tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34470226117752641862024-03-13T06:55:41.572-05:00Transformation InformationJildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.comBlogger3769125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-11787555312449363872023-08-14T07:41:00.002-05:002023-08-14T09:02:14.714-05:00PTSD...it's personal<p> PTSD...it's personal</p><p><br /></p><p>PTSD, I heard story after story and I was empathetic...first responders, combat, ER... they all live with that horrific memory of seeing someone die, often in their arms without being able to save them. The grief and the guilt haunt them. I did my best with those who told me their stories, I listened, and often I cried with them and I offered them the best wisdom I could with all the love I had in my heart.</p><p>Then it happened to me... awakened in the middle of the night with a man I had shared most of my life with...seemingly endless moments of me doing CPR, trying to save him...and I couldn't.</p><p>The night terrors started, I would awaken at night and my bedsheets would be torn in shreds, sweat would drip off my body and the sounds I was making came from a place so dark it had to be the depths of hell.</p><p>Scenes of that night play in my brain like a horror movie, and the guilt...oh god the guilt...what could I have done differently, what if I had done this or that . Why wasn't it me, why was it him? My life could not have been more important than his.</p><p>That was the first couple of years and there's way more than that, but not going there . </p><p>As the third year came around, and I had done all the work on myself I knew to do...I decided to teach yoga again. It had been a part of my life longer than he had been, it had been a part of civilization for thousands of years and I knew... yoga heals.</p><p> Teaching one class a week and beginning to think I am ready to do more. I prayed for my creativity to come back, prayers to the universe, to the dead, to anyone who would listen...it has slowly. It's been months since I had a night terror, I am grateful.</p><p>Yesterday there were moments...a friend texted me they were sick...and suddenly out of the blue, I was haunted again. This morning I am good, today I will take it hour by hour, one breath at a time.</p><p>So I have shared this to tell you, if someone in your life or or if you have PTSD, get help ,talk to a kind loving therapist...you are not alone.</p><p><br /></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-66251362622105465822023-08-01T06:51:00.002-05:002023-08-01T06:54:51.555-05:00August 1, Grief, Peace and Joy<p> It's been awhile, please accept my apologies for my disappearance in the blog kingdom. Spring and summer hit the farm with a vengeance. It hasn't been the crops, I basically have experienced crop failure due to the weather extremes. The weather, the rain and the heat has caused a profusion of plant growth that has become a battle of me against mother nature and we all know there's no beating mom.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvId3fZpMmlT6WB0j-aT70UOFfg95A6UDJueZznEDpGwyUMA1XlUUgtFe4A0bgt7MZzwKWY8n4fm1H3AtX4DD3Yx7AMmWqqeTBM1YRaYeaXX1QLvFpeuXynAsbvRC6qrRlikyLNCBo72NAKMarM3gHrLu6Ur9iyFhRpQhZ3p7EvZaQiT3uUpXC5utrsqA/s2016/blue%2022.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvId3fZpMmlT6WB0j-aT70UOFfg95A6UDJueZznEDpGwyUMA1XlUUgtFe4A0bgt7MZzwKWY8n4fm1H3AtX4DD3Yx7AMmWqqeTBM1YRaYeaXX1QLvFpeuXynAsbvRC6qrRlikyLNCBo72NAKMarM3gHrLu6Ur9iyFhRpQhZ3p7EvZaQiT3uUpXC5utrsqA/s320/blue%2022.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>I have worked on my transformation , actually worked very hard<br />the past few months,letting go of the anger of loss. I realized that I could live with the grief but the anger was destroying me and my creativity. For the first time in three years I feel life coursing through my veins again. I can see myself as Jilda, no longer Rick and Jilda but a whole entity of Jilda. This might sound strange to many of you, but those of you who know and have dealt with the loss of part of you will understand.<p></p><p>Finally my heart is open to living . I am smiling, I can laugh and I see possibilities and I have come to realize that grief and peace and joy can live in the same heart.</p><p>The desire to create again is what I am most grateful for. To understand that it's ok for me to pursue my dreams has broken the chains that had wrapped themselves around my soul. </p><p>I started this blog long ago to provide transformation information to those who sought and needed it. I have always been honest with my words knowing that words have power and I would never knowingly abuse that power. I hope through the years, my words have helped someone.</p><p>I won't be writing every day, but I promise I will do my best not to disappear again. For now, life on the farm goes on, I am teaching a weekly yoga class, I am writing new songs, working on new paintings and smiling every day, laughing and... last night I danced in the moonlight in the backyard with the dogs.</p><p>Sending you all wishes for hope, love and joy...can you believe today is the first day of August?</p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-7281947022399159222023-02-26T08:05:00.005-06:002023-02-26T08:16:13.516-06:00May You Walk in Peace<p> Every Sunday morning, I receive Maria Shriver's Sunday Papers newsletter in my inbox. She is a profound writer, who writes with an open heart and open mind. Her words always make me think.</p><p>This morning she wrote about beginning a healing process, her search for it and Lent. She also included an amazing quote from Pope Francis about fasting for Lent.</p><p>I do not observe Lent but am very much aware of its meaning and significance. As I read her words, and the Pope's they reminded me of how a dear friend of mine use to close all her correspondence with me, " May you walk in peace." </p><p>I love that phrase, May you walk in peace...but I realize almost daily it is a most difficult thing to do, this walking in peace. I think the whole world struggles with that phrase, or maybe many have no thoughts of it whatsoever. </p><p>Peace for me, has been a most important concept for my whole life. I want peace, want it for myself, for my family and friends and for the world. But peace is expensive, peace is hard to achieve, peace takes work. Webster's definition of peace, ( yes, I still own a dictionary) a state of tranquility, of security, freedom from disturbance. I think about what steals our peace, how we give away peace and how for many it has become a word like intelligence, spoken with sarcasm and disregard.</p><p>Jesus and all great teachers of humanity spoke of peace, they saw the need and value of peace.</p><p>Many of us blame our lack of peace, whether it be personal or worldwide on other people, places and circumstances, but peace has to start within our own hearts, not someplace else. As a yoga teacher I teach about peace and healing starting with the breath and I believe it does. I know that concept is so simple that most think it is absurd but for me, the days that I practice what I teach, it works.</p><p>I am closing this blog today with the quote that Maria shared from the Pope, through the years I have fasted for many reasons, but it was always a fast that involved the lack of food. Today I start a fast for peace, starting with a few words from the Pope's quote, I hope you join me.</p><p>" Fast from angry words so you can be kind. Fast from grudges so you can be reconciled. Fast from bitterness and fill your heart with joy. Fast from selfishness so you can be compassionate to others. Fast from complaints to as to contemplate simplicity. Fast from sadness so you can be filled with gratitude. "- Pope Francis</p><p>and from my dear departed friend, " May you walk in peace."</p><p> </p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-48260402342168681032023-02-18T08:10:00.000-06:002023-02-18T08:10:42.942-06:00February Changes<p>February 18</p><p><br /></p><p>February has been a month of loss, change, hope and gratitude and of course, love.</p><p>Loss, at this point in my life it seems there is always loss. Friends have passed this month, they will be missed. One, I had not seen in awhile, one the beloved partner of a dear friend and one, an icon in the community. Tears flowed, I understand loss and the pain of trying to move forward and the incredible hole that will never be filled, when someone you love passes.</p><p>Change, in January I realized that I had to change, to step outside my comfort zone or just wither up and die. So with a great deal of hope, I started teaching my Monday night community yoga class again. I say this with a heart full of gratitude, it has been life changing for me. It is at a new venue, the Aldersgate Methodist Church in Dora and all I can say is, it has been a class filled with love. Most of my previous students returned and new ones came from the church. And sadly, a few have passed on.</p><p>More change, I started an online class from NYU. I must be crazy, it is challenging and scary but I am learning so much. The class is, Engineering Health through Yoga and Physiology. Wow...you can teach an old dog a few new tricks.</p><p>My next quest for 2023, to perform and write music again. Believe it or not, that is the scariest of all.</p><p>I missed Rick so much on Valentine's Day. I missed him not because it was ever such a big deal for us, but because that day is so symbolic of love. I am eternally grateful for the love we shared all those many years. I always painted Rick a Valentine, I guess I always will. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRP0luFiH8NucRETryAKMwsXDHA9d4i_4crsLKMGuIQvXjo4Vb10lT2jYMMvGLB4b4U7_UgsPjEAACdXVcT-xmn8JMQHJS2kBUwsPiV6uiXC55KjPEDY0FsDLxaPFslIHHEEzNeHTGQfyCg7rjTOd9smttdS-pZfZi-IMLHryE4Xd7ofwuWCUrqmHx/s1280/Feb.%20Heart.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1045" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRP0luFiH8NucRETryAKMwsXDHA9d4i_4crsLKMGuIQvXjo4Vb10lT2jYMMvGLB4b4U7_UgsPjEAACdXVcT-xmn8JMQHJS2kBUwsPiV6uiXC55KjPEDY0FsDLxaPFslIHHEEzNeHTGQfyCg7rjTOd9smttdS-pZfZi-IMLHryE4Xd7ofwuWCUrqmHx/s320/Feb.%20Heart.jpeg" width="261" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-74781794778468316022023-01-02T10:12:00.001-06:002023-01-02T10:12:34.365-06:00New Year Wishes<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKX3FpFaRoG4Xk2tJutQ-0CYI9evlBFnXKRjysRjQ-Fo2USjbCuol9AB3hCJse84e6y4bWYatokE4mrvDnOuAqIFpMZVFHC_yOWGE5n700ITn612cPQuJQK8byxT37_wbsFsetalAxELAP_EX1BMc4YCxdv60MZ2oKef1EhvBVG1rRXF1SnH2DBP-B/s3401/IMG_3187.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3401" data-original-width="3022" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKX3FpFaRoG4Xk2tJutQ-0CYI9evlBFnXKRjysRjQ-Fo2USjbCuol9AB3hCJse84e6y4bWYatokE4mrvDnOuAqIFpMZVFHC_yOWGE5n700ITn612cPQuJQK8byxT37_wbsFsetalAxELAP_EX1BMc4YCxdv60MZ2oKef1EhvBVG1rRXF1SnH2DBP-B/s320/IMG_3187.HEIC" width="284" /></a></div>January 2, 2023<p></p><p>I woke up thinking about the song California Dreaming. All the leaves are brown today and the sky is that shade of grey of rain and storms that occur often in Alabama.</p><p>I have survived the holidays another year without Rick. It's so different and how I miss all those things we did together. In many ways, 2022 has been the hardest year so far. I no longer expect anything to get easier, now I just try to gird my loins and deal with the hard stuff. I don't think of myself as strong or weak, just that I have the willingness to do whatever the day asks of me.</p><p>Rick Watson loved New Years. He saw it as a clean slate and loved making resolutions and setting goals more than any human I have ever known.</p><p>For me, I never was very fond of resolutions, but for about twenty years I created vision boards. I haven't done that since Rick died in 2020. Those visions for that year died with Rick and it has been difficult for me to envision a future. I am thinking I might create a new one for my birthday in March.</p><p>The rain is pounding on my tin roof, and I take comfort in that sound. It inspires me, that and the grey skies. The day Rick died, it was a blistering hot day in July with bright blue skies. I still find it strange to attempt joy on sunny days with blue skies.</p><p>I have made a New Year's wish...I wish for my eyes to be open to possibilities and my heart to be open to hope. If I have goals for 2023 it is to rediscover who I am, to regain as much of my creative energy as possible, to see friends in distant lands, live each day with grace and kindness and however much time there is left in my hourglass, to spend it wisely.</p><p>I wish all of you a year of kindness, good health and hope.</p><p>Happy New Year</p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-90126325694114836652022-12-26T07:36:00.002-06:002022-12-26T07:36:54.399-06:00Christmas photos<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYsJpgFuXZI_nFAqxMAsY5sMAmLGgoG-2Go13HB6Yp3dPckne4JTOyYQu4S5S00MNl4_dyBz-wq--brA_6ZA7q0bhiMlO2P12mezdw2rPkEUKMV7SnEWEnyQiiCSYqJH0GIJoeCSA-M4tXZNDOh0aiQWuKCHY7gau9SdqP7hCmqY-joOl1_SoeVPk/s1858/IMG_3602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1220" data-original-width="1858" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYsJpgFuXZI_nFAqxMAsY5sMAmLGgoG-2Go13HB6Yp3dPckne4JTOyYQu4S5S00MNl4_dyBz-wq--brA_6ZA7q0bhiMlO2P12mezdw2rPkEUKMV7SnEWEnyQiiCSYqJH0GIJoeCSA-M4tXZNDOh0aiQWuKCHY7gau9SdqP7hCmqY-joOl1_SoeVPk/s320/IMG_3602.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hsn1eA4FtcfvViKHQOAPr8o7igMrSBYcUifgt7Y-NdpN6ZFE_vysVKDhHoIFzW6emkupr-OXsP8s3JG08n47Lj-Zz4CzMyIs-8gtzC45A1TG0BL5h3O8ZWAcWVjtSsYv_Dhai-MNwfGBSzPMmAw7j9t14W6pCFUig4oNnIkfPM3IvDB1z6HWxW2t/s2015/IMG_3604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1137" data-original-width="2015" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hsn1eA4FtcfvViKHQOAPr8o7igMrSBYcUifgt7Y-NdpN6ZFE_vysVKDhHoIFzW6emkupr-OXsP8s3JG08n47Lj-Zz4CzMyIs-8gtzC45A1TG0BL5h3O8ZWAcWVjtSsYv_Dhai-MNwfGBSzPMmAw7j9t14W6pCFUig4oNnIkfPM3IvDB1z6HWxW2t/s320/IMG_3604.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ysmV4QGmG2lNjp_I0QJUDsBoFgD2sDG5DQ41HgPlxfxv-iRxlodyfGVUqQ3tlxjyoM4YZEIOTn7g48Jd8jKbfMlzHLNZKMTTQYnPhA-L4zUt_M2UFhMzpGhbeGBg7nA0sg5LCsjFVYBzmi8QH_ys1y15dPFWuBOV88leFD67w6iZrOmqniSZiziz/s640/IMG_3586.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="541" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ysmV4QGmG2lNjp_I0QJUDsBoFgD2sDG5DQ41HgPlxfxv-iRxlodyfGVUqQ3tlxjyoM4YZEIOTn7g48Jd8jKbfMlzHLNZKMTTQYnPhA-L4zUt_M2UFhMzpGhbeGBg7nA0sg5LCsjFVYBzmi8QH_ys1y15dPFWuBOV88leFD67w6iZrOmqniSZiziz/s320/IMG_3586.jpg" width="271" /></a></div><br /> I forgot to share my photos last night. Top photo, my great nephews, Anthony and Jordan baked cookies with me.<p></p><div>Middle photo, great nieces, Joy, Daisy and Breeze presenting me with my gifts they painted for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>and the last, 2022 Christmas card I painted. </div>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-36796192673758834442022-12-25T19:59:00.000-06:002022-12-25T19:59:09.187-06:00Christmas 2022<p> It's been a bit. I thought with the changing of the seasons, the farm work would ease up. It didn't. Doing the work of two is hard, complicated and challenging on a good day. Bad days, well, we won't go there.</p><p>Then the holidays arrived. I foolishly thought the holiday season would be easier, it hasn't been.</p><p>I now know that holidays will probably always be difficult. Life has always been about change and transformation but acceptance is a whole different story. </p><p>This past week I spent several days with great nieces and nephews. Life is easier with them, they make me laugh. Jordan and his mom moved to Birmingham in August. He's 14 and had always lived next door, their move hit me hard. But he's in an excellent school and they both seem happy. Life just goes on and I know I have to as well.</p><p>I have an interview this week at a local church, I'm hoping to start a community yoga class there. I am ready to teach again, hopefully write more again, and maybe even play some music again. The want to create is slowly coming back. I need to do something to balance the physical labor that takes so much time and energy.</p><p>I hope you all have had a holiday season filled with joy and love, surrounded by those you love. I have learned the past couple of years that the love of friends and family is my life line and I am so grateful to those who have loved me through the dark times.</p><p>I still navigate through the fog of grief blindly, but I am not alone, there are so many of us. I have learned to truly appreciate the good moments, to cherish laughter and understand that tears flow for no reason.</p><p>Today I spent the day with the dogs and the chickens, walking on the frozen earth, feeling the cold bitter wind in my face. I had seen several family members during the week, and I had invitations for today, but the need to be by myself was overwhelming. Conversation and interaction just seemed more than I could handle.</p><p>I hope that you all have had the Christmas you needed, that you have felt love and contentment and maybe a bit of joy.</p><p>Wishing all of you tonight, </p><p>Merry Christmas.</p><p><br /></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-26956334315753204912022-10-03T10:11:00.001-05:002022-10-03T10:12:52.730-05:00Open Your Heart<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> This blog was written on September 27, our local online news source The Community Journal published it that day, so I waited to post until today.</div></blockquote></blockquote><p><br /></p><p>A few days after my husband Rick died, my friend, Christine Ohlman called. She had been a member of the widow's club for a few years and she understood so much of what I was thinking and feeling. As we talked, well she did most of the talking while I sobbed and tried to breathe and grasp simple phrases to respond to her. One phrase she repeated in that conversation and many others that followed, "Keep your heart open, open your heart."</p><p>When her words began to sink in, opening my heart was the LAST thing I wanted to do. My heart was in a gazillion pieces, strewn around my soul in the wake of a grief driven hurricane. All I wanted to do was curl up in a fetal position on the sofa and fade away in oblivion.</p><p>Christine was relentless. She texted, called, sent cards, and always there was that phrase, "open your heart." As the days passed into weeks, then somehow months, "open your heart, keep your heart open" started to make sense. Grief was showing me every emotion I was capable of...anger, sadness, fear, loneliness, self-pity and each one was felt in extreme. It made sense after a few months, that it would be easy to become bitter, stay angry, and live in a perpetual pity party. I finally got it. "Open your heart" was the key for opening the door to letting go.</p><p>I pursued letting go and opening my heart as if they were precious jewels. I hated not recognizing that person in the mirror and I knew that no matter how much I loved Rick and missed him, I was still here and it was important to my existence as a human that I had to find my way back on the road less traveled.</p><p>I am writing this today September 27 because it is "National Day of Forgiveness."</p><p>You might ask what does this day have to do with opening my heart.? My biggest lesson on this grief road ( it has been 26 months since he passed) has been forgiving Rick for leaving and forgiving myself because I couldn't save him. Maybe for others who have dealt with loss, forgiveness means nothing but for me the day I forgave Rick and myself I started to pick up all those tiny fragments of my broken heart. It will always be broken, with pieces scattered here and there, but at last I know my heart didn't disintegrate into a pile of dust...it's still with me and it's open. From the bottom of my busted open heart, thanks Christine.</p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-9587021829885810102022-08-11T18:43:00.002-05:002022-08-11T19:00:42.905-05:00Acceptance<p> August 11</p><p>Contentment and acceptance, an interesting place to reside these days. Acceptance, I have found doesn't mean giving up but a release of anger and struggle against changes I had no power over. The Serenity Prayer probably comes to mind for many of you.</p><p>Acceptance has meant I no longer find myself at 2:00 in the morning demanding answers to questions that have no answers. I still awaken in those strange wee hours but now I read, I make gratitude lists, I write song lyrics or just meditate. After an hour or so if I find I'm still awake, I get up and start my day. Acceptance means I'm ok here on this farm alone but I'm really not alone. There are chickens and dogs and mother nature supplies an endless menagerie of creatures to amuse or annoy me.</p><p>Contentment is a byproduct of acceptance. Both have brought a greater understanding of who I am and how I want to live my remaining life. There is a place now for the grief and sadness that will always be a part of who I am . </p><p>My day planner of all things helped bring me to this place. Each day I found myself connecting to it. Maybe it was because it is one of my favorite gifts from Rick or maybe it was just the habit that had been instilled in me years ago and I just clung to the familiarity of it.</p><p>Daily I have written in this old worn leather planner for 35 years. At first after Rick passed, I just kept a daily list of farm chores, business and personal chores that had to be done. As the months passed I found myself adding to the "what matters most list" and soon items like, do your vocal exercises, walk, paint, read, write, call friends and family, take a nap,play guitar, pound on the keyboard were all helping me to find balance and regain acceptance of an everyday life.</p><p>Acceptance also gave me awareness of my most valuable treasure, time. I have become so cautious now of whom I spend time with and how I spend my time. I have no desire to waste a second. </p><p>Contentment and awareness makes for a good place to live these days. There are moments of joy and laughter but I also know the value of my tears and sadness. I know that for me, memories won't heal my shattered heart, I have learned to live with the hole that is always there. For now, my gratitude list is long and that is enough. An everyday life is a good one.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoXcncj-LzJNKxcVlbOBjuNRKrHljEhM0OQRyTDqQ__Q32qaMJoHUxm4sk3y-wSJlYBhpie_Q-nZ5_bMQUVo33vG-tfY51zm5W4QrnJxUQfpeUE0nU63ADzvIGDpQ7xPSvCGQqN4Tcdxn1uvWWnXqvjtjwvPDdKP2k4DbX85bAsa4TF73_lVJEZBOI/s1781/butterfly%20acceptance.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1781" data-original-width="1115" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoXcncj-LzJNKxcVlbOBjuNRKrHljEhM0OQRyTDqQ__Q32qaMJoHUxm4sk3y-wSJlYBhpie_Q-nZ5_bMQUVo33vG-tfY51zm5W4QrnJxUQfpeUE0nU63ADzvIGDpQ7xPSvCGQqN4Tcdxn1uvWWnXqvjtjwvPDdKP2k4DbX85bAsa4TF73_lVJEZBOI/s320/butterfly%20acceptance.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-30217336295428008722022-07-14T08:14:00.003-05:002022-07-14T08:33:51.160-05:00What Is Left<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdSu19DlzmUulu9ghavEBjv9e9oTRMeA19pMQFrgtrecHyWWDfi478p3cbkB4Mk9QTkE-Fvq9Wtc1B_ptFiWXY6tYM0xC0JbMU7rZrOkOlmKkk_nrQ0jdmsx6OuWhDCzOal7hbPvcegveNBEq4K_gwcj8qtDBPVttTVR82G2FgsjOLSa7nHDJyKFJ/s1523/july%20gift.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1523" data-original-width="1257" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdSu19DlzmUulu9ghavEBjv9e9oTRMeA19pMQFrgtrecHyWWDfi478p3cbkB4Mk9QTkE-Fvq9Wtc1B_ptFiWXY6tYM0xC0JbMU7rZrOkOlmKkk_nrQ0jdmsx6OuWhDCzOal7hbPvcegveNBEq4K_gwcj8qtDBPVttTVR82G2FgsjOLSa7nHDJyKFJ/s320/july%20gift.jpeg" width="264" /></a></div><br /> July 14, it's been awhile since I have written. What can I tell you, June was overwhelming as well as these first couple of weeks of July. Work on the farm hit with a vengeance along with upper 90's to 100 degree days. Heat and no rain, but high humidity...fruit dropped to the ground, a critter got in my chicken house and killed my oldest girl, Speckles. I have had two burglaries ( loss of third generation garden tools and then the theft of Rick's tools and my dad's.) Now I have padlocks and high tech cameras everywhere.<p></p><p>July 16 will be the two year anniversary. It's been two seconds, two minutes, two days, two million years...every moment is different. That first year life was a dark grey fog, this year the cold deep well of reality opened its mouth and swallowed me. I have drowned in that well many times, but something always brings me back, throws me a life preserver and I hang on. The insistence of friends and family, their belief in me is the thread that has wrapped around me and kept me going. Thank you all for never giving up on me.</p><p>Here's what I personally have learned from loss. The only good thing about loss, you learn the value of what is left. My candle has flickered daily, but someone else's light has shone brightly and kept the darkness at bay. I know family and friends are sick of me telling them how much I love and appreciate them but I have to do that, they are what is left and I can't let them ever think I don't know their value.</p><p>To those of you who read my words, I will write when I can but for now, please be kind, and know in your hearts, love is all there is.</p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-43570002924505979792022-05-31T19:17:00.000-05:002022-05-31T19:17:19.878-05:00May 31<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA2XAVFdugjc3lXKAYUeYXXwoezaz4JhK9JqMJgeaK5THLwP84K5fM5dItTW_ewKmKEm4QTNm7a_2imHY8tcur1FAWaLwNKoEGHDJHGNCskC0yHZdI_Cq9Xd3ZM4vRkLXnomJJ-RpE1_864HiKBEC8vKrJGHO64sBzxwx-VpqNOJkE2JCXMouORo4B/s2016/blue%2022.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA2XAVFdugjc3lXKAYUeYXXwoezaz4JhK9JqMJgeaK5THLwP84K5fM5dItTW_ewKmKEm4QTNm7a_2imHY8tcur1FAWaLwNKoEGHDJHGNCskC0yHZdI_Cq9Xd3ZM4vRkLXnomJJ-RpE1_864HiKBEC8vKrJGHO64sBzxwx-VpqNOJkE2JCXMouORo4B/s320/blue%2022.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> May 31<p></p><p>Once the warmer weather came, my life became hectic. Chores continued to build daily, now there were fields to mow, lawns to mow, weed eating to do, maintenance on the house, blueberries and the orchard to care for, plants and flowers to care for, vegetables to plant, plus of course caring for the chickens and dogs. This weekend I took a couple of days and did nothing, </p><p>May has been such a bittersweet month. May 5th would have been our 48th anniversary, we had our very first date for his high school graduation of May 26, 1968, to say I have been sad, well I admit I have been very sad.</p><p>Friends keep wanting me to visit them in places like Florida and upstate New York and even out West. I spent years traveling on jobs by myself and it was no problem, but now...Rick and I had incredible times traveling together. We had experiences that many only dream about, making friends everywhere we went, seeing so much beauty, truly living a dream. </p><p>I have hit a wall. Each time my friends ask me to visit and I know they do so out of love, I freeze. Traveling without Rick does not compute in my brain or maybe my heart is in the way. The connection that we had on our travels has faded with his death. I do want to see friends, but seeing them without him breaks my heart, all those happy memories taunt. It is like each time someone sees me out and expresses their sorrow of Rick's passing ( it will be two years July 16) the wounds that cover my heart reopen and the pain hits all over again with a dastardly vengeance. </p><p>Life will slow down on the farm this fall, after I get things winter ready. I am trying to visualize myself traveling alone then, seeing friends, allowing memories to comfort me.</p><p>I still haven't performed. I sing to the dogs and the chickens, in the car, in the shower, in the field. I performed for many years before Rick and I married, but music like traveling became such an integral part of our marriage that when he died it's as though he just whacked that part of me off and took it with him.</p><p>I think of him and wonder how his life would have been without me. Would he have picked up the pieces and moved on, thinking of me with fondness and maybe meeting someone else? Or would he have become frozen/suspended in a half century of being entwined with me and trying to figure out how to live alone.</p><p>But life does go on, there is beauty in this place that makes me laugh out loud, moments when friends and family surround me with so much love that that I can breathe deeply and memories caress my spirit and heart. The gardenias are blooming, the hydrangeas and the bee garden, hummingbirds dart about and life seems to have exploded here. Spring proves that life goes on.</p><p>My nephew James lost his leg a few months ago. He and I talked about his phantom pain, how he can still feel his foot and toes, yet he knows they are not there. I told him I understand completely how a part of you can be missed so greatly and the logic in your brain knows it is no longer there, but you know it will always be a part of you and will always grieve the loss.</p><p>I hope you all are well, that every day you whisper a few words of gratitude. Savor every moment, hug those you love and always see the beauty in the ordinary.</p><p><br /></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-54347207844358660742022-04-25T09:40:00.001-05:002022-04-25T09:44:37.943-05:00April and Life Goes On<p> April brought Easter and for the first time since Rick died I went to a family gathering at my sister's and then at his sister's. Both were difficult, I still feel suspended and not quite sure of where I belong or even who I am. His younger sister and her husband lost their only child in a car accident just before Easter. The funeral was held at that same place where Rick's memorial service was held. I sat in the back and took deep breaths. Our nephew James, my brother's oldest son lost a leg to sepsis, loss comes in so many ways.</p><p>My mother told me once after my dad died her life became one of loss. Sure there were good moments, but the older she became, the more people she knew died, who became sick, she just saw more and more loss. Sometimes I fear that is what life becomes for all of us as we age...just acceptance of loss.</p><p>This weekend I went out to my shed to get my hoe to work in my garden. My hoes were gone, so were several other old tools that had all belonged to my grandparents, then passed on to my parents and then to Rick and I. There were shiny new tools, that the thief didn't touch. More loss... Tools that had been used for almost a hundred years, that had seen sweat, tears and felt calloused hands. Tools that been lovingly caressed, handles rubbled warm and smooth with appreciation. Taken from their home by someone whose only reason for existence apparently is to find money for their next high.</p><p>And while there is ugliness there is great beauty in my life as well. All around the farm, spring has delivered her beauty in abundance. The apple trees have filled the air with soft delicate sweetness. Wild flowers have bloomed in the fields and woods with abandonment as though Van Gogh had tossed seeds into the wind and the spring rains and sun painted the earth with their beauty. The blackberries are blooming now, and I can hear Rick's voice, "you are going to make a blackberry cobbler, right?" The blueberry bushes are full of green berries and I walk barefoot through clover daily.</p><p>I have started a large painting. It's inspired by a photo that a friend of Rick's sent me of a field of Texas wildflowers. We will see how it goes. I have written many pages, worked on some new songs and cried many tears. I know Rick's death changed me forever and I muddle through as best I can. Using creative energy helps, so do friends and family who listen. Regardless of whether it's a good or difficult day, Rick's voice stays in my head, "life goes on." Yes, it does Rick. The photo is of blackberry blossoms in the backyard.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjk9-FjccuN5q4XVjPXtxipJIANUxqDqs2BF9ub5PwQz1t86DUuuUbs1MLSNBt4J9a78VCJ8qTFT-dLe1d7Pj-Rb1pkrxdiAnqdQs2I7Bp8TBG-O6AQwr_a8cggnOevPvPYDS-clI8yWOcDB7OSpWM21FDd49rk4ZbcTlw8zVf52DtntAraKMEndu/s2016/blackberry%202022.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjk9-FjccuN5q4XVjPXtxipJIANUxqDqs2BF9ub5PwQz1t86DUuuUbs1MLSNBt4J9a78VCJ8qTFT-dLe1d7Pj-Rb1pkrxdiAnqdQs2I7Bp8TBG-O6AQwr_a8cggnOevPvPYDS-clI8yWOcDB7OSpWM21FDd49rk4ZbcTlw8zVf52DtntAraKMEndu/s320/blackberry%202022.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-48927125472892153162022-03-24T08:03:00.000-05:002022-03-24T08:03:02.822-05:007th Decade<p> Yesterday was my birthday. I entered my 7th decade, it was my second birthday without Rick.</p><p>To be honest I don't remember much at all about my last birthday. I made it through, that was my goal and I was successful. </p><p>Turning 70 is surreal, not the aging part but it was such a milestone birthday that the two of us always talked about. Rick would have been 70 last year, I know we would have celebrated in some form or fashion but it would have been different because of covid.</p><p>Yesterday I thought about him most of the day. Life has changed in so many ways, yet much has remained the same. The dogs and I walk daily, the chickens are still my girls and spring is arriving on the farm. The redbuds are blooming, the dogwoods are budding, every day brings a different shade of green.</p><p>I have worked the beds, cleaned all the planters and containers, pruned fruit trees, cleared the fence line and ordered seed.</p><p>Friends called, texted, sent cards yesterday, family members dropped by. I felt much love and gratitude, yet the feeling of emptiness stayed with me. I just miss him. The pain is not unbearable any more, just nagging, always that little twinge that has become a part of me like my blue eyes.</p><p>My mom traveled constantly after my father died. It was her way of dealing with the twinge. I am fortunate to have friends who live all over the globe and in their infinite kindness they issue invitations to visit. Before Rick died, all I wanted to do was travel, now it is such a difficult thing to think about. </p><p>This farm has become my security blanket, the last threads of a life that was not perfect, but content.</p><p>Building courage to continue new things daily is exhausting, finding direction and purpose is painful, like being born again. This freedom, thrust upon me by the death of a lifelong partner is nothing that I asked for but it is the hand I have been given. The responsibility of it is heavy and the choices are not easy. Life continues to go on. Sharing my birthday selfie.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMNsb-nPYQSD9WFApVuR4UOJCsZECvAzTSv-hc2_fmVMRqwuEVd69doHBEjNysL21p2pPYNhMF8zsO5vp7mSTvOMtg6zaG1YcgbcjKYneNYnC8Qh0JGN6GU2dB-jYKaV8mkWKszVZk_5zTih532xwvxlXsBo6yAyAdZMYCvA9pWgDTVTnn5caUmYH-/s1367/jilda%20age%2070.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1367" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMNsb-nPYQSD9WFApVuR4UOJCsZECvAzTSv-hc2_fmVMRqwuEVd69doHBEjNysL21p2pPYNhMF8zsO5vp7mSTvOMtg6zaG1YcgbcjKYneNYnC8Qh0JGN6GU2dB-jYKaV8mkWKszVZk_5zTih532xwvxlXsBo6yAyAdZMYCvA9pWgDTVTnn5caUmYH-/s320/jilda%20age%2070.jpeg" width="270" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-61146134078531040002022-02-14T10:22:00.000-06:002022-02-14T10:22:01.435-06:00Happy Valentines 2022<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOAT9j7mjZ_J0mlEzpOg8FDibUEybXER4aDOxerffWkmYkPVDlYDnsl3dtXTGSlHBhYfJ4a8mf675j2tnXL3Vum_ZcIMAthtLMBDHPCjzPafPFabR8VnAAvaxDgv7iDAWYAXqKVHejYB4_8HtB1uH5WoAjquTAEo8mHjQL2xrYw2R4v3hmo2k6OrhN=s2016" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOAT9j7mjZ_J0mlEzpOg8FDibUEybXER4aDOxerffWkmYkPVDlYDnsl3dtXTGSlHBhYfJ4a8mf675j2tnXL3Vum_ZcIMAthtLMBDHPCjzPafPFabR8VnAAvaxDgv7iDAWYAXqKVHejYB4_8HtB1uH5WoAjquTAEo8mHjQL2xrYw2R4v3hmo2k6OrhN=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /> February 14, 2022<p></p><p><br /></p><p>Love is messy, complicated and difficult</p><p>Love is glorious, beautiful and life sustaining</p><p>A heart wrapped in love will celebrate the beauty of the roses and endure the pain of the thorns.</p><p>May you have an abundance of roses and an absence of thorns.</p><p>Happy Valentines</p><p>jilda</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-40946309603613473132022-01-01T19:49:00.000-06:002022-01-01T19:49:11.236-06:00A Gift<p> New Years Day, 2022</p><p>It's interesting how the celebration of New Year's has changed through the decades for me. Once upon a time, it was all about dressing up, going to a party and lots of champagne. As the years went by, it became spending time with good friends, enjoying good food and making memories. Then it was just Rick and I, a great meal at home, and a good bottle of wine and sometimes we didn't stay up to welcome the new year.</p><p>Rick loved New Years, it and Thanksgiving were his two favorite holidays. He made elaborate mind maps of his resolutions, he would make recordings of his resolutions. For him, a new year was like getting a new life. I never got into resolutions but I always did vision boards. A couple of months after he died, I picked up my vision board for 2020 and threw it in the trash. Everything on that board, every vision I had included him. I no longer make vision boards.</p><p>Last year as 2021 came calling, I had expectations. You probably had them as well. A vaccine would be distributed, Covid would be contained, and the divisive craters created by politics would begin to grow smaller. </p><p>This year, I have no expectations of 2022. As a matter of fact, I smudged my house last night, opened the doors and hoped that any kind of negativity that existed would disappear into the darkness.</p><p> I am living one day at a time with hopes that I can spend time with my friends and family, play music once again and travel before I am too old. I am practicing kindness as much as I possibly can. This farm is a full time job but the hard work outdoors has been good for me. I am grateful for family, friends, my dogs and chickens. My life is very different, but it's good. Painting and music give me joy, so do books and conversations with friends. </p><p>This morning when I walked the dogs I spied a flash of golden yellow on the trail. I looked down and there was a heart shaped leaf. I think it was a gift for the new year. For this year, may we all be kind, to each other, our selves, to the world around us.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_SiVCOkTg07Cg-t1IeZO6Dcb7u2drWRGyOmraje7bx8xOO3l2cyPXzcqeiaN6ECI_TokM4jlLjDATrQGXlw6QvseB4LBjUaYwc1491EPXB2D4nmBh0CR1Xg2qC7W9KHXzQlcaJz3FQBhxNZReVd1Oa8aPta6VUuXMtArQYSgqc8TUWw3nyJHerFCn=s1710" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1710" data-original-width="1511" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_SiVCOkTg07Cg-t1IeZO6Dcb7u2drWRGyOmraje7bx8xOO3l2cyPXzcqeiaN6ECI_TokM4jlLjDATrQGXlw6QvseB4LBjUaYwc1491EPXB2D4nmBh0CR1Xg2qC7W9KHXzQlcaJz3FQBhxNZReVd1Oa8aPta6VUuXMtArQYSgqc8TUWw3nyJHerFCn=s320" width="283" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-70160068362856061122021-12-25T07:18:00.001-06:002021-12-25T07:18:48.241-06:00Christmas 2021<p> December 25, 2021</p><p>My second Christmas without Rick. I foolishly thought this one would be easier, I was wrong.</p><p>With Jordan's help, I put up a Christmas tree. With Rick's voice in my head, I painted cards, and I didn't get enough painted, so New Year's cards will be sent to those I missed.</p><p>But, it hasn't all been sad, friends have sent surprises, called and sent wonderful wishes and love. Family has done the same. Jordan and I did our traditional outdoor Charlie Brown tree and we baked cookies. I had breakfast with my brother's family yesterday. Both sisters invited me to their family gatherings today. But I chose to stay on the farm this Christmas day. I need the outdoors, the space and the healing of of this place.</p><p>Last night was a good healing ugly cry. My friend Christine is right, a good cry always makes you feel better. Today the sun came up and as I glimpsed a few messages on FB, they were all full of love and kindness. The song from years ago is right, " why can't every day be like Christmas." If we could just capture that feeling and push replay any time we felt animosity toward each other.</p><p>It's warm in Alabama this week, and that makes me envious of those who have snow and cold. The dogs are still sleeping, the wind is blowing and I smell the coffee brewing. I wish all of you the Happiest and most Loving of Christmases today. I hope your Christmas wishes come true. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_Bb3cEgy9cymQVD_R0mEtdkUHuukXX5k1n9NhnmU5HRPKgLDwuXPCp-mm4yYkVOtBiISsJi-rXx949KvdmG6R0Qcqh4HpMWXYW92PlL90FM-kVlLuT9XQ2di_LvyMP5r5-egYUFausQD27WsOaowVqZR8WKpnNPMvqtRtcBiGAulqmuil2iN26V03=s1826" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1826" data-original-width="1511" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_Bb3cEgy9cymQVD_R0mEtdkUHuukXX5k1n9NhnmU5HRPKgLDwuXPCp-mm4yYkVOtBiISsJi-rXx949KvdmG6R0Qcqh4HpMWXYW92PlL90FM-kVlLuT9XQ2di_LvyMP5r5-egYUFausQD27WsOaowVqZR8WKpnNPMvqtRtcBiGAulqmuil2iN26V03=s320" width="265" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-35868814904584686402021-11-19T08:20:00.000-06:002021-11-19T08:20:15.534-06:00November<p> November has always been my favorite month, Thanksgiving my favorite holiday. I have been laboring hard the past few weeks, getting this farm ready for a winter's rest. I watched the lunar eclipse ( well parts of it ) and thought about Rick, hoping that he was somewhere seeing the magnificent spectacle of a cold autumn night and mother nature's magic.</p><p>This will be my second holiday season without him. I think the reality of it is that it's actually the first that I am fully aware. Last year's season was just a passing of time, between family members with Covid and the crater of darkness that his passing created, the sunrises and sunsets happened without fanfare. I did decorate a tree and paint a few cards but that empty space consumed me.</p><p>It's not that you get use to the emptiness it just becomes a part of who you are. Learning to live a life alone after spending 46 years with someone is a jigsaw puzzle of emotions and decisions. Each of us will or has handled loss differently. When my parents and brother died, I threw myself into work but when Rick died I faced the ugliness of grief head on. Covid and the isolation that it brought to the world caused so many of us to grieve alone.</p><p>I can tell you this, we who survived that grief and loss are not to be taken lightly. My tolerance for greed, hate and ugliness has disappeared. I know how quickly life can change, how precious moments are and those who have walked this path seem to be in agreement with me.</p><p>So Thanksgiving will continue to be different. I will cook a bit this year. I will as always ( even in the darkest of days) think of things to place on my gratitude list. For me, friends hold a special place on that list, without those who stood by me my life would be so cold and empty. My animals, this farm gave me healing energy when I thought there was none and family, who even in their grief stood by me.</p><p>My hopes for the coming winter's rest is that creativity will blossom for me and that my body will continue to remain healthy and strong. For others who are in the throes of grief, hold on. Life changes, you will change, that's all I know.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-41706204069216967182021-10-23T09:07:00.002-05:002021-10-23T13:53:34.831-05:00Morning<p> October 23</p><p>It's been awhile, but to be honest getting the farm ready for winter is labor intense, especially when you are the laborer.</p><p>This morning there was dense heavy fog shrouding everything with a chill. I made a pot of coffee, gave the dogs their morning treat and settled on the sofa to watch my day begin. As always the birds came to say hello and eat their morning meal, I could hear the geese on the neighbors pond and the occasional ping of acorns as they dropped on the tin roof.</p><p>Most mornings I still shed tears, maybe I always will. The stillness and silence and emptiness of the dawn reminds me Rick is gone. I tried talking with the dogs, but they do not converse. So I sip hot coffee and remember, good times and bad as I plan the day. My old leather day planner is over 30 years old and it remains a good and steady friend. It has become my compass when there is darkness and a guide when life overwhelms me with its business of continuing.</p><p>After the fog lifts this morning the task of privet war begins. Privets, hedges if you will, have tried their best to claim my back fence. After a meeting with the saw today, they get doused with white vinegar and I dare them to rear their ugly faces again. It has become personal, this battle of who controls my back fence and I intend to win. My oldest sister battles them with a small torch and I warn them, I have one of those as well.</p><p>Fall is doing her best to appear, but she is slow to make an entrance down here in the south. I love her and I wait for her. I know that fall brings a calmer pace to the farm, and not only does the earth begin to rest but I get to turn my energies to my creative side. Finally with fall and winter, art and music get my attention and the labors of spring and summer wait for their turn sometime in the future.</p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-8914748788921427492021-09-03T08:17:00.000-05:002021-09-03T08:17:22.859-05:00The Power of Music<p> August ended, September has arrived and he brought cooler temps, well 80's for highs and 60's for lows.</p><p>As I write these words this morning I am listening to Gram Parsons and the Flying Burrito Brothers. It's a big deal because I am listening to my old vinyl and I am happy. Before he died, Rick had gotten us a new turntable and gotten our old albums out of storage. Last week, I finally started cleaning and shelving the albums, the first one I played....Delaney and Bonnie.</p><p>Listening to the music that helped to shape who I am has been such a release of emotions, good and bad. Rick had given some of our albums to our nephew Michael many years ago. Sadly Michael passed away and who knows what happened to those albums. Frankly there are albums in my stacks that I looked at and thought why did I/we buy this. I am sure at the time of purchase the reason was valid.</p><p>It is exciting to hear albums that I haven't heard in 30 years or so. Rick was such a lover of all things new and technical. When cds came out, he was jubilant. We have have 100's of cds, but there were many obscure albums that we owned which were never transferred to cd and I missed them. My morning coffee and evening reads are truly more pleasurable listening to music that was as much a part of my life as Rick.</p><p>Gram Parsons was a major influence on our music. His voice, his harmonies inspired us to put that raw emotion into what we created.</p><p>Another album that I have listened to this week, Leon Russell and Marc Benno, Asylum Choir. Hearing Salty Candy again made me laugh and their version of Sweet Home Chicago brings back many memories.</p><p>I truly believe in the arts, without them I fear we humans will not survive. Every trip we ever took to a new city, we visited museums, galleries, and listened to local musicians, watched local theatrical productions, ate foods we had never experienced, tried to always meet locals. Learning as much as we could about about other places and people and absorbing new cultures was always our goal. Everywhere we traveled , we expected to have a good time and you know, we always did. </p><p>Music is powerful, it can bring joy, tears, trigger old memories, create new ones and be your best friend. I would be the first to admit that our taste in music was about eclectic as you can get. Music educated me and opened my eyes and heart to the world around me. Music was the bond that helped us share 46 years together, music introduced us to many of our dearest friends. For several months after Rick died, I could not listen to music of any kind. I knew in my heart the healing of my gaping wound would never take place until I could hear music and let it bathe my emotions. I was right.</p><p>I hope there is music in your life today. </p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-4333160587214816432021-08-15T11:53:00.000-05:002021-08-15T11:53:24.916-05:00A Life of Resistance<p> July was quite a month, much rain, very hot and a great deal of work to do here on the farm.</p><p>August has been much of the same, but honestly I had rather deal with the rain instead of a drought.</p><p>This morning a friend shared an essay written by a Hopi Indian chief a few weeks ago. The words were words I desperately needed to see and read. I have printed a copy of it and it will be my morning meditation for awhile.</p><p>Before I share it with all of you, I will explain why I think these words resonated with my spirit today and felt like manna from heaven or a long drink of crystal cold water.</p><p>Several years ago when I was very sick and there were doctors from three different hospitals in Birmingham trying to figure out what was wrong, one of them suggested they reach out to the Mayo clinic on my behalf. 18 very large vials of blood later, several pages of questions about my health and my family's health, and encouraging words from the doc the package was sent to the clinic. A few weeks later, I received basically a book/report from Mayo and the doctor at UAB. I finally had answers and hope. One of the biggies from Mayo was in depth information about my genetic makeup and DNA.</p><p>It turns out one of the diseases I was dealing with was because of my genetic makeup. I am Irish, Native American and African American mix. I found the results fascinating because my whole life since I was a child, I was drawn to people who looked different than me. Friendships were always easy for me with those whose skin was not my color.</p><p>With all that being said, Native American culture has been something I have studied for years, the other interesting thing, through the years when I would meet elderly African Americans they always asked what tribe I was from. After getting that report, there were many questions answered. This essay that I am sharing with you today is about living a life of resistance. It's not what you think, when you hear that word resistance and maybe you will be like me, when you read it you too will decide to follow a life of resistance.</p><p><br /></p><div class="dati1w0a hv4rvrfc osnr6wyh" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 16px; padding-right: 16px;"><div class="btwxx1t3 j83agx80 cwj9ozl2" style="background-color: var(--card-background); display: flex; flex-direction: row; font-family: inherit;"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px;"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql oi732d6d ik7dh3pa ht8s03o8 a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d9wwppkn fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb mdeji52x e9vueds3 j5wam9gi knj5qynh m9osqain hzawbc8m" dir="auto" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; color: var(--secondary-text); display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.8125rem; line-height: 1.2308; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="tojvnm2t a6sixzi8 abs2jz4q a8s20v7p t1p8iaqh k5wvi7nf q3lfd5jv pk4s997a bipmatt0 cebpdrjk qowsmv63 owwhemhu dp1hu0rb dhp61c6y iyyx5f41" style="align-items: inherit; align-self: inherit; display: inherit; flex-direction: inherit; flex: inherit; font-family: inherit; height: inherit; max-height: inherit; max-width: inherit; min-height: inherit; min-width: inherit; place-content: inherit; width: inherit;"><a aria-label="6d" class="oajrlxb2 g5ia77u1 qu0x051f esr5mh6w e9989ue4 r7d6kgcz rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 nc684nl6 p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of lzcic4wl gmql0nx0 gpro0wi8 b1v8xokw" href="https://www.facebook.com/gwweldon/posts/4593185947382597?__cft__[0]=AZXhPJ9IKPMwjzqPKfKOqFbS5c-REjs43-XvQUv0UWL3SWo7l2CYQlP-ylFbiVGkK2Cmgj6t7-bPMJMXjYMZyjxXNyBuIjjaU-bsTqfEo6ECNJGsvVgRpDgEKdwS3j5x5RiBMpLfQb2h7sQH8BSD8Xm6HboLkAdZU6shLtUPkF5bow&__tn__=%2CO%2CP-y-R" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="j1lvzwm4 stjgntxs ni8dbmo4 q9uorilb gpro0wi8" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: top;"><span class="b6zbclly myohyog2 l9j0dhe7 aenfhxwr l94mrbxd ihxqhq3m nc684nl6 t5a262vz sdhka5h4" style="cursor: inherit; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-weight: 600; line-height: inherit; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;"><span class="b6zbclly myohyog2 l9j0dhe7 aenfhxwr l94mrbxd ihxqhq3m nc684nl6 t5a262vz sdhka5h4" style="cursor: inherit; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: inherit; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;">A</span><span class="b6zbclly myohyog2 l9j0dhe7 aenfhxwr l94mrbxd ihxqhq3m nc684nl6 t5a262vz sdhka5h4" style="cursor: inherit; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: inherit; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;">u</span><span class="b6zbclly myohyog2 l9j0dhe7 aenfhxwr l94mrbxd ihxqhq3m nc684nl6 t5a262vz sdhka5h4" style="cursor: inherit; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: inherit; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;">g</span><span class="b6zbclly myohyog2 l9j0dhe7 aenfhxwr l94mrbxd ihxqhq3m nc684nl6 t5a262vz sdhka5h4" style="cursor: inherit; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: inherit; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;">u</span><span class="b6zbclly myohyog2 l9j0dhe7 aenfhxwr l94mrbxd ihxqhq3m nc684nl6 t5a262vz sdhka5h4" style="cursor: inherit; 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display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: inherit; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;">5</span><span class="b6zbclly myohyog2 l9j0dhe7 aenfhxwr l94mrbxd ihxqhq3m nc684nl6 t5a262vz sdhka5h4" style="cursor: inherit; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: inherit; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;"> </span><span class="b6zbclly myohyog2 l9j0dhe7 aenfhxwr l94mrbxd ihxqhq3m nc684nl6 t5a262vz sdhka5h4" style="cursor: inherit; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: inherit; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;">P</span><span class="b6zbclly myohyog2 l9j0dhe7 aenfhxwr l94mrbxd ihxqhq3m nc684nl6 t5a262vz sdhka5h4" style="cursor: inherit; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: inherit; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; vertical-align: inherit;">M</span></span></span></span></a></span></span><span class="jpp8pzdo" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="rfua0xdk pmk7jnqg stjgntxs ni8dbmo4 ay7djpcl q45zohi1" style="clip: rect(0px, 0px, 0px, 0px); font-family: inherit; height: 1px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; width: 1px;"> </span><span aria-hidden="true" style="font-family: inherit;"> · </span></span></span><span class="g0qnabr5" style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;"><span class="tojvnm2t a6sixzi8 abs2jz4q a8s20v7p t1p8iaqh k5wvi7nf q3lfd5jv pk4s997a bipmatt0 cebpdrjk qowsmv63 owwhemhu dp1hu0rb dhp61c6y iyyx5f41" style="align-items: inherit; align-self: inherit; display: inherit; flex-direction: inherit; flex: inherit; font-family: inherit; height: inherit; max-height: inherit; max-width: inherit; min-height: inherit; min-width: inherit; place-content: inherit; width: inherit;"><span class="ormqv51v l9j0dhe7" style="font-family: inherit; position: relative; top: -2px;"><i aria-label="Shared with Public" class="hu5pjgll m6k467ps" data-visualcompletion="css-img" role="img" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/rsrc.php/v3/yW/r/Z9J8It_8dWI.png"); background-position: 0px -717px; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: auto; display: inline-block; filter: var(--filter-secondary-icon); height: 12px; vertical-align: -0.25em; width: 12px;"></i></span></span></span></span></span></div></div></div></div><div class="" dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><div class="" dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="ecm0bbzt hv4rvrfc ihqw7lf3 dati1w0a" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" style="font-family: inherit; padding: 4px 16px 16px;"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px;"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql oi732d6d ik7dh3pa ht8s03o8 a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d9wwppkn fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; color: var(--primary-text); display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Hopi Indian Chief White Eagle commented a few days ago on the current situation:</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">′′ This moment humanity is experiencing can be seen as a door or a hole. The decision to fall in the hole or walk through the door is up to you. If you consume the news 24 hours a day, with negative energy, constantly nervous, with pessimism, you will fall into this hole.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">But if you take the opportunity to look at yourself, to rethink life and death, to take care of yourself and others, then you will walk through the portal.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Take care of your home, take care of your body. Connect with your spiritual home. When you take care of yourself, you take care of everyone at the same time.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Do not underestimate the spiritual dimension of this crisis. Take the perspective of an eagle that sees everything from above with a broader view. There is a social question in this crisis, but also a spiritual question. The two go hand in hand.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Without the social dimension we fall into fanaticism. Without the spiritual dimension, we fall into pessimism and futility.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Are you ready to face this crisis. Grab your toolbox and use all the tools at your disposal.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Learn resistance from the example of Indian and African peoples: we have been and are exterminated. But we never stopped singing, dancing, lighting a fire and rejoicing.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Don't feel guilty for feeling blessed in these troubled times. Being sad or angry doesn't help at all. Resistance is resistance through joy!</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">You have the right to be strong and positive. And there's no other way to do it than to maintain a beautiful, happy, bright posture.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Has nothing to do with alienation (ignorance of the world). It's a resistance strategy.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">When we cross the threshold, we have a new worldview because we faced our fears and difficulties. This is all you can do now:</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">- Serenity in the storm</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">- Keep calm, pray everyday</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">- Make a habit of meeting the sacred everyday.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Show resistance through art, joy, trust and love.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Hopi Indian Chief White Eagle</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">July 9th 2021</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-56622827331581611392021-07-16T04:58:00.000-05:002021-07-16T04:58:26.568-05:00One Year<p> July 16, one year ago today my life changed forever. There have been days that I didn't think I could go on and days I wished I wouldn't. Part of me left with Rick, maybe he didn't mean to take it with him, but he did. </p><p>All has changed, nothing has changed. I'm keeping the farm the way he wanted, the dogs are fine, the chickens are happy. It has been a cooler wetter than normal summer. That means some crops have thrived some have not. The blueberries were the tastiest ever and the hens are laying like crazy.</p><p>I almost see him sometimes out of the corner of my eye, I feel him daily. I hear his voice urging me on, saying you can do this. </p><p>I am finding my way, I have stumbled blindly so many times and fallen. I find the strength to get back up, though it takes awhile and there is nothing easy about it. The love and support of friends and family has been my fuel, without them, without his voice in the back of my head the will to live would have withered.</p><p>Today there is weed eating to be done, the chicken pen/house has to be cleaned. I slept very little last night, but all through the darkness, his voice was there for comfort, "you can do this." Before I go to sleep tonight, there is one more thing that will have to be done...I am picking up my guitar for the very first time since he left and just for him I am singing a song. That's my gift for him on this unwanted anniversary.</p><p>I think of the phrase he told everyone he met... How you doing, they would say? and his answer..".I am living the dream." We had an incredible dream together, I am left with the fragments but somehow some way, I am putting them back together and adding new parts. Nothing will ever be the same, but my answer now for that same question, How you doing?...."I'm ok." </p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-28714760496155918322021-07-06T07:10:00.000-05:002021-07-06T07:10:52.372-05:004th of July<p> July has arrived, on the 16th of this month a year will have passed since Rick died. It seems like yesterday, it feels like forever.</p><p>The Fourth of July was our last holiday to celebrate, who knew in 12 days he would be dead?</p><p>His sister, Mary Lois invited me to her daughter's house for the holiday. My nephew Haven invited me to his house. I chose to stay home alone. I got up that morning, feeling a kind of sacredness and a realization of the difference between lonesome and loneliness. For me, I will always be lonesome because I miss him so much. But I am not lonely. Keeping this farm going, friends calling and visiting, daily chores, still sorting out my life has kept the loneliness at bay. But missing him...how I miss him.</p><p>On Monday, the 4th I decided to take a leap of faith, a giant one. I got out my paints and canvas and started to paint. Other than my cards, I had not painted since his death. Deciding on a subject to paint was easy, I had taken a photograph of flowers in the kitchen window a couple of months before he died.</p><p>He loved the photograph and kept asking me to paint it. I did do a small water color card of the image, but me being my usual self critical self did not believe him when he told me he liked it. I wish that I could have bottled his confidence in my art and drank a sip every day.</p><p>So with a prayer to Rick, I sketched out the canvas with the image from the photo, but I added something that I did not capture with the camera. I added my broken heart. Tears and paint cover that canvas, but something happened to me as the salt and acrylic blended. I felt at peace with myself and love from Rick.</p><p>I knew that for creativity to come back to me, I couldn't push or force, it would come when the time was right. I still have not picked up the guitar, but I now know, that too will come when the time is right.</p><p>This grief process is not for the impatient. Sure you can push it to the bottom of your soul, but I can assure you it will fester and come out in ways you never expected or might not recognize. I didn't deal with the grief of my parents or my brother and my body and heart taught me how powerful and destructive unrecognized grief can be.</p><p>So in a very unusual way, Independence Day brought me my independence and started the loosening of the chains on my creativity. My celebration was not the average one, but it was the celebration I sought and needed.</p><p>There are two photos with this blog this morning, the original one I took of my kitchen window and the painting. Fireworks of my own making.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pp09-59Cdos/YORHJaXbzqI/AAAAAAAASto/RhviMhkvMbUbPTjrS1iOfVzEARg8JHC7QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2016/photo.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pp09-59Cdos/YORHJaXbzqI/AAAAAAAASto/RhviMhkvMbUbPTjrS1iOfVzEARg8JHC7QCLcBGAsYHQ/w240-h320/photo.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z1__xFTi_rA/YORHNHdK4fI/AAAAAAAASts/Uo4xoTcoG1Eq9XAhzpIhn_YXlDCi9oasQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1810/painting.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1810" data-original-width="1323" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z1__xFTi_rA/YORHNHdK4fI/AAAAAAAASts/Uo4xoTcoG1Eq9XAhzpIhn_YXlDCi9oasQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/painting.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-66636798017206065882021-06-27T07:48:00.007-05:002021-06-27T13:23:16.610-05:00This Morning<p> I awoke this morning with a heart overflowing with gratitude. I was thinking of friends and family members who have stood the test of time with me these last eleven months. Some of them pulled me from the depths of darkness and never knew it. I can't remember a morning since Rick died that I have not cried . Many who grieve tell me the nights are the worst, and I agree nights are tough. But for me, mornings are the toughest. I have never liked Daylight Savings time, but now I dislike it even more. The evenings drag on forever, the sunsets seem to hide on purpose waiting until I am coming out of my skin before they show their color and the stars take over the skies. </p><p>There is something about night that allows me to breathe a sigh of relief. I have made it through another day. I might cry myself to sleep, I might toss and turn but I know the sun will rise tomorrow.</p><p>And then tomorrow comes. The mornings were when we planned our day. When we talked about about serious stuff, fluff, nothing and everything and tossed around ideas for columns and our blogs, as we drank our morning coffee. We would sit on the deck or the screened porch, if the weather gods were in our favor. I would often chastise him about his phone, because even then it was in his hands, but that was Rick and for whatever the reason, he wanted to be connected 24/7. We would pet the dogs, talk about how we lived in a piece of heaven and discuss breakfast, and listen to the hens cluck. The mornings were sacred and we would both be a bit out of sorts if something robbed us of that time. </p><p>So this morning before I looked at my phone, I spent some time sending love to those who have gone through this hard season with me. I carry all of you in my heart, like tokens and charms of love and kindness. Sometimes I call your names and see your faces, almost able to physically touch each one like a prayer bead.</p><p>When I did look at my phone, I laughed and cried. My nephew James, the publisher of our daily paper and one of the papers that Rick wrote for had tagged me in a FB post. Last night at the Alabama Press Association Awards, one of Rick's columns that he wrote for a paper in Birmingham, 280 Living, won first place for best humorous column. Rick would be beside himself with joy. Winning that award was something he had strived for. I hope he is somewhere this morning drinking champagne and laughing, because that is what we would have done today. Congratulations Babe, I kept telling you it would happen! This morning just got better.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ww59uh7Bc5E/YNhy9osItzI/AAAAAAAAR4k/lpPSpta2qOk_emGZyuBvdpIAHIGNHR8LACLcBGAsYHQ/s1749/phlox.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1749" data-original-width="1439" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ww59uh7Bc5E/YNhy9osItzI/AAAAAAAAR4k/lpPSpta2qOk_emGZyuBvdpIAHIGNHR8LACLcBGAsYHQ/w329-h400/phlox.jpeg" width="329" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-19044917331729560612021-06-02T08:10:00.000-05:002021-06-02T08:10:11.502-05:00Summer's First<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cK4QeHXhzng/YLeCjS4kS7I/AAAAAAAAR1U/dup6mLCT4so_94ztSjnmIIW6IkMOhc8JACLcBGAsYHQ/s1651/first%2Bgardenia.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1651" data-original-width="1241" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cK4QeHXhzng/YLeCjS4kS7I/AAAAAAAAR1U/dup6mLCT4so_94ztSjnmIIW6IkMOhc8JACLcBGAsYHQ/w301-h400/first%2Bgardenia.jpeg" width="301" /></a></div><br /> She is the first for the summer of 2021. I fell in love with gardenias as a child. My grandmother Mamie had them in her flower garden. Each time I smell that rich sweet, yet earthy fragrance I feel a beckoning. I think the scent is like the siren's call, reminding me summer is here, enjoy its bounty. The purity of those white petals against the malachite of her leaves gives me indescribable joy. When I saw this first blossom on Monday by my grill, my first thought was of Rick. I think he sent me a gift, because so far there are no other blossoms, plenty of buds, but no other blooms.<p></p><p>Every summer, I fill the house with gardenia blossoms. She makes the heat and humidity of summer tolerable. There are a least a dozen bushes on the farm. Most are taller than me, some have the circumference of my Outback. Some years the flowers are small, but if this first one is any indication of this year, they are going to be large.</p><p>Our friends, Keith and Roberta's wedding was one of those wonderful memories forever etched in my brain. Rick and I were in the wedding party, we took the photographs, it was the day before my birthday and it was in NYC. They had gardenia bushes in full bloom for their flowers. Not sure where they got them in March, in NYC but I think of their wedding and the happiness we all shared when I see gardenias.</p><p>The temps are rising, so is the humidity. There is rain this morning and for most of the week. But the gardenias will bloom and as nature has shown me so many times since Rick has died, life goes on.</p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447022611775264186.post-75824630521863856442021-05-25T10:22:00.002-05:002021-05-25T21:11:24.902-05:00Solitude<p> " Blessed are those who do not fear solitude, who are not afraid of their own company, who are not always desperately looking for something to do, something to amuse themselves with, something to judge. If you are never alone, you cannot know yourself." -Paulo Coelho</p><p>A friend sent this quote to me this morning and I smiled. I believe in synchronicity. I have been thinking for the past couple of weeks how being alone during the pandemic with my grief has been a gift.</p><p>It's been ten months now since Rick died. Three, almost four seasons have passed and each has brought endings, beginnings, darkness and light. Those first few weeks after that horrible night were hot and oppressive. The shock and knowledge of tasks that had to be done, completions of projects he had started, moved me forward in a weird slow motion . It was mid-July, all around the pandemic was hitting its stride and other than phone calls, emails, cards and messages the outside world had disappeared for me. My brother and his wife, their daughter and grandson who lived with them became the only humans that I saw on a regular basis and even that was social distanced.</p><p>There were some projects on the farm he had started that I couldn't do by myself, but with the help of a couple of friends, and my nephew they were completed. I spent most days on the phone those first couple of blistering hot months taking care of the business that a spouse gone suddenly left behind. </p><p>I was beginning to understand grief. I had buried my parents and an older brother, but I pushed my grief far down into the recesses of my heart, went back to work and tried to understand when unexplained tears came. But this isolation, taking care of business, maintaining the farm and the hours of being alone day after day made me face my grief for Rick, made me acknowledge how I dealt with pain, sadness, exhaustion and who I was.</p><p>Fall brought comfort yet deep grief as well. The blue skies, the changing of the leaves and cooler temps brought with them memories of how much Rick loved fall, but how much I loved it as well. Walking through the crunch of brown leaves, the geese arriving at a nearby pond and deer walking by my front windows triggered sobbing and wailing that I had never experienced before. Being alone, I made myself find gratitude even when my face was buried in a pillow wet with tears.</p><p>Winter and its starkness and grey skies gave me a different perspective on holidays. Not being with friends and family, not pushing through each holiday trying to hold on to old traditions, I began to understand what was important to me. It was not being in a house full of people, opening gifts, and yet never really connecting with anyone, what did matter was wishing peace to all those I loved, blessings of good health and joy and how wonderful a fire was on cold winter night or the sweetness of a cup of hot tea or cocoa. Those surprises of handmade gifts that appeared in the mail, roses that appeared out of the blue, a painting that sits on my mantle. The bare trees gave me a strange connection to grief. I felt the loss of all those leaves that had fallen and yet I knew the trees would see leaves again in the spring. Nature brought me memories of Rick, and all that time alone gave me the gift of fully grieving my loss.</p><p>Spring brought a cruelness I did not expect. I had anticipated new beginnings, the excitement of renewal. The clear blue skies and the explosion of new growth made me angry and sad. I had spent the holidays and his birthday alone, for some reason I had not given much thought to being alone for my birthday and when it arrived in March, along with forsythia and violets and honeysuckle and green leaves it hit hard. I realized the grief still lurked in every cell of my body, waiting for each opportunity to stab a bit more.</p><p>My fellow widow friends tell me this year of firsts is the worst. The firsts are not always the big ones you expect either. It's the first cup of coffee without him, the first meal you cook, the first hummingbird you see, the first snowflake, the first ripe blueberry, the first time you get sick and realize you are alone and the dogs are not very sympathetic.</p><p>I made it through what would have been our 47th anniversary on May 5th. On July 16th I will face the anniversary of his death.</p><p>So here is what I have learned about myself during all this time alone. I have faced grief head on, and though there were times I wish it had killed me, it didn't. Other cultures deal with grief differently, I think most of us deal with it as I had in the past. We were sad, we cried some tears and hurt, yet we forced ourselves to continue life as usual. For me, grief in the pandemic has been a sacred ritual, a cleansing of my mind, and spirit. I know what is important to me and what isn't, that working to the point of exhaustion brings sleep when nothing else will, I have learned to let tears flow freely, that it's ok to experience anger and fear and that breathing always helps. Being alone has made me much less tolerant of BS, much less tolerant of hate, and very much aware of how loss and suffering have come to so many since 2019. </p><p>My wish for myself and all of you continues to be peace and good health.</p>Jildahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03997103724450287303noreply@blogger.com0