day, year after year.

So my frustration is that this life I was envisioning was somehow not quite happening. I wanted to fully live my days with my family, not always be in construction mode. I wanted the house to be the container for all of our adventures. Instead it sometimes seemed that the house took more than it gave. It took so much time, so much money and robbed us of peace of mind more days than I care to admit. The truth is that it is harder

to live in an unfinished house.

Harder to clean.

Harder to organize.

Closets with no shelves.

Bathrooms with no showers.

Kitchens with no dishwasher and no cupboards.

Blah, blah, blah.

On these days I will swing from one extreme to another. First I will think of people that seem better off than me, people who built houses after me but moved in before me.

People who have trim and flooring.

Yes, it's true I envy people with trim.

Then I will think of those with so much less...those who aren't sure how to feed their family or those that don't know where they will sleep from night to night.

Then I remember that ALL comparison injures.

When I am done with all of that I get a grip and start thinking of what I am grateful for.

I may not totally FEEL the gratitude in that moment but I start making a mental checklist and I know that every soul has a journey and things that are challenging. Assignments I guess you could call them. These are the places that we grow in. We all know that we don't grow when everything is rosy and easy.

I really do believe in saying thank you for everything.

EVERYTHING.

Yup, even the sucky stuff. Even the hard stuff.

I sometimes remember to actually say thank you out loud in the middle of something that seems to super suck.

Somewhere I know something is growing.

Something is changing.

I am getting stronger.

More vulnerable

(I am finally accepting that vulnerability IS strength)

(Why is that so hard to accept???)

More authentic.

More me.

I heard once that if everyone threw their troubles into a pile you would run back to grab your own.

Think about it.

Don't be so quick to hate your problems

or want to wish them away.

Accept them.

Let them in.

Make room for them.

They are working inside of you and clearing the way for something else. How do we know that our deepest struggles aren't

clearing the path for our greatest joys?

We really don't know, so lets just say thank you.

For everything.

Scenes from a Sunday Afternoon

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Sun, 24 Nov 2013 22:29:00 +0000

A jar of marbles just says joy. I love to think of the days when children actually played with marbles as a favorite toy.

I can go a long way with gratitude. And Mother Mary.

Being surrounded by trees helps too.

a little tea? some tomatoes? fairy soap?

my favorite salad of all time

putting the plants to bed for winter

I really do eat healthy like this.

Sometimes.

No, really…I do.

Ignore the messy part and the iPad charger.

Focus instead on the beauty.

Advice not only for the above photo but also for life.

How is your Sunday shaping up?

Twinkle Lights

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Tue, 12 Nov 2013 00:06:00 +0000

Looking through my photos tonight and remembering this extra sweet summer night.

My friend Kai invited Lilly and I over for dinner. Her son Sawyer is just a few months older than Lilly and they play so well together. Kai made a great dinner and we enjoyed a glass of wine (or two) and ate our meal next to the fire outside.

It was simple but it was magical.

It had all the perfect elements:

the laughter of children

warm temperatures

lightening bugs

wine

delicious food

a fire to sit around

great conversation

and of course……

twinkle lights.

Never, ever, ever forget the twinkle lights.

Hidden Treasure

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Mon, 04 Nov 2013 16:11:00 +0000

These pictures are from a walk we went on in early September. One of those days where suddenly it's not summer anymore and you know you better get some more outside time before it's REALLY not summer. It always happens so you think I would be prepared but I am never ready to let summer go. It doesn't last long enough where we live in upstate New York and there is so much fun to be had when the days are warm and long. Whether we are picking berries, wading in the creek, watching the fireworks, going to outdoor concerts or just lounging on our wonderful front porch we are always so content during summer. A return to my own childhood for at least a few weeks.

I LOVE summer. I want it to last forever.

And then…..it's subtle, it catches you off guard but it can't be missed. The light changes, the air changes. It still looks like summer but the earth has made her turn while you were sitting around the campfire eating roasted marshmallows. Make no mistake it is time to get out the socks, the pants, the boots, the scarves, the crockpot, the extra blankets.

Goodbye flip-flops.

Goodbye front porch.

Goodbye wading in the creek.

Why do you have to leave the party when I was just getting started????

So it was on this very day that I woke up and I could feel that shift in the light and the air and a depression starts to hang around me like a rain cloud. I eventually will embrace pots of soup and heavy sweaters and movie night and turning on the heat but when that first unmistakable sign of the changing seasons shows up I am not ready and…..

I am not embracing it.

At all.

Not even a little bit.

We decided to go for a walk to a place we had driven by a hundred times or more and always wondered about but never took the time to stop. It is a nature preserve full of walking paths and fields and woods and flowing creeks. We played in the water a little bit, took a nice hike and then we decided to follow a second path to a different spot in the creek and Lilly and I rounded the bottom of a steep hill and walked straight to the water. We must have played there for a good five minutes until Scott said 'turn around'…..and this heart wall was behind us. Ahhhhhh…….Amazing. Breathtaking. A beautiful pause to just stand there and take it in with our hearts and our eyes. Who started this? How long had it been here? Lilly and I always find hearts in stones, shapes on the ground, shells and other places in nature so we immediately went searching for a heart to add to this altar in the woods.

I love that people took the time to make this offering. I love to think of how many people had the same surprise moment that the three of us had that sweet day. I like the feeling of being part of something, of being connected to strangers who care about art and beauty and love. I like to think of our hearts that we placed that day as our thank you to the summer of 2013. Thank you for family reunions, for friends that lingered on my porch with either coffee or cocktails, lots of picnics and playgrounds, a camping trip to the beach, outdoor concerts and Beatrix Potter plays in the garden, wading in the creek, picking blueberries, watching summer storms roll in from the comfort of our covered porch, making pizza over an open fire with my beloveds, for new friends and old….thank you. I'm going to miss you but I know it's time for you to go and I can't make you stay.

I will meet you on my porch May 1.

Be there.

I Like Chai Too Mama

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly) — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 12:34:00 +0000