Heartbreak I will Never Know....

It has been too long since I have found the space in this life of mine to write, though I have mused over many topics.  Tonight the urge was overwhelming, perhaps because of the pull to express the gratitude I feel.  

Having listened to a familiar aria from "The Merry Widow", I am instantly reflecting on the tears that fill my Dad's eyes when he hears beautiful music.  The heartbreak I will never know is to have lived without the stirrings that music creates in a persons soul.  I too feel the music and the words so deeply, even when the language is foreign!  Thank-you Dad!  

What occurs to me as well, is that this kind of appreciation and shared passion is not dictated by curriculum, nor studied in prestigious volumes.  It is the education of the soul and the shaping of values that create emotions like these.  Nurturing experiences that only humans can appreciate requires time, shared opportunity and space, relaxed surroundings and, apparently,  natural teachers.  The unexpected work that my parents took on when they sang in the car, over dishwashing and with choirs , family and friends was to instill in me and my siblings that music can stir the soul and color ones life throughout the decades.  

Dad, at 90 years old, no longer sings.  His fingers have forgotten how to manipulate the CD player or the radio which used to transport him to another time and setting via opera.  Though I find it so sad that he no longer seems to even miss the sound of music in the room, and forgets that the CDs and player are there for his use, I am grateful when I see that music still stirs his soul when I play it for him. 
 I am most grateful that the love of music has taken a stronghold in my own life and that of my children.  It feels as if an important part of Dad lives on in our souls and always will, first taught to him by his own parents and then passed on to me by him and my Mom.  There may not be many expensive heirlooms in our family home, but the love of music continues to uplift and transform my moments and days.  The legacy that Dad leaves will be first and foremost  that we humans are born to feel, to savor the beauty and pathos of life, to appreciate the intricacies of sensory knowledge and to find meaning in each and every experience which comes our way.  

I have been spared the heartbreak of a life without music.  I have been given a treasure beyond compare.  I sit here in a quiet and ordinary space richer than most can imagine, to have felt the shared awe of a beautiful aria with the best of teachers. 

Freedom...in this space of my life

It's hard to remember how early in my life I heard the word freedom.  It might have been within the boundaries of a patriotic song or in the context of patriotic exercises on Flag Day or Veterans Day. Perhaps the occasional art project or a literary document, copied and/or memorized by me and my fellow fourth graders, were the strategies used by the Sisters of Mercy to impress upon us the importance of freedom.  At any rate...the significance of the word "freedom" has evolved and morphed with each passing decade of my life. 

No one book, article, podcast, experience, conversation or documentary can be solely credited with changing or growing my perspective on freedom.  

I could try to convince you that I know something of the loss of freedom or the exhilaration of new found freedom that many others experience...but I will not.  The spaces I describe in these posts are personal and most meaningful because they speak of and clarify my own experience.  SO...

Freedom,  in the form of days "off",  is a recent gift to Bob and I from my siblings.  We are currently providing assistance to my elderly parents in what was until 6 months ago our own home and empty nest. The kind of freedom that my brothers and sister afford us is a release from responsibility for meals, transport and any personal needs that arise in the course of Mom and Dads day.  Whether we are at home or away, we are free to "do our own thing".

 I realized after three free hours yesterday, that I felt so grateful for this time, that a reflection on freedom would become my latest post. What follows is a happy memory of time spent in a space upstairs at home. 

In the space of our home that includes laundry, wardrobe, bath, bedroom, desk, sewing table and music area, I have created a sanctuary.  Complete with soothing colors, candles, stereo, photos and memorabilia, it enhances my sense of indoor happiness and peace.   Being pragmatic and one who enjoys ordering my living spaces, I chose to polish heirloom furniture, laundered, sorted and stashed clothing destined for our use, that of Mom, Dad's and my mother-in-laws, and for good measure some to donate!  I listened to a game show on NPR (thus elevating my brain function), showered, smiled at and shared Facebook images of my grand babies, checked in on the bank account and made lists for the days errands and mother-in-law related tasks to be completed.  I drank too many (?) cups of Bobs awesome coffee, stashed dress clothes in a bag for dinner and theatre at the end of the day, exercised and organized a drawer.  I read e-mail and responded, made my bed and enjoyed the snowy view outside of several windows.  I shared smiles and plans with my husband before we parted ways until noon, when I at last emerged from my cocoon to greet my folks and chat awhile.  

Surely there have been equally, if not more, enjoyable experiences in my life.  Surely I have enjoyed other spaces, as well as pleasurable and awe-inspiring moments and hours.  But on this frigid Saturday morning as January prepared to make its exit, I experienced a significant time of freedom.  As I recall it,  I am grateful for the mundane pleasure of it all and the time to smile about it!

Let the light in....vs National Grid

There is no avoiding sitting myself down this morning to write this post....National Grid made me do it!  I have been mulling over a post that speaks to my passion for light in January.  As I backed out of my driveway, I spied two National Grid trucks at my corner (a diagonal stretch from my bedroom window).  For the fourth time in my 28 years of living at this location, I politely approached the workman to request that no streetlight be installed at "my" corner.  In the past, I have been relieved to learn that there was no intention to do so.  This particular worker decided I needed a tease, so he put on a serious attitude and informed me that my longest running neighbors had requested two!!  WHAT!  Then he chuckled as he revealed the truth...once again, no light planned for these posts.  Whew!  

The interesting thing is...I LOVE light....just not the artificial kind that disturbs your sleep on a long winters night.  My husband and I hauled the Christmas tree out to the back porch last night (light strings in place) to mark the end of the holiday season and the beginning of our wait for Spring.  We plugged it into the outdoor socket, informing my Dad that's why we installed one there :) Each evening, the tree will glow beyond the sliding glass door...and I will not mind the early darkness  descending once again.  By the time the tree begins to shed all its needles, it will be time to chop it for outdoor firelight.

The lighting we add to our home during the late winter months helps to brighten the gap between the glow of Christmas and the firepitside chats we enjoy in later seasons.    Ever notice how one tiny tea lite can make you as happy as a roaring fire.  It's all in your perspective.

Light also seems to lend a new energy to old bones...be they 60 something or 90 something!  The sunlights rare appearance this past Tuesday inspired a field trip for my homebound folks and I.  Even  two hours out did not zap Dads energy...the sun provided the extra lift he needed to negotiate the final steps into our house...I swear!  

I do believe in letting "the light shine for all to see"... grateful when I can ignite my own interior glow on a good day, or reach for the kind I conjure with candles and cords.  It keeps me productive and hopeful, as I await the  promise of warmth and natural light-the generous gift of encroaching spring. 

Grateful thought number one for today...light is everywhere I choose to find it or create it.  Grateful thought number two...my outside space, though changed in unfathomable ways these past years, will remain subject to natural light, and National Grid will once again go peacefully into the night...somewhere else. 

To My Dad..."standing knee deep in a river of abundance"

There's a favorite author of mine, whom I have been turning to for years, as I seek to live my life peacefully, while managing the occasional chaos and angst.  Sarah Ban Breathnach authored a book called 'Simple Abundance" years ago, and I have treasured my copy since finding it in (you might guess) a local Thrift Shop.  Today's quote fits this entry well, as I intend it as a tribute to my Dad, about to turn 90 years young in two days.  
Dad knows all about abundance, and appreciates every bit that comes his way.  A new member of our household since July of last year, Dad never ceases to inspire me with his appreciation of all things beautiful, curious and mundane.  Dad is never bored, as his senses serve up a constant stream of things to speculate over, comment on or just simply observe.  Most notably, as I write, there is a hum of the local contractor's excavating equipment, heard most days from 7am to 5pm.  I have dubbed my Dad supervisor of the construction across the street, as he is so interested in whatever the "guys" are doing.  They may be inside and out of sight, but Dad is sure about what they are up to...windows, insulation, constructing a  fireplace?  Naptime requirements include my turning his bulky recliner just so, in order for him to see outside and over there!

Construction is only the latest of Dad's occupations, abundantly available in our neighborhood  since he moved here. Though Dad's knees may buckle and the shortest trips to the bathroom are challenging at times, there is always the strength to stop and notice the photos on the fridge or on the family calendar.  Occasionally, there is a new plant or a forgotten gift left under the tree or on a counter...all cause for observation.  Even the hand towels in the bathroom are not overlooked, and we frequently converse over where I found the lovely ones...can you guess? 

The more time I share a space with my Dad, the more I realize that I have learned to observe, listen to and speak of  beauty from him.  Music...whether Broadway tunes, French folk songs, operatic arias or classical hymns has pervaded our lives and our lifestyles....underscoring all our celebrations as well.  Dad was a member of the adult church choir when I too participated in the youth choir.  I remember the pride I felt in singing Gregorian Chant at Catholic Mass, knowing I was "just like him".  ...Opera on the basement radio, Gilbert and Sullivan recordings in the living room, harmonizing to "When Your Hair Has Turned to Silver" in the car with Mom...abundance of  musical opportunities...abundance of joy!

Abundant thanks to my Dad, Andre Pierre....thanks for the love of so much and so many in the simplest of places-sunsets out the car window, music everywhere, savoring "slivers" of luscious and pretty desserts, people- wherever we find them being just who they are.... 

Thanks for continuing to "stand knee deep in a river of abundance" though your legs are weakened  and your aging heart aches at times.  Thanks for not letting the depth and occasional current of life's river disturb you, but for persevering and exulting in it's abundance!

  

Perhaps change is what has prompted me to write this blog/future book.  That I have pondered doing so for over ten years confirms that I am long overdue in this endeavor.  Wish me luck...good luck says I...to write...to reflect...to perchance become the author I aspire to be!

So it begins!

write write write!