Something more than the Stones is Rolling...

I was steamrollered by time and never got over it.  The first time I heard “I Can’t Git No Satisfaction” in an elevator over Musak, I went into a deep depression that lasted for weeks.  The saccharine sounds of violin strings harmonized to the familiar tune as the crazy words went through my head "...and I'm tryin' to make some girl who tells me baby better come back later next week 'cause you see I'm on losing streak. I can't get no, oh no no no. ”.  I couldn’t close my ears.  The insipid music filling every square inch of space in that metal box and sucking the air out of me.  Gasping, I got off on at the next floor. Yes, those were black days indeed – something was very wrong.

It’s been a while.  But, something has been on my mind the last couple of days and it’s the time to write.  There has been a death in our family recently and I’ve been thinking about that.  I had picked up a thought I read on the internet a long time ago and made a note of it:  “They didn’t leave you, they simply died.” 

I've “lost” quite a few people in my life; both family and friends.  It has never felt simple.  I don’t just mean the flurry of condolences and visiting, the horrible trip to the funeral home to make arrangements when the pain is still too raw and new, the service, the sympathy.  I mean the business of getting on with life; buying fewer apples at the grocery store, finding laundry takes a little less time, and keeping track of one less person in my life all the time with an aching heart  - not to mention the guilt.  There is always some guilt.  Facing the irrevocability of death is pure misery.  People just don’t come back from death and it’s hard on those of us “left behind”.  I don’t like it.

Still, it lingers in my mind; ”they didn’t leave you…”.   It’s a loud truth that is heard only if you listen very closely.  You have to listen with your heart and be open to those feelings.  I realize suddenly that those people in my life I’ve lost, I remember with love.  They are with me as much today as they ever were.  They are there with a special turn of phrase, a treasured bit of advice, a love for apple pie, a sparkle in the eye, a passion for music, and even gum-chewing  gusto.  Their memories seem as irrevocable as their passing. They are all here with me - every one.  The love, and what I’ve learned from them all, is there to fill the hole.

Coming to terms with death, it’s been one of my hardest lessons.   

Valentine, Be Mine

Valentine’s Day is coming up. This year, while searching my Internal Files (mind) for the appropriate response to a day that celebrates love (what could be better), it brought me to thinking about traditions.  Everyone that knows me, knows that I create my own traditions (I pick my age each year, too, but that’s another story). If I organize and do it once, it’s a tradition and perfectly okay to do it every year after that. I came to this understanding first when I was about 19  years old. Eloped and newly a “housewife”, I had no clue about how to do anything; cooking, shopping, laundry were all new concepts for me. I was shocked when the first holiday arrived and nothing “happened”. My Mom and Dad were expert holiday makers and I had never given it a thought before then. The second time was years later when, at age 40, I became a parent for the first time when I married my now husband and his three wonderful kids. Back than coming up with stuff for birthdays was a challenge – much less the mega trio: Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter.

So, over the years, I’ve learned how to freely create an event. Because, aside from the meaning of any given holiday, for me, traditions are about confirming love and creating happy memories. Should it be a meal, decorations, or just a  walk, it just has to be heartfelt. Anyway, Valentine’s Day can be kind of loaded with expectations. So whether you spend it in glorious solitude or with friends, family or that hottie in your life, enjoy! Simply celebrated or elaborately executed, I hope it’s all your own.


Let cupid’s arrows fly!

Why do I have a jar crammed full of scrunchies?  They’re not cool anymore.  Yet I hang on to them.  I have too much “stuff” but when I’m weeding out junk, somehow I can’t dispose of a single scrunchie.  When does thrift cross the line to hoarding?  I wonder these things…  

I live at the beach. I love those words. I wonder sometimes why I like it so much. I even like the smell of dead seaweed. You know, the seaweed that has been lying on the beach, drying up in the sun mixed with the  crab parts that have been there a little too long. It’s a stinky aroma that fills your nose and feels like home to me. And, I like the feeling of sand on my feet, sand with the occasional sharp-edged shell to remind me of the secrets that lay beneath the surface.  Sometimes I put a little sand in my shoes to remind me why I’m here. I luxuriate in the sound of the ocean waves, rolling in, day and night – just rushing in and sucking back.  I even sort of like the wind that blows sand in your eyes and ears that makes you squint.  Okay, I’m sort of lukewarm on the wind.   But, rest of it makes it all worth it.  

Welcome to Robin's Place

I love people.  I love nature.  I love how funny my world is.  This blog includes thoughts and pictures  about that.  And, some straight talk about all of that.