Sitting in my living room at 5:45 a.m. with strong French roast coffee that smells pleasantly skunky. A blank journal page lies waiting on my lap. Early April rain taps cold against the house, wanting to become snow but unwilling to stare down a calendar that says it’s spring. Furtive thoughts wander about like nocturnal animals searching for a dry place to curl into and snooze away the upcoming day.
I always love how you acknowledge that the story is rarely the real story. I recognize that anger. I have my own. And I love that you recognize yours as ancestral. Now how to do that thing they call Ancestral Healing. Your writing is clearly part of that healing. Thank you for sharing it with us and showing us how you do it, all of it. ~K.
Since the end always seems to be what is most immediate in my brain as I comment, let me say that I do NOT enjoy skunk smell, and being of quite sensitive nose, that stink awakened me one night two weeks ago and it must have been close-by as it kept me awake, struggling to find a way to breathe without smelling it, for quite a long time. I have a preferred Dark Roast Ethiopian Yirgacheffe from Strictly Organic Coffee out of Bend Oregon...definitely not skunky to My nose ;-)
The generational trauma...[so glad that has been validated in the science, nice not to be eye-rolled at (for the most part) anymore] shows up in different ways doesn't it? It took me decades to learn to be angry, mine always went into sadness, depression. It was truly wonderful when I got some decent therapy and shiatsu massage and opened up the blocked meridians and learned how powerful, and healing, anger can be. Like fire, or poison/medicine, a little heals, a lot destroys. But getting these things to heal is not an easy feat.
I too love good hard labor, though I rarely have anyone to assist, it's a solo gig for me, but I love it.
Your days with your brothers sound frameable (a long ago coworker would describe a perfect day as worthy of framing). and oh my goodness, your grandson, what a cutie!
"Our time to leave the living world is rarely dictated by decadal marks on the Gregorian calendar." very true. I spent last weekend with my Dad, 3/31 is my mom and dad's wedding anniversary, and this is the first one he is spending alone since she walked on in September.
Those 2 days sound like a perfect way to spend the birthdate of your mother.
Oh, the joy of hard physical work when that ghost of ancestral anger makes a visit. Sometimes I wonder if anger is caused by hunger--hunger for something that is missing, never found, or never identified. Like our cells being activated by a train blast of memory, only we can't grab the memory. I don't know. Right now, everything seems just out of reach. My mom used to hate spring. She said even though the flowers bloomed, she waited for the inevitable notice that someone had died. I wished I'd asked her more about that. I wished I'd asked her a lot of things. So, as we drive along with grandkids and great-grandkids on our laps, I want to remember to tell them as many stories as I can and tell them why they should not pick trillium. Happy birthday, Barbara. I'm sure you are very proud of your sons.
I always love how you acknowledge that the story is rarely the real story. I recognize that anger. I have my own. And I love that you recognize yours as ancestral. Now how to do that thing they call Ancestral Healing. Your writing is clearly part of that healing. Thank you for sharing it with us and showing us how you do it, all of it. ~K.
Since the end always seems to be what is most immediate in my brain as I comment, let me say that I do NOT enjoy skunk smell, and being of quite sensitive nose, that stink awakened me one night two weeks ago and it must have been close-by as it kept me awake, struggling to find a way to breathe without smelling it, for quite a long time. I have a preferred Dark Roast Ethiopian Yirgacheffe from Strictly Organic Coffee out of Bend Oregon...definitely not skunky to My nose ;-)
The generational trauma...[so glad that has been validated in the science, nice not to be eye-rolled at (for the most part) anymore] shows up in different ways doesn't it? It took me decades to learn to be angry, mine always went into sadness, depression. It was truly wonderful when I got some decent therapy and shiatsu massage and opened up the blocked meridians and learned how powerful, and healing, anger can be. Like fire, or poison/medicine, a little heals, a lot destroys. But getting these things to heal is not an easy feat.
I too love good hard labor, though I rarely have anyone to assist, it's a solo gig for me, but I love it.
Your days with your brothers sound frameable (a long ago coworker would describe a perfect day as worthy of framing). and oh my goodness, your grandson, what a cutie!
"Our time to leave the living world is rarely dictated by decadal marks on the Gregorian calendar." very true. I spent last weekend with my Dad, 3/31 is my mom and dad's wedding anniversary, and this is the first one he is spending alone since she walked on in September.
Those 2 days sound like a perfect way to spend the birthdate of your mother.
-Mariah
"for that shift in consciousness" -- thank you, Tom. I appreciated reading this. Blessings in memory of your mother.
Oh, the joy of hard physical work when that ghost of ancestral anger makes a visit. Sometimes I wonder if anger is caused by hunger--hunger for something that is missing, never found, or never identified. Like our cells being activated by a train blast of memory, only we can't grab the memory. I don't know. Right now, everything seems just out of reach. My mom used to hate spring. She said even though the flowers bloomed, she waited for the inevitable notice that someone had died. I wished I'd asked her more about that. I wished I'd asked her a lot of things. So, as we drive along with grandkids and great-grandkids on our laps, I want to remember to tell them as many stories as I can and tell them why they should not pick trillium. Happy birthday, Barbara. I'm sure you are very proud of your sons.
As always, just lovely.
Thank you for sharing Tom.
So enjoy your writing.
Happy birthday to your dear mom.
Linda
Cool system, here—your authentication.
So you had me with the comparison of coffee to skunks. I’ve always thought that too, and consequently enjoy smelling skunks on the road.
My mom’s birthday never inspired such a tribute. Your writing is so enjoyable, as well as learning more about your family.