October 12, 2025

This blog may be like no other I’ve written because it is not in my usual style, not a bit poetic or lofty, not at all!  But real, nonetheless.

A few years ago, a person I value asked me: “How did you get to be 80 and still love Jesus as much as you do?” Or, put another way, “how are you not a crabby old lady?”

Well, this month I will be 83 and I’m still pondering that question!

There’s no “one thing” answer, I’ve decided. I’m still looking for one though, cause I like focused answers. 

But in this month of my 83rd birthday, I have some, just a few, ideas.

Maybe you can expand on them, revise them, and use them in your own search for love, boundaries, joy, and all things wonderful in your own lives. And if you have a few of your own to add, I’d sure love to hear them.  Or if there’s one you want me to expand on, I’d love to hear that too.

One answer is that in stressful moments, I ask my self what it is that I really want. Then, “and how is my own behavior helping me to get that.” Reminding myself of my real goal overcomes any crabby angers I’m feeling in the moment. It’s a principle I’ve lived by for over 50 years. Not always so good at remembering it in the moment, but coming back to it always restores my joy.

Another thing is how I respond when people say, “well, trials help you grow.” I think I am like a plant in my garden, that whatever harsh weather may come, I need sunshine and water to weather that storm and grow in spite of it,

Sunshine is in the things around me that I see, the visuals. Like using a mug a trusted friend gave me years ago. It says “cup of courage.”  Like having freshly cut flowers in my house. Like baking something and leaving it set on the counter to be admired by me all day. Like setting the table at supper time with pretty placemats, napkins and best silver.  Like painting my toenails. Like making my bed.  All those little things that make my little world shine…for me.

Water is in how I nourish myself. It is in reading a really good book, drawing something in front of me. Just to examine and draw it. Not to frame or even show. Just to be creative. Or making a pot of yummy healthy vegetable soup and letting it simmer all day. Or wearing a pretty dress and putting on make up even if I’m not leaving the house. Those kinds of things.

I nourish myself with pretty things, things that are already in my life, things I need to stop and take notice of, enjoy, be grateful for.

Another answer might simply be gratefulness.  I am always so aware of how much wonderfulness is in my life. The early years of our marriage, we were below the poverty line, not one dollar extra for anything. But I had my little house, I got to be a stay-at-home mom, I had toddlers who wanted me to cuddle and read books with them, a daughter who loved doing housekeepery things with me. The electric bill got paid every month, we never missed a mortgage payment, I was blissfully happy and grateful.

Now I have money for extra things, my house is a bit bigger, I am healthy, and grateful to be 83.  When I get stressed out about something not going right, I stop and look around and know that there are millions of women who would trade places with me in a heartbeat. Even tho the water heater just broke and my kitchen is all torn up!  If I am not grateful in those hectic moments, I give up my own joy and peace, so yes, I am always, every moment, grateful.

This next one is pretty important: to be aware of where I have influence (control) and where I do not, and to focus on what I can do. To not spend my precious thoughts and soul on things I wish were different, should be different, but that I have absolutely no influence over! Lately that’s been a really hard one. But I still work on it every day, every hour. To not get entangled in all that out there. Negative people, weather, prices, politics, all that stuff. I’ve learned to “do all I can” and then let it be. To do all I can in my circle, yes. Like the serenity prayer: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.”

That sounds like an easy thing, but for me it isn’t, and I have to keep remembering to see that some things are not in my control, darn!

But staying in my circle is not always easy. I am a doer, I like fixing things, but it robs my life of energy and joy, so I lay it down and walk away.

Rather than going on and on, I will stop with one more, although it is not the end. In an interview with Stallone, about the making of the movie Rocky, he shared how hard he trained, even running up those famous steps. At first he carried his 130 lb. dog and couldn’t make it more than half way.  He finally did, but only without the dog.

My take-away is that when tackling a really hard task, something I really want to tackle, to accomplish, I ask  myself if I’m carrying some extra baggage, trying to cope with stuff I shouldn’t be carrying. That is wearing me out. 

Some really big changes, challenges, are won one baby step at a time! One, then the next, and the next.

So there it is, my beginning answer to why I am so happy, so easily pleased, so eager for the next day of my life.

Some things to think about.  

October 12, 2025

My name is Jon.
I live nowhere
And everywhere.
Today I sit
On the sidewalk
Learning against the fence.
Waiting for…
I don’t know what.
My name is Jane.
I live nowhere
And everywhere.
Today I sit
On the sidewalk
Learning against the fence.
Waiting for…
I don’t know what.
Others are here,
Folks like us.
Nowhere to go.
Waiting.
Just waiting.
We don’t know why.
Here we are all the same
Hopeless.
You look at me when you drive by.
“Folks like them, get a job!”
“Don’t bother to help,
It’s hopeless.”
And I know that you say it.

This Photo by Unknown Author is
licensed under CC BY-NC

And I know that you are right.
I am a homeless person,
I am a hopeless person.
I failed a hundred jobs.
Don’t know why.
I fail everything,
Every single thing since first grade,
The day I first saw a “book”.
I have always been hungry,
Crackers hidden in my pocket,
Eaten on the school bus,
Hoping they didn’t see,
See and laugh. “Idiot!”
Drive by, wonder why I don’t try.
Me, the lazy homeless person.
The one who no longer tries,
Who no longer hopes,
Me, I am the homeless person,
A person who no longer hopes.
There is no hope,
I am a hopeless person.

October 12, 2025

I am that man, sitting on the bench.
My hair white and thinning,
No streaks of grey
Or my natural brown.
I am sad.

I am that old lady, in the grocery aisle.
My hair white and thinning,
No streaks of grey
Or my natural blonde.
I am sad.

My body moves slower now,
Fingers jerk when holding a pen,
Knees stiffen and feet tremble
When rising from my favorite chair,

Passing me, people smile.
“Cute old person” they think.
“Heard their stories a hundred times.”
Hurry past, smiling only, not stopping.

Overlooked, we are, old people.
Youth eager to prove wisdom,
Passionate in own pursuits.
Talking amongst themselves only.

I am here, we are here, observing.
At the table with you, and on the couch,
Holding generations of history,
Of life, of mistakes and successes.
Experience not found in books
Or podcasts, or anywhere.

Old lady that I am, I have lived
Through wars and peace.
Through protests and silences,
Through wealth and failures.
Through sickness and crisis.
Married, failed, fixed it.
Raised a family, managed a home.

Old man that I am, I have lived.
Fought in wars, cried in peace,
Knew silence and protests,
Succeeded and failed, weathered crisis,
Through sickness and health.
Married, failed, fixed it.
Raised a family, paid the bills.

Universities lecture, books weave theories
Philosophers ponder, podcasters recruit.
Churches preach, writers put words to paper.
Persuaders they are; triumphant,
Before decades of learning and living.
All before experiencing
All telling before living.

Old folks, we lived history.
We were there! Every day of it!
With emotion, fear, victory, tears!
Survived it, learned from it.
Those are our stories.
Time brings perspective
Hidden in the heart of old history,
Hidden in the hearts of old people

September 13, 2025

I have a glider swing out back, facing my woods. It’s my place to ponder in the early morning, to think about who I am and how God and I relate to each other.

This morning the white cosmos were hanging over the path, clearly right in front of me. The awesomeness of each pure white bloom, shimmering in the early morning sun caught my attention. As my gaze took in the rest of my garden I was a bit overcome with the diversity of God.  Why did He make all these flowers? So many different kinds. Ten could have been good enough, well maybe 50. But all over the world there are probably tens of thousands of different flowers. All majestic in the variety of colors and size. Some replicating by seed, others by spreading their roots. Some last through the winter, some are one big splash for a time and then they are done. It boggles my mind to think of it all.

And then I think about the why? Why did God do this, all these differing kinds when half as many would have been fine.  Maybe He wanted to show us how extravagantly He loves us. Maybe He didn’t want us to ever be bored and forget about Him, I don’t know!

But I know He did do it just for us.  Just for me. And for you. Here is my very feeble attempt to capture the moment and bring it into my Art Journal.

August 30, 2025

So, this is a followup to my last article. The one about how healing from emotional wounds can be similar to healing from physical ones. How, first we bleed profusely, but eventually that needs to stop or we will bleed to death. I went on to talk about scabs and about stopping picking at them and letting them heal over and eventually maybe even ending up with a scar that is a reminder, but that is no longer, if at all, painful. I promised to share how I manage to stop picking at my scabs in my next article, which is this one, but I think perhaps I should clarify some of these points, as I had some very positive responses, and yes, some quite challenging, maybe even negative ones as well.

So lets do clarification first, which may be better done if I give a true-life example. And let me say foremost, that I am not a therapist, and share only from what I have learned in my own very tumultuous life. About my journey and what has worked for me at each given point. My truths, to use the popular saying. It may not be true for you ever, or maybe not now, but someday it might. Just maybe.

My dad was a dynamic personality, well loved by everyone, generous with his time and money, a good provider, an impressively intelligent man, admired by all, a good Catholic. But to me, privately, he was degrading, accusing, and sexual. I spiraled down into drugs and alcohol, and eventually found my place in the world of heroin and all that entails. It is an old and familiar story. I chronicled it in my book, “But I Can Learn”, so I don’t need to say more here.

But after many years, I ended up court-ordered in front of the best therapist I ever had. And I had had many by then and each session always about my dad. All the time.

But this guy, he absolutely would not let me talk about my dad, because he knew that I had been doing that for years and years already. That I was stuck in it. Instead, he kept making me focus on what I wanted now, and how what I was doing would never, ever get me that.  I was angry at him most of the time, but he changed my life. I am eternally grateful that he stood up to me.  I now carry the scars from my dad, but am no longer bleeding to death.

Years later, in my new and wonderful life, my father came to live in the same city I was in, and that brought some new wounds. Little ones to be sure, but bleeding ones nonetheless. This was also the first time someone actually looked me in the eye and told me that it wasn’t my fault. And changed my life again. (it was my pastor)

I’ve had painful woundings since then, and bled far too long before I came back to “what do I really want and how do I get there”. But I’m using the example of my dad here only because its old and the others involved have long passed away.

But to be clear, I do know that when we are wounded we need to talk and talk and talk about it, sometimes for years. We bleed all over our own lives and on other’s.  We can’t help it. It just has to happen before we can heal. I don’t think we can skip it, nor should we.

But for me, and maybe its just me, the talking and venting, after years, turns into whining, or my mind obsessively goes over and over and over it. All the things I would like to say, or that I could have done differently. On and on, I get stuck like a gerbil on his wheel going nowhere, and it overwhelms any joy I could have in my days.

Sometimes we think talking has to happen with the other person, that one who struck the wound. But in my life story, that has had to happen very carefully. Timing means a lot. If the other person is still in the angry-hurt stage, still feeling vengeful, they will only attack and lash out with accusations that will deepen our woundedness. For me, sit-down talks happen best when both of us want to hear the other person out. To have them understand our hurt and we can understand theirs. Some people are not ready to do. They just aren’t at that place yet. Maybe a little casual friendly, normal relationship has to happen first.

That’s when I have to turn to my own healing without depending on anything from them. I need to stop thinking about it 24-7. Apply a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, stop picking at the scab, let a scar form. Which means the situation may never be ok, but that even then, I will be ok.

In summary, I never meant to say that we should just stop talking. I still talk about my dad sometimes, but he no longer affects my life. I have scars that hamper the way I walk through certain places of life, sure, but I am no longer obsessed or crippled by them.

I have other relationships that I would love to have on a better footing and there are things we both need to say to each other, but not now. Someday when we trust each other, maybe. I don’t know, and I’m ok with that. There is more to life than my wounds, scabs, and scars.

And now, about how I do that, the moving on, the breaking out of the gerbil wheel?  The only key I’ve found so far, and I’m sure there are others, but this works for me: I find the truth and speak that to myself over and over.  Everytime my mind goes to rehearsing the hurtful words of an accusation, I speak the truth to my own self.

Just to name a few: I am not a selfish person!  I am not a stupid girl!  I am not clumsy. (well maybe a little) I wrote each of those things on rocks and put them away in my garden to remind myself that they are out there, put away, no longer in my heart and mind. That those things are not the truth of me.

And then I turn to doing something creative, just for me, not for show. Whether it is drawing or baking or staging a picture for Instagram, I can then only focus on that one thing. It lets my hurt mind rest a bit.

And of course, as a person of faith, knowing I am loved and valued says it all. And I know I will be ok!

July 19, 2025

I did a lot of traveling in June, lots of days in the car by myself, thinking and questioning the meaning of everything!   I think it’s when I get some of my best inspirations.

I started thinking about how to heal from emotional wounds. The kind that haunt us even years after they happen. The ones we try so hard to move past, to forget, to resolve, to look for reconciliation even. The kind that leave us even feeling guilty for we don’t know what. Those kinds of wounds that never seem to heal.  Some years we think we’ve got it settled and then boom! There they are again, all alive and as murderous as ever.  And we are in the thick of it again.

I have years of experience with this, and I’m tired of it.

So there’s me, little old lady, driving along, keeping pace with all those huge, speeding semis, feeling sad and condemned (again) over something I think I’ve put to rest, and yet again it’s popped up. Into my thoughts and I can’t stop no matter how hard I try.  And I wondered about physical wounds, how we heal from those and followed that thought.

If I get a deep, disastrous, life-threatening wound, like a huge chunk of flesh and muscle gets ripped off the outer part of my left arm – what happens?

First it bleeds, profusely, gushing blood everywhere and unless the bleeding is stopped I may bleed to death. The first thing is to apply pressure, even painful pressure. It hurts, but it has to happen to save my life. The initial gush of blood cleanses the wound, and that’s a good thing. But it has to be stopped to save my life.

When the bleeding stops, other things have to happen. The wound needs to be covered and protected from outside germs and dirt and infection. It needs to be protected. A scab needs to form before it can begin to heal.

The scab allows tissue to rebuild. From the edges, from deep within, from over the surface. The deeper the wound the longer it takes. Sometimes a really, really long time!

Scabs can be ugly, and are very tender in the early stages. And they become really itchy. Itchy, and tender at the same time. The itchy edges get a little crinkly and we think we can hurry it along by picking at it. Sometimes it bleeds a little and hurts and we need to leave it alone. It takes longer to heal if we keep picking at it!

Eventually it forms a scar. It may make an ugly scar, or we might luck out and have a nice, almost unnoticeable scar.  It might become hard to see over time, over years. Maybe. But it will always be there, whether we’ve picked at it or not. Always a reminder. Maybe remind us to be careful.

When I compared physical healing to emotional or spiritual wounds, I gained some fresh insights for myself. Maybe not for you, but these are good for me.

When I am wounded, an emotional or spiritual wound, a huge terrible life-threatening, rip-my-heart-out kind of wound, sometimes I bleed words. They gush out of me, hemorrhage even. After the initial shock, I almost can’t stop talking about it.  That’s a good thing. I need to talk and talk and talk. It cleanses that wound, gets a bunch of junk out of my hearts so it doesn’t fester. Initial talking, like initial bleeding of physical wounds, is a good thing.

But it can go on too long, and only I will know when talking is no longer helping. Just because others may be tired of hearing about my wound, it doesn’t mean I need to stop talking.  Just because others are saying I should be over it by now, doesn’t mean I need to stop talking. Condemnation and Judgement cause wounds to bleed faster, to not heal. However, at some point, some year down the road, I will need to stop talking about it, stop reliving it, stop bleeding or else I will die. I will emotionally bleed to death.

As in a physical wound, bleeding is stopped by applying pressure and it hurts, is painful. It is the same with my heart-wounds. When I stop talking, it hurts because I like talking about it, the pressure of not talking hurts.  But at some point, I realize that I always feel worse after talking about it. Not better. It used to feel better, but now it doesn’t.  I’m all worked up again, and it feels crummy.  I need to stop talking about it so much, and the pressure of shutting up is painful, but I suffer the pressure so that I don’t die in my own gush of bleeding words.

Then it forms a scab. An itchy, annoying, sensitive scab. The scab reminds me of the wound, especially when someone or something brings up a topic that makes me remember. I start rehearsing it again,  and I begin to pick at the scab, just around the edges. And suddenly I’m bleeding again, in pain again, suffering again. Dying.

I must stop picking at the scab, stop looking at it and turning it over and over in my mind, looking for resolution where there is none. Doing all I know to hurry healing. Some things cannot be fixed. Some things especially cannot, or should not, be fixed by me. Stop picking at the scab and let it heal.

A scar will form, no way around that.  I never reach the place as though I was never wounded, the scar is there, always. But it is tough now, that scar. It covers my wound with a new tougher skin. My wounded arm has healed enough to be useful again, the bleeding has stopped and that energy has gone to closing the wound. And the wounded part of me that I once carried in a sling, tended and nurtured, is now useful again. Scarred, yes. Hampered, maybe. But useful – and strong.

If you’ve followed me for awhile, you know that I am a spiritual person, my faith is the basis of who I am, so bear with me here.  The “thing” I feel God spoke to my heart (my heart, maybe not yours), while driving along the interstates, is that I have to stop picking at the scab. Especially stop picking at it till it bleeds again. Just leave it alone!

This doesn’t apply to all of my life, all its ups and downs. But it does speak to me about a few things that I’ve been keeping alive, for years and years.  About things I think I’ve resolved in my heart. They linger in the back of my mind, waiting until  something reminds me and I start rehearsing it, and quickly I’m in turmoil, dying again. Then it’s like God says to me, “You’ve been picking at that scab again, haven’t you?! Stop picking at the scab!”

This talk has gotten really long, so I’ll quit here. Next month I’ll share ways I’ve learned to keep my hands off the scabs, ways to let wounds rest and heal. Heal my ever so broken heart. Maybe till then you can start noticing if there are scabs that you keep picking at, hurts you rehearse over and over.

June 29, 2025

Sometimes I think I am terrible at this! Other bloggers have huge followings, and lots of comments.  I don’t.  The others actually generate on-line discussions!   And so, I judge myself!

Some bloggers write multiple pages every few days, or at least once a week.  And they do little things on “reels”. They have lots to say. I have lots to say, but I don’t put it out there for you. I don’t know why.  Writing it in my own notebook – I’m good at that. Talking face-to-face,  when we sit on the couch, coffee cups in hand,  I’m good at that too. 

I’m inspired with lots of thoughts and ideas and I put pen (actual pen) to paper (actual paper). But sitting in front of a blank computer screen, thinking of putting it out  there for scrutiny, well now I have to make sense of all those scribblings in my notebook, and my mind goes blank.

So a few weeks ago, I read my old blogs from the beginning and I was pretty impressed with myself, if I can say so.  But so, what happened to me that  words and ideas were so easy to put into paragraphs and whole stories then.   I wrote a whole, published book for goodness sakes!

And then, just this morning, while watering my newly sprouted carrots and beets, it came to me.

Life made sense back then, and now it kinda doesn’t.  Or at least it hasn’t until recently, and I’ll get to that later.

I know I ramble on a lot about aging and I wonder if you all get tired of it.  After all, it’s something none of us want to think about, much less enter the world of someone who’s actually really aging! I’ll be 82 in July, so I’ve been here awhile.

I’m pretty good with life stages, knowing how to grieve, and then happily moving on to the next stage.  Like when my children were babies, I loved every minute of it. Their baby smell, and cuddliness.  All of it. And when they became toddlers and I had to put away the baby clothes and toys, it was really sad. Especially when I knew they were my last babies!  I let myself be sad for awhile, but then I embraced the joy of the present stage they were currently in. Looking forward! Their wonderment in discovering ants, and grass and sand. And new foods. And books! Oh yes, books! My favorite thing.  Toddlerhood was wonderful.

And so it has been with each stage of my own life. Even to grown children moving out and becoming an empty nester.  Really sad then, for a bit. But I moved on to the joy of having empty rooms that I could now use for guests, and hobbies, and whatever I wanted. We’ve live in a tiny house, so the empty space was inviting.  I loved that stage of life as much as the baby days, toddler days. Even retirement.

I could explain more about each stage, but that’s not the point right now.  Because right now there is no wonderful next stage to look for ward to. That’s the truth. The hard truth. 

I want to have lived well, and age well, and even die well.  But there’s no path walked before me,  to follow, no mentors, no one to look up to or ask questions to.

So I talk and write about it a lot because it helps me to organize my own thoughts and then, maybe more importantly, it just might be something you want to think about for yourself. 

So here’s a few things I’ve learned (all by myself) so far:

Older age brings out and magnifies the attitudes we carried all those years before.  If we are negative and complaining, if we have a “poor me” attitude before we reach age 60, well, that’s probably not going to change easily. We won’t just reach retirement age and be cheerful and appreciative and fun to be around . I’ve watched people think it would happen and then they just couldn’t change. So lesson #1 is to work on those things now. Appreciate every day and every person and well, just everything, and do it now.

And #2 is don’t move into those older years having to prove something.  If you have to prove it to yourself and/or others, do it now.  All those thoughts about things you want to do, would love to do, want to accomplish like going to school, running a race – do those things now.  I love being this age and knowing I have nothing to prove – not to myself and certainly not to others. I’m pretty happy with myself and with my life.

And then #3, rely on your own self to know things. I’m not saying never ask for opinions on things, but ask yourself first.  You didn’t get to these older years without learning about life. About a whole lot of things.  You probably can make a bunch of decisions without needing everyone’s approval. 

#4 is this: if you can, hang out with cheerful older people and see what you can learn. They have lived though some important stages of history, have had careers, raised families, watched loved ones die. Reflecting on their long and full lives will help you to look forward to your own future years yourself.

One last thing till next time: if you are already in your older years, take some time and start a list of the things you have done, things you’ve accomplished, things you are proud of. Things like, raised a family, home-schooled my children, wrote a book, ran a 5 mile race, camped in rugged places, took care of my aging parents, lived by a budget, always paid my bills on time, learned a new language, volunteered to help at a food bank…whatever! Instead of thinking of what you can’t do or “failed” at, write out your accomplishments, however small or big, and post them on the fridge.

And for today, go have fun!

November 3, 2024

I’ve shared before that while I am definitely a person of faith, I  don’t share much beyond my friendship circles because I don’t seem to fit into the “traditional Christian box”, whatever that is.  Maybe I’m a little too private about this unless asked. I don’t know.

But the topic of “words” has been on my mind a lot lately, and I’m going to start this blog with a story about my faith before moving on to my real topic. So if you don’t like that, skip thsse first paragraphs! The rest will still be easy to understand without my little personal God story preface.

In my attempt to clear out tons of paperwork accumulated from my “working years”, I came across this paper in my journals. I often start my day with a sort of “dear God” ask, then sit for awhile and see what He seems to say.  I wrote this in 1993:

ME: Lord, what do I have to give You? I come with my alabaster box, but it seems empty. I can’t break forth in song. I have no instrument and my voice does not create beautiful song to worship You with. If someone placed an instrument in my hands, my fingers would not know what to do. It would be dead. I cannot worship You in music. 

I can’t worship You in dance because my heart does not flow into my hands and my feet. They only imitate what others do.

You have not created me to be an imitation of others. I know You made me new. So what is in my alabaster box that I can open for you? What is it?

GOD: Well, Clara, words are in your alabaster box. Since you were a little girl words have easily poured forth from you. Remember your mother’s stories of you as a two year old, delighting people, strangers and relatives alike, with adult conversations. You talked all the time!

Dedicate your words to Me, pour out the words in your alabaster box (heart) for others to hear!

This conversation went on for a few more sentences, but it has had me thinking again about words for the past few months.

Words we throw around so easily, words we hear others say and they resonate with us on some level so we repeat them boldly until they become our own.  Are most of our words just catchy phrases or kernels of ideas that we haven’t taken the time to really think about? Or things our groups have been saying and we adopt them because we like belonging to the group?

I’ve been intentionally listening and I wish I heard,  and said, more words with more meaning. Can I say something more that will be remembered by the person, that builds them up or challenges them? 

I have had conversations when I opened up a bit and shared a question I wondered about (about myself) and the other person replied with words, in one sentence, that changed my life, my direction, and I cherish that one sentence here now, even 30 some years later.  I want to be like that!

I have had conversations where I shared something I’m really excited about, or an insight I’ve just had and the response is “well, yes, that’s great, and I can see that, but….” and proceeds to disagree or correct me without engaging in conversation. Is our first response usually to disagree? Or to add to? What about “wow! that’s a great thought, where are you going with that?”  Do we use words to be smarter-than or to be one-with? I don’t know. But I’m watching very closely now, watching my words. 

I have also listened (for too long) as someone used words to tear my heart out. To assail me with words like bullets that tore at the fabric of my very being and sent me into a two-year sort of depression.

And I have listened as someone said to me: “the things that person said are not true, everybody knows they are not true!” And those words were like a healing salve to my shattered self. I have also shared deeply and heard no response…or the person changed the subject.  So a lack of words can still say much!

It seems to me that in our culture words are very cheap, thrown around with no concept of the consequences. Like freedom of speech has gone awry with statements like “I’m just be honest,” or “people need to know, or whatever justification fits the moment.

I long for those sentences that make me come alive, that speak life and encouragement and point the way for me to be a better person.

Yes, I am a person of words, and I am striving every day to have them be words of life and not death. To have words that teach and encourage and bring hope. It’s why I blog. It’s why I teach. It’s why I wrote a book. It’s why I invite people to come sit on my couch, coffee cup in hand.  It’s why friends gather at my dining table and talk over spaghetti dinners.

What gifts do I have to give? Not much. I’m not really all that talented.  But I have words. Words to give. And I will choose them carefully, always aware that words are like seeds planted in a person’s heart, ready to grow. Words to bring life and connection or death and aloneness.

PS: It’s been awhile since my last blog. I’ve been traveling a lot – to NYC and then to Savannah, Georgia. Driving both time! I’ll tell you about those in my next blog, maybe next week or so.

September 24, 2024

If you’ve been following my recent blogs, you know I’ve taken a new path on my journey to “peace and happiness.” Whatever that looks like as I’m walking (running?) through my 80s.  I’ve shared how I like writing or speaking when I’ve come through a rough time, have worked it out, and can then share my wisdoms and victories.  This new path, as I recently said here, is to not wait till I’ve worked it out, but to share the here-and-now. To be vulnerable and share the journey and not just the shining end.

So, here’s what I’m thinking. Remember, I’ve been reading the book “You Are What You Love”, how the habits of our lives show what we really love or value?  So I’m on an experiment with myself to see how true that is for me, and also maybe discover something new about what I really do love. I’m pretty self-aware, so I don’t expect any real surprises, just maybe some new colors to what I already know about myself.

First, I made a chart, listing the things I wish I would do every day, things I “say” I love, stuff I just don’t get around to cause I’m too busy with other stuff that I think clutters my life.  The point at the beginning is to just simply do a thing every single day for a few months and see if it becomes a habit. A habit that I love doing so much it becomes as automatic as my morning cup of coffee. Doing it without having to force myself to do it cause I said I would or because I know it’s good for me. I could argue the opposite of what I just said, but remember, I’m testing the theory of the book.

My list is way too long, 16 items!  I know I will not incorporate all of them into my future days, but by doing them for a few months, or not doing them, I’m just looking for insights at this stage.

For example, I have “RUN” at the top. It’s not about how far, or at what speed. It’s just about getting up every morning, having a few sips of coffee and going out to my neighborhood and walk/running for 10-15 minutes. At first I dreaded it: “Oh no, I have to go run so I can check it off my list.” I actually had made a chart like we use for our children! 

I’ve been  doing this for about a month and now it’s automatic. I just get up every morning and do it, and actually miss it if I don’t. I’m adding distance, and increasing the number of blocks I run instead of super-fast walk. I think it is now a habit instead of a chore.

However, here’s the catch that surprised me. Can I now say I love to exercise? I’ve always acted like I do. I have a personal trainer even! I hike mountain trails, for goodness sake! But I have discovered that no, I do not love to exercise. 

Back to finding what I do love, and it’s this: I love to be healthy, to have energy. So I exercise every day, not because I love to exercise, but because I love being really healthy and energetic! That’s what I’ve learned and I feel really good about this! And I look forward to that run every morning!

I’ll tell you more about the other items on my list later, but that’s probably enough for now.

Oh, I’ve had my first session with my new counselor and though we haven’t unraveled this crazy ball of yarn that is my tangled thoughts, at least now I know the “colors” of each thread of yarn and that also feels really good. 

I hope your journey is becoming more clear to you and that you find what you love. May we each walk in who we really are with a new joy!

September 5, 2024

I started this book a while ago. “You Are What You Love” by James K. A. Smith, subtitled “the spiritual power of habit.”   While I’m trying to find some order to my chaotic life, and since I do love and thrive on order, the title attracted me. It’s a great read, the first chapters energized me, but eventually I got bogged down with the seriousness of it. I still recommend it and will come back to it later.

But this was my take-away: I may say I love certain things, but maybe a better word would be “like.”  His theory, according to me, is that if I really love something I will be putting time into it.  I will actually do it Otherwise it’s something I like or wish for. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Just call it what it is and find what we really do love.

That all was interesting to me, but what stood out more was his emphasis on the importance of habit.  Good and not-so-good habits. What am I doing with my day? What are my “habits” and are they what I want?  Why do I struggle (or forget) to do the things I really want and why is it so easy to do a bunch of stuff all day and yet not do the few things that are important to me? The things I say I “love?” 

I think (I could be wrong) he’s saying that it comes down to habits. I’ve filled my days with things I hardly think about, they are just habits.

So, it’s like this: My husband gets up every morning and makes coffee for us. Then he goes out to feed the birds.  I get up, have coffee and a nice chat with him.  We never think, “well, do I want coffee or not, or are we going to visit a bit or no?” There’s no decision, it’s our morning ritual, or habit, and we just do it without deciding. 

Which set me to wondering if I could take a few of the things I say are important to me, that give me joy and calm my soul, if I could do them every day, faithfully, for months, would they then become habits I don’t even think about? Like the morning coffee ritual?  Would my life feel better to me?

And I made a list. Like “art”. Drawing is good for me. It’s sort of meditative, and it’s not about the picture. I could toss it away. But just the concentration it takes to draw a leafy border around a page, or drawing that pen over there…doing that makes me feel good. It’s fun. I have to concentrate on all the nuances of that pen and for a while, I stop thinking about the “problems” in my head. Sometimes looking at what I’ve drawn makes me giggle.

Run every morning is on my list also.  From my house to the end of the block and back includes a small hill. I can do it easily in less than ten minutes.  It’s not about the length or time. For now it’s just about establishing the ritual or habit of it being the first thing I do after coffee with hubby.  The hope is that if I just do it long enough, it will become natural, and I won’t even have to make a decision.  It will be as easy as that cup of coffee every morning.  Then, and only then, will I add length and think about healthy exercise.

Other things are on my list. I actually made a chart and I get to check them off each day.  None of those things take more than 5 minutes to do, but they are things that I’ve wanted to consistently do for years and have never done.  I choose other things like laundry, dishes, board meetings, church activities, all that stuff. That wonderful stuff!  But those little things that are also important to me fall by the wayside. What a pity!

I’m testing the theory of the book.  I think I may be on to something!  I’ll keep you updated.

PS:  regarding my last blog, it seems many people didn’t get my FB or Instagram post heads up that it was there at WildlyClara.com. If you check “subscribe” you can skip the whole social media thing. But you might want to go back and read it or else some of what I say here from now on might not make much sense. 

PPS:My first counseling  appointment is this next week and I’m eager to get some help untangling this messy, knotted pile of threads in my head!  Sometimes life is really hard and we need some help.

August 22, 2024

I have a bumper sticker on my car that says: Subvert The Dominant Paradigm.  

And at my core, my faith is what defines me, but even that can be told in ways that are not me. I often call myself as an “out-of-the-box-Christian” because there’s so much that organized religion teaches that I question. I think my faith should transform my life, the inside and outside of me.  Simply being part of a church community doesn’t seem to do that.  There is no one place, one belief, one group, one theology, one anything that can do it all and give peace and calm to my soul without brainwashing! (joking)

I like it because I just can’t seem to find a box or title I fit into. Yes, I am an American, but that says so many things that are not me. And I am an older woman (81 this year), but there’s not much about “senior” or “woman” that fits me cause I still go on challenging mountain hikes and camp alone in deep woods and work out with a personal trainer.  

I thought that by the time I reached my 80s, I would bask in the fruit of my labors, with friends and family gathered around family dinners every week, us all being together and loving one another.

Instead, I find a lot of chaos everywhere.  I need to find my own calm in the middle of that chaos.

I have searched and examined my heart to find values and what I believe in.  What I believe in, myself, not what an institution or organization or even what a favorite preacher or author tells me to be truth.  I want to know what God is saying about loving one another with grace and mercy. What He thinks. And where does how we behave fit in?  I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on all that!

Yet, as I said in my last post, I sometimes find myself adrift in the hurdles of this, my present life.

If you know me or have read my book or other stuff I’ve said or written, you know it wasn’t until I was almost 30 that I stopped looking in all the wrong places for that calming peace. I’ve had lots of therapy, and some was crazy, enabling stuff, and some of it was really, really good.  With a good counselor, we can begin to unravel the scattered pieces of unraveling yarn that jumble our thoughts.

Aging, and retired husband, and slower metabolism are challenging. Finding usefulness is challenging. Changing family holidays and relationships are challenging. Throw in accountability and it becomes easy to get lost in that jumble of emotion and loss and joy and unchartered paths.  A good counselor can pull at tiny threads and lay them out one-by-one until we see patterns and find how to arrange them into a pattern we like.

I made the phone call, and my first new appointment with a counselor is next Tuesday. I am excited.

August 5, 2024

I often suspect I am a terrible blogger! I don’t post dynamic articles every week. I want to…I have random thoughts about things to say, but they don’t seem worthy or monumental enough to warrant your time. Or maybe even my time.

It takes time and effort to move random thoughts to insightful “wow” paragraphs on a page. Its work. Granted, work I love, and I write for myself every day, but for you? Well I have discovered that I have set the bar very, very high when writing for others.  I’m thinking maybe that’s been a mistake.  

Maybe the “real” will speak to you more than the “ideal.”  And just maybe putting the “real” out there for you all to see will benefit me also.  Can I be vulnerable and let you  walk with me before I have everything figured out? 

I like it better when I “get all my ducks in row”, so to speak, and then write a blog to tell you all about it.  But isn’t that what makes all of us so lonely, yearning for connection? Yearning for something, something we can’t quite put into words?

Social media has given us two things: a perfect picture of the life and house and appearance we want, and it also gives us lots of things to be angry about, to be dissatisfied with, to be afraid of. Both messages tell us to work harder to achieve a goal. But so often we are left hanging with “how do I do that” or “it’s hopeless, I give up” or just letting us lash out in lots of little angry outburst all day long.

So I’ve decided to write lots more blogs about the real me.  What I have written all these past years is the real me, I don’t mean that it isn’t.  I’m just trying to say that I am going to share even when I don’t have it all, blog-ready, figured out yet. The real me is often slow at getting from one messy emotional state to an insightful, peaceful state.  I get there, always, but the road is not smooth. I get crabby.  And I overcome that but then that’s all I let you see. The overcomer me. 

Maybe you’ll want to take this journey with me, comment on it, be here with me. Maybe not. And that’s ok cause there’s lots of end result articles out there for you. But for me, I need something more, not sure how to define it yet.

This has been a hard year for me, for my family. 

Retired husband and me learning how to navigate aging minds and bodies. Learning how not to still think we have to find some work to do like mowing lawns and mopping floors. Keep working. We are learning how to rest. We are learning that our worth or usefulness isn’t tied to how much we’ve “produced”. Well, we are trying to learn that! 

Learning to adjust to changing family stuff. I’ve always done all the holidays, but I have a tiny house and we now have grandchildren-turned-adults. And great-grandchildren! Love them all, love every moment with all of them together, but it doesn’t seem work as well in this house anymore.  There’s no real conversation, no intimacy because we are twenty people of all ages cramped in one small room. Hard to play any game with that age span in that small space. We found we are just doing it cause we’ve always done it this way.  But when it leaves all of us just tired, then it needs to change. What that looks like we haven’t settled on yet. I’ll write about that in the future.

I turned 81 this year and have had some health setbacks. Priding myself on my fitness to hike tough trails, to camp alone in remote mountain places, I am now finding it tougher to do. And every fiber of my being refuses to accept that.  I jokingly say, but with some truth, that I have a 30 year old brain that doesn’t realize it is trapped in an 80 year old body.  This is really tough as I learn to balance my pride and enthusiasm with realistic wisdom.  I’ll write more about this also.

I’ve had some huge relationship setbacks that I am finding it hard to accept. Hard to find a balance between taking all the blame on myself just to fix it or…what? I don’t know about this either. Thinking I’m going to talk to a counselor about it.  My history is to always take the blame, to cover other’s wrongful behavior.  I’m really good at not doing that in my outer circle. Terrible at it in my very inner circle.  Always caving in, always taking the blame, I know is not always best for the other person.  Accountability has to be somewhere in this equation, but I don’t know where to put it.  Accusations slung at me are devastating and I can’t stop thinking about them – even when others assure me that they are false.  I’m a words person, and words hurt.  I’m going to blog more about these struggles too, as I think almost all of us struggle here. Maybe you have some insights that can help us all as we navigate this road.

This is enough said for now, I think.  I’ll write more about one of the above this month for sure. I promise! Watch for it!

Best wishes and blessings on your week!

Clara

April 12, 2024

I’ve been doing this thing on FB and Instagram lately, posting Art Journal Prompts, partly as an exercise for myself and partly to encourage others to try it.

A bit of backstory is that a number of years ago my brother passed away and it was a pretty traumatic event for me.  Even into the following years I didn’t know how to find some resolution about who I was angry at and why, who I needed to “forgive”, and what part of my angst was just simply grief and that there was, indeed, no one for me to forgive. It was a jumble of emotions!

I decided to rent a cabin at a state park nearby and spend some time away from everybody else’s opinions and advice and just be alone to think. And maybe cry a little. And be mad.

On my way out of town I stopped at a Barnes and Noble bookstore, looking for something to read, to help a little and give me some direction. Lo and behold, I found a little workbook, published by the folks at Flow Magazine, about  “mindfulness”, which I had never heard of before!  Hmm. Looks interesting. I bought it and it changed my life.

I’ve always been an avid journaler. Did a lot of art in my teens. I’m not very good at art, words are probably my best.  So this little workbook combined the two: art and words!  And lots of pages about this new-to-me thing called mindfulness. Which is simply learning to live in the present.  In this moment.

Mindfulness has taught me to ask things like “Am I writing this article to get it done and posted and see who likes it? Or do I actually enjoying finding the right words to express what I’m thinking.”  Do I enjoy the process or just the result? Those are things Mindfulness addresses.

So in my cabin, with my newly found little workbook,  I drew a picture of clouds to express my feelings, and a flower I picked on day 1 and then drew it again on day 10 and what does it says about what I’m struggling with.

Much later, months after I left that cabin, I progressed to just really taking notice of the beautiful or interesting or puzzling things around me.  And I found that it calmed my troubled heart. 

To stop thinking about myself, to see things around me that are usually ignored. 

I don’t know where I picked up calling it Art Journaling. There are some ideas if you Google it, but I don’t know if they call it that.  Ann Voscamp is an author I like and she often suggests things, but in the long run, I’ve just adapted something from everybody else and made it my own.

So when I post on social media: “Go see how many patterns you can find today – and post a picture like the one above, something happens in my soul.  Just the doing of it – the paying attention, on purpose all day, to patterns that I’ve never paid attention to, is strangely calming. I’m focused in a way that carries over into the regular tasks of my day. I even think my blood pressure goes down a bit!  And it makes me almost giggly. Strange what a little thing can do for me.

Try it for yourself and see what happens.  You can find some ideas on my past pages on FB and Instagram.

And a few more to come each week.   Go have fun with it!

March 4, 2024

Lately I have been pre-occupied with this question: What Do I Really Want?  And then pre-occupied with needing to figure it out. That’s what everyone said. 

For some unknown reason this quandary started as I was turning 80 last summer.  I don’t know if there’s something significant for everyone approaching that birthday. Wondering how many years I had left to continue doing life at high speed. How many years would I be perky, going on challenging adventures, accomplishing stuff. 

Thinking about past stages of my life, I realized that while there’d always been a sadness leaving one stage, the next one “automatically” brought its own joys and things to look forward to. 

Like I loved having my toddler sons roaming around the house, loving to be read to, loving to be cuddled and kissed. Sending them off to school, they’d have new experiences without me. I would miss this stage and knew we’d never go back. I was sad. 

But then, I thought of the joys of this next stage. The new adventures they’d have and be eager to run home and tell me. And in the stage after that we could share books together, discussing what we liked and didn’t like about each one.  

While I grieved and was sad about leaving one stage, there was always so much to look forward to in the next one. 

But 80! After that, what’s the next great stage to look forward to? Life automatically prescribed my previous stages, but what does society say now? A walker or a cane, repeated forgetfulness, assisted living, nursing home? 

Everything in me screams “no!”  No, I am not going to slide into that. I started thinking about what I really did want next. 

Which led to thinking about what I didn’t want. I realized that most of what I was currently doing I did not want to carry over to this next stage. Society sort of lets us end here and just be old people with nothing to look forward to.  

But then I thought, “Well! Since society doesn’t create a new exciting next stage for me, I guess I will just have to create one for myself.” 

It’s sort of like here I have a blank slate and I can write anything on it! I get to make my own next stage and that’s darn exciting. There are no more prescribed things for me to do next…I can do whatever I want! Of course, there’s a balance, I can’t be too selfish or hurt people. Not that, of course! 

So, first thing I did was quit all the volunteer things I was involved in, and there were a lot!  Most of them not very fulfilling. I was so excited to have so much free time to bake bread and write inspiring stuff and take naps. 

But it was awful in the first month of the actual doing! I found myself unable to focus on the things I’d so looked forward to. I was a bit depressed and crabby. These open, unscheduled days were awful and I was surprised.  But I held fast because my own life had taught me that good things happen after solitude. 

And so I learned some things in this uncomfortableness: 

• I always thought I didn’t need the affirmation of others to feel good about myself, but having absolutely none left me feeling useless. So I learned that I do indeed need others. 
• I realized that keeping busy, even with really good things, always doing for others, can be a distraction.  All of my waking thoughts were always about how I could improve and contribute to all those places I was involved in.  Now I had time to look at myself and the relationships that had nothing to do with “organizations.” So I learned that I needed to take care of my own self more. 
• And I started to see myself differently. Instead of what can I contribute, I began to wonder what really made me happy. What am I excited about. What makes me glad, giggly. What I do with joy instead of obligation. So I learned that I needed to find this without being selfish. That’s hard! 

I took time to just sit with all of those thoughts, and my blank slate. To have conversations with God and myself. To find peace and excitement in just the doing of it. 

And once again, I am beginning to find that core part of myself that knows that I am not useless, even though I am not “serving. That value is not always measured in accomplishments and projects with scoresheets and announcements.  That my slate can stay blank for awhile. 

That sometimes we can look at what we have and decide it is enough. I don’t need a bigger resume, a longer list of accomplishments, or more accolades. I don’t need to serve on another board or committee or even write another book. I may someday do those things again, probably will, but I don’t have to!  That me as a woman turning 81 this year, is happy with herself and her stuff and knowing that I’ve already done what I was supposed to do! 

Please go and enjoy your days, your weeks, being happy with yourself. Change what needs to change, and then just let that be enough and be glad. 

February 16, 2024

Recently I watched a well-done movie on YouTube titled “An American Rhapsody” with Scarlett Johansson.

It left me in near tears, because of the convincing acting and incredible story line. As do a number of movies.

But this movie left me with a yearning and appreciation for the “old.”  Much of it took place in post-World War 2 Hungary during.  The story was current to its time, but I was drawn to the architecture.

Buildings that had been there for maybe a hundred years. Or more. Bridges and museums and farmland with quaint houses and stately barns and sprawling lands.  Tiny tea sets gifted to a daughter, passed down from generations.

The young girl walked into town by crossing the exact same bridge that she had walked as a little 5 year old. The same looking bridge her mother and grandmother has crossed almost every day. The same bridge her grandfather could tell her stories about.  

The movie left me feeling missing some things.  The old buildings in my town are almost gone. Every place I lived after WW2 is gone, replaced by a beautifully new and modern one. The trolleys are gone, the ones my mother and grandmother and I rode to “town” to shop, and walk around and always to stop at the courthouse to feed the pigeons. My grandmother carried bags of popcorn in her oversized purse. I loved those pigeons!  The courthouse is still there – that beautiful old majestic building! But there are no pigeons! Measures were taken to rid us of that nuisance. We have clear sidewalks and a beautiful park, but no pigeons. No memories.

In fact with all of the “improvements” to my city I know it is beautiful and vibrant and healthy and is attracting smart young people back to our city. We are on an economic uptake and I love it. I do. We are no longer a dingy downtown, but a clean, modern, one and I love going downtown. My new downtown. But I am connected to nothing and nothing reaches out and calls warm memories back to me.

This past summer I visited a grandson who lives in Manhattan. That wonderfully congested, alive, part of New York City. A city full of old buildings still breathing life. He has a small, bachelor-type apartment on Canal Street. A very narrow opening. As he opened the iron-grated door from the street I noticed the one-hundred coats of paint. At least. Nobody bothered to scrape off some of the old ones before giving it a refreshing new look. The lobby was tiny, but had marble walls and floors and very old tiny brass mailboxes. No one had polished the brass in years. His apartment was three floors up. Worn marble steps. The centers were indented with the wear of a million shoes treading these steps every day. Everything was old and uncared for, yet incredibly clean and functional.

I noticed the same in the parks, the subways, the markets, the shops, the Met.  Old, worn, maintained, kept-up, clean, wonderful.  In the heart of these stones lies a million stories. Years of history.

Here’s the thing. If many years from now I visited that apartment building, opened that over-painted black grated door, stepped into that lobby, walked those steps, I would immediately be flooded with memories of that visit to my grandson on Canal Street in 2023. I would remember everything that three day visit held.  I’d remember the old Jewish man in the subway, the young man playing chess in the park for money, lunch at a deli, the walk every morning for coffee. I’d remember instantly the warm conversations with that grandson.  Instantly remembered by stepping into that same old lobby in the old building on Canal Street. Because it will still be there! The memories would flood back into my heart as though it was 2023 again. No journal and no photographs can quite do that!

Again I love the progress of revitalization, the beauty and function, business and jobs that it brings. I do!

But somewhere can we treasure and protect and preserve the old for what it too has to offer?

Maybe I just think this way cause I’m now “old”?    

Naw! I’ve always loved the good, the beautiful, the history, the stories, the value of all things old!

July 15, 2023

I’m so stressed! I’ve done it again, fallen into the whirlwind of just ordinary living in this modern world. 

I never know how it happens that I find myself thinking about all the clutter in my life, trying to solve the problems of those around me, and letting my to-do list get longer and longer!  How do these things become the priorities in my life?  I don’t want it to be this way. If you’ve followed me for awhile you know (and I know) how much I value and dedicate myself to quiet and solitude and pursuing deeper and truer and more meaningful truths about why I am here. 

In the “about me” page you can read that I am a person of faith. I think that’s the popular term nowadays. But I don’t quite fit any term. Yes, I pursue relationship with God, but not in any way that fits into the popular churches of these modern days. It’s why I call myself a sort of out-of-the-box Christian.

So that’s my highest priority, yet I so easily find myself with that at the bottom of my list. This post is not going to be about “faith” or “Christianity”, so don’t click off!  

I’m just thinking about why we don’t stick to what’s really important to us. For some of us it’s our family, our children. Or it may be a career. Or the state of our country, where it’s heading. We all seem to be driven by something, but is that something a thing I’ve chosen? A thing I really, really, want?

For me, it’s often not what I really want. What I really, really, really want in the depths of my heart. What I really value. There – that’s the word. Value!  

There’s a difference between wishes and likes and preference and values. Values are things that I will sacrifice for.  I value quiet meditation and solitude. I need it every day. But…am I willing to sacrifice for it? Can I let the dining room table be cluttered, the few weeds growing in my garden boxes, and the garage be a mess so that I can go sit on the swing with my journal and declutter my mind and heart. Is that more important than how things look? 

If something is a value we hold, we sacrifice time and energy for it. Wishes are things we like and hope for, but that we don’t need in order to breathe.  

I need quiet meditation in order to breathe. Without it I am gasping for breath all day long. 

But it is so hard to ignore the books and papers taking up space on my dining room table. It is so hard to ignore someone’s voice when they point out the weeds. It is so hard.

I’m not saying I can be a slob and not get anything done all day cause I just want to sit on my swing and gaze at the clouds. Nor do I want to go on adventurous hikes every day. Not saying that.

But by golly, there is a balance.  For most of my life that balance is easy for me to keep. But every so often, like now, I let it slip away, a little at a time. Just a little, just for a day.  And another day. And then another.

I let other people’s priorities invade mine and I think that just once, it won’t hurt. But it does hurt. It’s a slippery slope and before we know it we are all tangled up in other people’s wishes or priorities and we lose ourselves.  And get crabby and controlling and maybe depressed. Or just discontented.

Let’s not go there!

I spent some really valuable quiet time this morning. It’s a start. I have this app “Do Meditate” with several options. Today I chose to spend 15 minutes listening to ocean sounds. Just having that soothing sound in the background helped. No voice directing my thoughts. Just nice ocean waves.

Waves that kept getting interrupted by frustrations I have. But I didn’t let my mind go there. I just kept quiet, for 15 whole minutes. I’m getting back on track.

I’ve been at that happy place before and it is wonderful!  Ironically, more things get done then! Go figure!

Whatever we truly value, whatever we need to breathe, let’s sacrifice for it and put it first. Let’s do it. Starting now.

June  1, 2023

I like to write, always have. Putting my thoughts to paper is not only therapeutic, but it’s just fun.

I never want to get started though, it seems like a chore and I put it off, thinking I have nothing to say that anybody will care about .  But when I finally sit down and get started, I’m in the “flow” and when I’m finished, I’m pretty proud of those words in front of me. Actually it’s not pen-to-paper, cause I use my laptop!  Feels the same, though.

Quite a few years ago, while visiting one of my grown sons,  I read a little fun thing I wrote that day, cause it was a memory to him, too.

I was shocked at his response.  “That just makes me so mad!”

ME:  “What, mad, why?”

HIM: “Cause you always write this amazing stuff and nobody ever gets to read it! Just makes me mad.”

ME:  “What? What am I supposed to do with it, start a blog or something. I’d have no idea how to do that!”  I said it a bit sarcastically, not really meaning it.

Well, wouldn’t you know, one of my grandsons was listening and he knew exactly how to start a blog!

“I can show you, Gramma! I know how to do it.”  How can a gramma say no to that!  So we were off to the family compute, and in about an hour he had me all set up on a free site: Wixsite.com, and I was off and running.  A few years later I switched to WordPress because it gave me more options.

 So I thought I’d share that first article, a bit of free verse I wrote while cleaning out overcrowded closets.   Thoughts  I didn’t think would interest anyone!  And who would have thought I would eventually write and publish a book!

The real message here is to pursue what you are passionate about, what gives you joy in the doing of it. You never know  where it will take you!

Enjoy this trek down memory lane:

August, 2018

Skittering, shuffling, scampering, out of breath I am.

Books and papers and recipes,

Photos and letters and souvenirs.

Memorabilia.

Spilling over. Cramped and crowded I am.

This stuff of forty years, tucked away, stored, forgotten.

I have become not the boss of my house.

Declutter I must.

Out with forgotten books we haven’t read in ten years.

But not this torn one, this one I read as a new mom.

Out with these receipts, yellowed with age, hard to read.

But not this one, Jonathan’s first ten-speed bike.

These recipes can go, how did there get to be so many?

But I’ll keep these with my pencil notes at the bottom,

When I was only just learning to cook.

Learning to be a mom, learning to be a wife.

But, oh, the photos and souvenirs and  mementoes!

These boxes hold the history of our lives.

Remember this vacation, how small the boys were then.

Broken arms, first days as school, proud drawings.

And then I find it, fallen here to the bottom of the box.

The necklaces from the neighbor’s rummage sale.

Bought with my sons’ own dimes and nickels.

Laid on my plate at supper to surprise me.

I lift them from the box and hold them to my chest.

And I know, this stuff, all this stuff

Is not just junk as I thought.

No, never junk.

Each thing a gift to carry us back through days and years

And weeks of our lives together. Reminding us

Of babies born, of birthdays and anniversaries.

Of illness, and healing.

Of jobs lost, and companies on strike.

Of new cars, and bunk beds, and vacations.

Of children grown and leaving.

And of deaths.

I save out these few things, ones that warm my heart.

And back they go, into their box, onto the shelf.

One shelf for them now. Not ten.

Nine shelves left, empty, open, waiting.

I will fill them again, soon.

With memories of today, of this year, and next.

With mementoes of my new adventures.

Now that I am seventy-five.

May 1, 2023

In my last post I told about writing a book on my life when I was a young, senseless, lost, girl (50 years ago) and what it took to wake me up. What it took for me to change.  

Most people think I wanted to write this book to chronicle a journey out of addiction. There was some of that, of course, but that wasn’t what propelled me to expose myself in such a dramatic and awful way. There are plenty of stories of  recovery from addiction and abuse. Lots of them. Literally hundreds, maybe thousands. I didn’t think the world needed another “recovery” story.

My initial motives were quite different!

In the first 10 years or so of my being a “nice person,” I was often invited to speak to youth groups, school assemblies, and some  adult retreats of one sort or another. It was embarrassing to share my story. It was much more difficult to field responses from people who were intrigued by stories of crimes committed, arrests endured, jail, prison, and all those sorts of things.

“How many police cars drove up onto your lawn?”

“Did they use handcuffs on you?”

“Weren’t you scared in jail or prison? How bad was it?”

Really? That’s what you got out of this talk? That’s all you got? Not that you’d never go down my path? Not that you’d avoid the stupid decisions I made? None of that? Only curious about the stuff movies are made of? Really!

Over the years, as I listened to people young and old, I caught a tiny glimpse of what I came to call “the glamorization of evil.”  How movies like The Godfather and a host of others have made us root for the criminal. That criminals and bad people have power and respect. 

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I love those movies if they are not too graphic and there is still something I love about The Godfather and its famous one-liners. And of course, there’s Marlon Brando!

But underneath it all, I kept thinking somebody needs to write a book about the underbelly of street and criminal life. The dirty, stinking carpets that reek of beer.  The throwing up in gas station bathrooms. The hopelessness of poverty in the days before food stamps, day care, and government vouchers. Somebody needs to tell about the ugly side.

Somebody needs to tell about being manipulated – and then becoming the manipulator. About being used – and then becoming a selfish user of good intentioned. Somebody needs to tell about that!

So after so many years I decided that maybe that should be me.  I could do it.

That’s why I wrote the book. Not to tell the story of how great I am to have turned my life around. Not that at all, because I think the greatest stories are of those of you who have lived a good and respectful life. Those of you who have made good decisions all of your lives, good decisions in the face of all the stuff out there enticing you into cheap and quick “deals”.  You are the heroes. Not me. 

I wrote the book to tell the REAL story, the story that I am embarrassed and ashamed about still now, 50 years later.

This is what it’s really like underneath the TV and movie stories. This is what it’s really like. I wrote the book to tell the horribleness of it, hoping others will run the other way.

And I wrote the book to tell what it’s like to come out alive on the other side whole and happy, hoping it will challenge others to also run the other way.

That’s why I wrote a book.

April 5, 2023

So, I think I started this blog about 5 years ago. In all my enthusiasm for writing things for people to read, I thought I’d have something to post every week! Silly me! That didn’t happen!

If you’ve only followed me a short while, you may want to go to the menu and read the “about me” article.  That will give you the backstory to understand where I am now, 5 years later. A few mere months away frombeing 80!

When I wrote the “about me” article, I thought I’d come to a place of being comfortable in this world I’m planted in and it would be all peace after that. No more hills to climb.  That the new place I found myself in would lead to new revelations about the order of things and those revelations would lead to more peace and happiness and joy. And I’d write about all my musings and understandings.

Well, that didn’t happen, and my blogging slowed down, not because of any disaster. I didn’t battle anear-fatal disease, and no family member died before their time. Nothing like that!

Certainly nothing like that! I just didn’t have any huge, big revelations and successes to blog about.  The stuff we like to brag about! 

And I didn’t know what to “brag” about.  I had started looking deeper into what I believed and held as truths.  Things I held as undeniable truths. And it even became exciting to look at my Christian faith, held for so many years,  a faith that brought life and change  tomy 30s and on. I was on a sort of new soul-searching spiritual journey. Nothing that I could blog about because it was confusing even to me.

I started to learn that I really didn’t know a lot of things for absolute sure. I only had opinions that I could only prove with other opinions or interpretations.

I now can hold two “things” as true at the same time. Two opposite things.  That may sound strange, but actually it is wonderfully good to NOT have to know so much for sure. Especially on things that I have no influence over. I relaxed.

All that said, it certainly made writing a weekly blog for other people rather difficult. I just didn’t know what to say.

So I turned to writing a book. I’d dabbled in it for a few years, but I finally got inspired or motivated to take it seriously and actually WRITE A BOOK FOR PUBLICATION.  It is a more arduous task than I ever imagined and it took more than 5 years,  but I did it.  

It is the story of me in my 20s, believing my dreams of being a mommy, staying home and making cookies, doing laundry, cuddling babies, and reading stories to them.  I almost had it, but then it was shattered by a man, and later by my own self. It gets pretty low before it gets better.  I managed to write it first-person, in my own words, and with no bad language and no graphic sex, no descriptive sex and all.  It is a clean book.  A hard story to read at times, but it ends really well, in case you wouldn’t guess.  It is a triumphant story, I think, because here I am with a home and family andlearning the sacrifice that let my dreams come true.

Writing it took some hard emotion. I’d worked hard to be a very different person and now I was going back and trying to feel all that crappy stuff again, putting it out there for people to see and to know. One day I had such a hard time remembering what it felt like to have to hide out in alleys that I actually had to go outside and sit for awhile by the garbage cans at the end of my yard before I could write about those other alleys.

Writing a book is only a small part, I was soon to find. After going away by myself to rewrite it a few times,remembering more, feeling more, it was finally finished and I felt so proud of myself.

Until I tried to navigate the publishing and media/advertising/ebook world. It is truly beyond my understanding.  Well, I guess I could figure it out if I wanted to, but actually I’d rather go have coffee with my best friend, or go gather wild flowers while on a hike. Or sit with tea and read a really good book! Anything but sit and navigate that book-selling world. I like to write, but I don’t like having to market what I’ve written.  I don’t like marketing myself.

I chose not to and so hired a company to do all of thatfor me and … lo and behold, the book is now on Dorrance, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble websites!

The title is “But I Can Learn”  by Clair

(I changed my name a bit to give myself some anonymity.)

I think, maybe in my next blog I’ll write about some reasons why I decided to write about such a horrible time in my life. Why I am so willing to put it out there and what I hope to accomplish (not riches, not fame, not popularity, none of those).

I’m writing this blog now, Easter week, my favorite holiday.  Easter is about reformation and victory over death and all that.  It’s a time to rejoice, color eggs, watch spring flowers emerge, and wear pretty clothes and hats.

Go have some fun!

February 28th, 2023

This is what I said all the years of my growing up! I had several elderly aunts that I was inspired by.  They didn’t mean to be inspiring, they just were. Incredibly funny, they seemed to love life and live it fully. Getting together, these sisters told stories of growing up in the depression, and they turned life’s struggles into stories that captivated me. They laughed a lot! 

I so admired their shining, silvery, white hair. To my little girl eyes, it looked like a crown or halo. Their styles were not modern, just this soft white sparkly-shiny hair that framed their faces. I couldn’t wait to have the funny, carefree life they had – and to have a fluffy white crown of glory around my own face! 

I still feel much the same way as I now approach my 80^th birthday! Except there are some things that come with aging that I didn’t know till I got here. 

We lose hair where we want it and grow a few stubbly ones where we don’t want them! Wrinkles abound, and we often are surprised by the stranger looking back at us in a mirror. Or in photos! 

We don’t focus as well anymore and multi-tasking becomes a chore, if we can even do it at all! 

We tire more easily and no amount of strong coffee or self-talk gets us energized. 

The first few years of all that are a bit hard. In fact some people never get over the shock and continually fight it, using up time and energy. 

Initially, maybe for the first year, I tried to forestall what was happening to me, but then the amount of work and money I was putting into it didn’t seem to be worth the tiny bits of results I saw. 

Remembering those precious aunts, I began to embrace this stage of my life – just as I had embraced motherhood, had embraced empty nestedness, had embraced retirement.  

There’s a lot to be said for this. This being content.  The younger me fought to make an impact and to make everything better in the world.  And the world didn’t get better! 

When I stopped fighting aging, I noticed a whole bunch of benefits!  I no longer need to chase those ads for the newest and latest miracle cures of aging. I no longer have to struggle opening doors when I have an armload of packages because some younger person loves to do it for me.  I am often now offered a better place in line at the grocery, and cars in the parking lot wait for me to cross.  I find people caring for me in little subtle ways that never happened before. It feels pretty darn good. 

There are tweezers and scissors that deal with those pesky hairs that pop up where they shouldn’t, and Vaseline makes the wayward eyebrow hairs lay flat as they are meant to.  Easy solutions, right at hand, have given me freedom to just go do something else.  

If you follow me at all, you know that there are wonderful “something elses”.  I love to challenge myself with vigorous hikes. Last summer I went camping alone along the Allegany River, in bear country. Had to hike in to my campsite, lugging all my gear. Sure, I have to stop for 5 minute rests if I’m on a really long strenuous hike, and that’s ok.   

I enjoy my life, even though my hair hasn’t grown  into that beautiful white crown I so admired!  Doesn’t matter. 

Because somewhere along the way I have learned some really important things about happiness and relationships and contentment. And maybe about what does really make a difference. 

The older me just wants to help younger folks make the world better.  Or not, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just enjoy being older and taking naps and reading. Maybe I’ll just tend my garden, have people over for dinner, cook yummy stuff. Write blog articles about what I’ve learned or am trying to learn.  I love that I don’t have to have an excuse for a nap. 

I have learned to enjoy being alone and being quiet. Enjoying all the things nature has to offer. And I notice what other people have to offer – happy people or hurting people. I now find them all interesting because,  maybe most important of all, I now know that I don’t have to fix everything that is broken. 

Not everything needs to be fixed or changed, and I’m ok with that now. 

I love being 80!   

And you will too! 

This is an example post, originally published as part of Blogging University. Enroll in one of our ten programs, and start your blog right.

You’re going to publish a post today. Don’t worry about how your blog looks. Don’t worry if you haven’t given it a name yet, or you’re feeling overwhelmed. Just click the “New Post” button, and tell us why you’re here.

Why do this?

• Because it gives new readers context. What are you about? Why should they read your blog?
• Because it will help you focus you own ideas about your blog and what you’d like to do with it.

The post can be short or long, a personal intro to your life or a bloggy mission statement, a manifesto for the future or a simple outline of your the types of things you hope to publish.

To help you get started, here are a few questions:

• Why are you blogging publicly, rather than keeping a personal journal?
• What topics do you think you’ll write about?
• Who would you love to connect with via your blog?
• If you blog successfully throughout the next year, what would you hope to have accomplished?

You’re not locked into any of this; one of the wonderful things about blogs is how they constantly evolve as we learn, grow, and interact with one another — but it’s good to know where and why you started, and articulating your goals may just give you a few other post ideas.

Can’t think how to get started? Just write the first thing that pops into your head. Anne Lamott, author of a book on writing we love, says that you need to give yourself permission to write a “crappy first draft”. Anne makes a great point — just start writing, and worry about editing it later.

When you’re ready to publish, give your post three to five tags that describe your blog’s focus — writing, photography, fiction, parenting, food, cars, movies, sports, whatever. These tags will help others who care about your topics find you in the Reader. Make sure one of the tags is “zerotohero,” so other new bloggers can find you, too.

This is an example post, originally published as part of Blogging University. Enroll in one of our ten programs, and start your blog right.

You’re going to publish a post today. Don’t worry about how your blog looks. Don’t worry if you haven’t given it a name yet, or you’re feeling overwhelmed. Just click the “New Post” button, and tell us why you’re here.

Why do this?

• Because it gives new readers context. What are you about? Why should they read your blog?
• Because it will help you focus you own ideas about your blog and what you’d like to do with it.

The post can be short or long, a personal intro to your life or a bloggy mission statement, a manifesto for the future or a simple outline of your the types of things you hope to publish.

To help you get started, here are a few questions:

• Why are you blogging publicly, rather than keeping a personal journal?
• What topics do you think you’ll write about?
• Who would you love to connect with via your blog?
• If you blog successfully throughout the next year, what would you hope to have accomplished?

You’re not locked into any of this; one of the wonderful things about blogs is how they constantly evolve as we learn, grow, and interact with one another — but it’s good to know where and why you started, and articulating your goals may just give you a few other post ideas.

Can’t think how to get started? Just write the first thing that pops into your head. Anne Lamott, author of a book on writing we love, says that you need to give yourself permission to write a “crappy first draft”. Anne makes a great point — just start writing, and worry about editing it later.

When you’re ready to publish, give your post three to five tags that describe your blog’s focus — writing, photography, fiction, parenting, food, cars, movies, sports, whatever. These tags will help others who care about your topics find you in the Reader. Make sure one of the tags is “zerotohero,” so other new bloggers can find you, too.