Tag: love

Solstice Resolutions

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 7 Comments

winter-solsticeThe Winter Solstice was the other day…a prelude to Christmas, the New Year, and all holidays (made up or real) in between. I thought about the meaning of this ancient celebration…the length of the night its longest, on its way once again to the shortest, a new beginning, a new year. Another year older, another year wiser, another year wilder. I thought about going outside and dancing naked to greet the new year, but the 9 inches of snow, the below-zero temperatures, and the thought of my naked body made me choose a bubble bath instead.

In the magic bath, I remembered a poem I had written back in 2006. Instead of New Year’s Resolutions (which are never really kept past the first few days), I wrote Solstice Resolutions. Somehow they felt more ethereal, more arbitrary. Easier to read, easier to keep. And it’s funny — the thoughts, the feelings, the resolutions, all resonate the same 7 years later. I share them with you.

Solstice Resolutions

Take my vitamins
Eat more fruit
Watch the moonrise
Write a great novel
Open my mind
Leave my shadows behind
Define Gypsy Renaissance Style
Dream
Whisper

Laugh
Control my finances
Listen to more music

Hug my kids
Meditate
Slow down

Make a new friend

Find time for others
Find time for me
Do my job
Tolerate the wild ones

Age gracefully

Thank the Goddess
Share my thoughts
Get published
Dance in the rain

Offer friendship

Be strong

Offer strength
Redefine sensuality
Reawaken sexuality
Love
Love
Love

Just Call Me Granny

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 3 Comments

thI always thought I was a good mom. I attended every teacher/parent conference; endured freezing cold, blistering hot, and life-threatening thunderstorms, just to watch a soccer/baseball game; stayed up all hours of the night finishing last-minute (they said) homework projects; and did all other ups and downs a parent is supposed to do.  I adored my kids (still do), and there’s not much I wouldn’t do for them. But I find that is nothing compared to what I wouldn’t do for my grandson.

Is there a difference between being a parent and being a grandparent? Both are concerned for their welfare; both want to teach them right from wrong, A from K,  see them go to college, fall in love and marry (if that’s what they want), and produce many children/great grandchildren. 

Then why does it feel so different the second time around?

I am my kid’s worst nightmare. A granny with an unending source of patience and love and fun ideas. I am willing to go where no parent has gone before.

I laugh because I see my husband and I becoming my in-laws. When my youngest was born, it was a  struggle to let them take him for a night or a weekend. After all, they were crazy! They wanted to take my oldest to Kiddyland when he was barely two. My second was taken when he was not even a year old. They made me crazy!  They wanted my kids all the time — every chance they could. They took them to ranches and the restaurants that did stir fry on a table in front of them, and to Disneyworld and fishing up North. They stayed up late, played games and dug in the garden with their hands and taught them to play pinochle when they both were nine.  Who does that?

I am embarrassed now to admit I took offense at their unbridled desire to spoil my two kids. I was jealous of grandparents and aunties who had more free time and free money than I did. My grandparents died when I was young, so I had no idea what the grandparent “thing” was all about. My husband was very close with his grandparents, and reassured me that my kids would always be my kids.

Now I find myself repeating the actions, emotions, and enthusiasm of my in-laws. My grandson is three years old, and I find myself tripping over my feet to be with him. We learned to splash in puddles, fight with swords, and flip all the light switches in the house. I give him sips of the dreaded “Coca Cola”, slip him M&Ms, and dance in the rain whenever the opportunity shows itself. I want to buy him a whole wardrobe, take him to the zoo, and let him climb all over my dogs. And Disneyworld? If my kids take him they better book a room for granny too!

Being a grandparent is like getting a second lease on life. It is the ultimate in anarchy and love. Our grandkids are our doorway to finding our inner child. We do and say things that we can’t always do and say in the outside world. We keep their secrets, boost their fragile egos, and share tales of faeries, hunting, and family histories.  We show them the magic in the world without having to explain the physics of such.

There is a place for both parents and grandparents in this world. More people should open their arms and embrace both for the future children of the world. What harm is there in spoiling future generations? Our added attention won’t help them find a job or cure their diseases. But perhaps our crazy affection will encourage them to show affection towards others. Maybe our taking them to the park will encourage them to make time for their own kids. Maybe our blind devotion will give them strength to believe in the goodness of others in the world.

It’s a wonderful world we live in. Grandparents – step off the path. Keep it legal, keep it moral, but have fun. Take your grand kids to the movies or to an outdoor concert. Stay up late, dance to rock and roll in the living room, and look for elves in the woods. Teach them how to fish or sing songs Your grandkids will love you for it. And, if you’re lucky enough, they’ll never forget you for it.

I can’t say the same for your kids, though…

Dogs are just Dogs and Cats are just Cats…Right?

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 9 Comments

rennieAlright. Sad news first. My yellow labrador Renaissance Faire passed away yesterday. She was 11; a great huntress who was sweet and quirky and always knew when it was 7 p.m. and time for her 7 o’clock B(bonie). I was by her side to help her transition to the land of open fields and T-bone steaks; a daunting task, unnerving to say the least. We buried her under a tree next to my favorite cat Jasmine and my father-in-law’s dog Indy.

(Thanks for the good thoughts, btw)

Now the humorous part.

Here I am, 60 years old, walking through tick-infested grass and doggie mines not yet picked up with bare feet to give Rennie her final, eternal 7 o’clock B. Crying, wiping my snotty nose on my shirt, my mind taking over and remembering all slights and hurts real and imaginary, piling them together on top of my loss, fueling the fire that burned out of control. I was whispering baby doggie talk to the grave, babbling nonsense that only a dog would understand.

To the dog.

Not a child, a family member, friend or distant relative. A dog. Dogs and cats are dogs and cats — lower rungs on the food chain that do such innocuous things as lick their butt or eat other animal’s…well…you get my drift.

How many of you have done this?

I’m not sorry for my over reaction — I can stand back and chuckle at myself. For what is life but knowing who we are? Yet I ask…How do dogs and cats become our 1st or 2nd or 3rd child? And where do they get these…personalities?

I know one person whose cat looks at him and poops right in front of him every time he comes home from a long vacation. Another person’s dog won’t go outside to do her duty when the grass is wet. Another person’s cat talks on the phone along with its owner. My own Rennie had the uncanny ability to know when it was 7 pm no matter where we were and what we were doing. Where do they get these quirks? And why is it us that has to do the adjusting?

I know humans tend to anthropomorphize (give animals human traits). We give them personalities and assume they understand what we are saying. Why else would we talk to them so much? Many stand firm on their belief that animals think and feel and react as humans do. And on many levels that is true. I am not here to debate the validity of such things. What I will say, however, is that it is amazing how one little canine or feline can change your life.  They listen without complaining; they don’t hold a grudge when they come to sleep with you at night, and want to be with you all the time. They listen while you go on and on about your crummy day at work or your overbearing mother-in-law or the barking dog down the street.

I’m also not saying that pets are for everyone. Cleaning out kitty litter boxes and scooping up lincoln logs are not for everyone. Often it’s easier to spoil someone else’s dog or cat. Why not? Their love is universal.  Their devotion and energy should say something about how the world should work. They don’t care about the color of your skin or how fat you are or what religion tickles your fancy. Their needs are basic — love, food, and pets.  Something the world should take note of.

The moral of this little ditty is to just love your pets, or your family’s pets, or the pets at the shelter. Treat your fellow humans that way too, and you’ll never be sorry.

Just make sure you always make time for your  7 o’clock B.

Anniversary

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 5 Comments

Marriage: (1) the formal union of a man and a woman, typically recognized by law, by which they become husband and wife. That’s from the Oxford Dictionary.  The Cambridge Dictionary says almost the same thing: a legally accepted relationship between a woman and a man in which they live as husband and wife, or the official ceremony which results in this. Okay. I get this.  Regardless of the (2)’s and (3)’s after the (1), marriage is just about the same in all dictionaries, all books, a universal given that enables a couple to stick like glue to each other until death (or other circumstances) do they part. 

As most of you know, there are many a road bump that presents themselves between the innocence of “I Do” and “I Did.”  Some my friends never made it past bump one or bump fifteen.  Some have slid over the bumps like snowboards over the mounds. Marriage means different things to different people. We all make the same mistakes: it’s just that some of us marry them, others of us merely date them.

I am just coming down from another one of our famous family parties ― this one a barbeque celebrating 30 years of wedded bliss between my husband and myself. Actually we celebrated this momentous occasion last January, but hey ― who wants to barbeque hot dogs and brats in two feet of snow?  Now that the beer has been drunk and snacks devoured and brats scarfed, I sit in my living room the next day, and it hits me. Thirty years. When I got married Ronald Reagan was president, Sharkey’s Machine was #1 in the box office, and John Belushi died of an overdose. The prince of England that recently got married (William) had just been born, and gas was 91 cents a gallon.  I could go on and on about the changes in the world, the economy, and the scientific community in the last 30 years, but the point of all this purging of dates and ages and discoveries has nothing to do with the evolution of the world. It has to do with the evolution of me.  It’s more a story about putting up with the same human being longer than it takes to get to Jupiter and back.

So many things have happened in these thirty years. Just stop for a moment and try and remember what you were doing your-age-minus-thirty years ago. I can barely remember what I did last week, yet those days of living in apartments and going on field trips and school plays are as fresh as a month ago. Yet in all those years I managed to produce two great kids (who have produced one great grandbaby), beat cancer, say final goodbyes to parents and in-laws, survive a multitude of jobs and houses and financial states, and still say “I Love You” to the man lying beside me at night. Is that a blessing or just luck?

As I get older I realize it all bubbles up from the same pot. Life and Luck and Love all start with the same letter as Loss and Limits and Lousy.  I used to believe the world was a wonderful grey alphabet of choices that existed just for my perusal.  Now I know that, in the long run, choices are forever either one way or the other. There is no “kinda” yes or “maybe” no. You either do or do not. You either are in love or you’re not. You either have chemistry or you do not. Waiting around for emotions and magic to “grow” doesn’t happen. You either want to rip each other’s clothes off or you are turned off by the thought. You either want to cuddle or you do not. You either are willing to drop your expectations of “perfection” or you will search until you find it.

I’m sure I have not been the prize of the century for my married half. Hubby is a logical, practical, bullet-pointed hunter who works with the world just as it is. I am a dreamy, ditzy, pretzel logic kinda girl who mingles astronomy with astrology and astral travels when convenient. I am over-emotional, over-reactive, and too introspective for my own good, and keep an eye open for dragons as well as airplanes in the sky. But there must be enough here for him to want to stick around all these years.  We have come toe-to-toe with financial disaster, taken giant leaps of faith, and guided family members through the hardest days of their lives. We have also stood side by side at soccer games, baseball games, graduations, funerals, weddings, DUI’s and masters degrees. We have built decks and fixed cars by ourselves, travelled to Disney World and Las Vegas, and gone camping and skiing with all sorts of families. We have been dreamers, financial analysts, psychologists and best friends. We have been parents, children, babies and spoiled brats. We have been blossoming flowers and nasty weeds. We have said “yes” more than we have said “no,” and still do a great hippy hippy shake to “Kickstart My Heart.”

These thirty years have been the best years of my life. They’ve actually been the only years of my life.  No road is smooth, and every one we wander down is full of turns and choices. That’s what life’s all about anyway, isn’t it? In the end, your choice doesn’t matter. Just what you do with it. And I’ve been lucky enough to have made this one with my best friend.

Happy anniversary, you old dog.