she rose above it
You let me cook
You let me clean
I wash our clothes
I sweep up my dreams.
You let me shop
You let me sew
I have it all
Computers, books and clothes.
You don’t let me
See how you feel
You don’t let me near
Any part of you that’s real.
You don’t let me
Close in our
King size bed
I rebel, but only inside my head.
You don’t let me
I don’t know why
I know one day, I won’t even try.
Beautiful and sad. Incredible writing. ❤
Guilt. It seems to be an ever present shadow in this journey of caregiving and grieving.
Some people seem to be able to say, “I’ve done all I can do.” And stop and feel okay. Maybe I have a better imagination, or a more developed guilt complex, but I can pretty much always think of something more I could do, or should do, or could’ve or should’ve done.
I was talking to a friend at church a month ago, and she was expressing regrets and guilt about having her mom in a nursing home. She said she never wanted to have one of her loved ones in such a place again.
And I told her, “Hey, we kept my mom at home her whole life, and I still feel guilty that I didn’t do enough.” And this is after years of giving her showers, changing her, cleaning their house and…
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I love my mother’s writing. It is such a precious gift that she shared with me. She was my biggest fan, and I was hers.
By Grace Christine Doucette (My mom)
I can wear a red hat with a green blouse and yellow pants. People just shake their heads and think, “Well, she’s old.”
Strong young men accost me just to put my groceries in my car. As I adjust my wig, they walk away with a smile, thinking, “Well, she’s old.”
I can smile and wink at every handsome man I see, young or old, and receive a smile or wink in return. It’s safe to flirt now, “I’m old.”
People let me cut in at the grocery store checkout line, and they smile when I have to ask, “What’s the date?” “Oh well, she’s old.”
I can add ten years to my age and smile when people say, “You look so good for your age!”
I can ask for directions, and people lead me right to the place. They don’t want me to…
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Have you ever noticed
when something triggers your sad
it seems to pull back the layers
of all the sads you buried
and a dozen old sads rise up in defiance
shouting out, What about me?
I’m still here. Look at me.
You buried me, you pushed me down,
but I’m still aching, what about me?
Shut up old sads.
You don’t belong here, not today.
I have enough to be sad about
in this present moment and
I don’t need a dozen selfish
old sads rising up in rebellion.
Go back to sleep old sads, hush.
You’ve already had your day.
I could give up cigarettes, coffee, sugar,
chocolate and probably even salt.
I could never let go of your memory
it’s locked securely in a hidden vault.
Yet, longings escape
like pink whispers
memories haunt me
old scars burn as
your caress lingers
lips tender on my skin
kissing the curve of my face
as you slow dance me
until you win my heart
just to walk away.
A fantasy fulfilled, too hot to hold
it dropped from my burnt fingers.
The way you made me feel, my kryptonite.
The dance ended, but the music lingers.
A Rambling Report From The Frequent Mover
We moved to a farmhouse in Vermont this spring.
The house is similar to the last two houses that we owned, but the land, the land, has me enchanted.
Every evening, I go outside and walk the borders of my two acres of flowers, fields and trees, even if it’s raining.
I feel happy as a child as I walk among the wildflowers at the property line, constantly taking pictures and whooping with delight every time I find another milkweed plant.
I shout as I find each one. “Milkweed!”
Butterflies love milkweed and I love butterflies.
Every walk is different as I find little surprises that make my day. A stray dandelion, a new butterfly, pink clouds, lilacs, crab apples, a new bloomer in the garden. Another blackberry plant, a new wildflower.
The flowers and trees that I’ve planted over the last two months are thriving and next spring, God willing, we are going to plow a field for vegetables and sunflowers.
I have squash and cucumbers growing in big pots now and they are doing better then the vegetables I planted in the ground.
I mixed cucumbers, peppers and tomatoes in the RV flower garden. I think the flowers are being mean to them.
I have a beautiful rock garden out front, plants hanging by the front door and plants growing on the back deck.
I love watching everything grow, so each day is a good day with new treasures to surprise me. This week, the first cucumber flower and then the teeny cucumber that followed.
Today, I found another baby cuke and it made me silly happy.
I love the magic of working with soil and seeds and reaping the results of all the demanding work.
Yes, gardens even on a small scale, require hard, physical labor.
I’m not getting younger, so my husband digs the tree holes, thank goodness.
He’s not getting younger either, and we wonder if we were crazy taking on a ten-room farmhouse that totally needs cleaning and cosmetic renovation, but we are having fun and taking it one room at a time. A riding lawnmower is in our future, for sure.
I split my days between the gardens and the house and it’s so exciting watching the farmhouse and the yard change.
This property is amazing and has three RV hookups, ten rooms, a garage, a barn and two workshops. We even have a back porch and an old-fashioned clothesline.It was for sale for two years and had many lookers. My (awesome) real estate agent told me tonight, one couple drove by recently and regretted passing it up. They called to make an offer. “Too late,” she told them. “I sold it.”
That’s how much we have improved the curb appeal in two months.
The Connecticut River flows past the front of the house and we are surrounded on three sides by my neighbor’s corn fields. No houses. Stores and familiar territory, including House 14, is in Lancaster, NH just five miles away, so it’s convenient, but it feels like we are alone in the world.
I swore after house 15, never again and I have spent the last year content in my twenty-foot RV, mostly in Florida. But the world is changing, and I don’t believe living here and there with no real home in this new climate is the best idea.
My baby RV will be my She Shed, my prayer room, my writing room. It’s all hooked up behind the farmhouse and I love the location. My own private RV park.
Wildflowers have grown under and around it and it’s so awesome, like a postcard.
It’s a new beginning for my husband and I too and in a world gone mad, it is my sanctuary and my happy place.
I started writing a book last winter, Fifteen Houses, but I had to change the title. Fifteen Houses, Plus One.
Praying my wanderlust is satisfied because this home is a keeper.
I’m a writer and Evernote Basic https://evernote.com/ (available for free from Google Play Store) holds my random thoughts safe until I want them back.
If I had to wait until I got home to my computer, my thoughts would be gone.
Paper notes pile up and get lost, and paper notebook articles never make it into my blog.
With Evernote, I can capture my creative thoughts before they disappear.
I can also sync two devices, which is super convenient. I use my phone and my computer.
Free apps, which work every time, are rare. I’ve paid for several that didn’t work at all.
I tried many other Android note apps before I found this program and I never found an app close to it.
Driving and writer’s flashes are handled quickly.
I pull over in the first, safe spot I see, and write what my muse wants me to and it’s safe from being instantly forgotten. This is also a great tool for when you’re moving, which I have done constantly, because you can write on your phone while on the road, and while you’re waiting for the internet company that never shows.
Evernote, you are always there when I need you, and I tell every writer I know to try your app. I’ve counted on you for over five years and you’ve been 1000 % dependable. You have saved hundreds of stories for me.
Thank you for providing the free app. I hope to be able to upgrade eventually.
I also love that you don’t flash ads in my face while I’m writing.
If you think that this is a love letter, you are correct. I just love you, Evernote.
P.S. This is an unsolicited review. I really do love this app.
I’ve been blogging off and on now for 6 plus years. In that time, I’ve seen bloggers come and go. I’ve done the same thing. There has been times when my blog went cold for months and at other times I’ve written every day.
If you spend much time on WordPress, you get to know a person’s writing style. There are bloggers I seek out, if I don’t happen to see them in my Reader Feed, because I especially enjoy their blog.
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Awesomeness in action. I love Cindy’s pictures and words. Her blog is a little bit of Heaven.
While busy reading your blogs, there was a very loud thwanking noise on the French doors next to me. I got up to see what it was and there was a juvenile hummingbird on the ground about 6 inches from the door. He was trembling violently and his right-wing was fully extended as if broken. I immediately closed one of your blogs (sorry about that) and googled what to do with a hummingbird who hits a window and breaks a wing. There was all sorts of advice from, “forget it he’s a goner,” to “pick him up and put his beak into the feeder,” to “pick him up and put him in a shoebox with a soft cloth and take him to an animal rescue provider.”
I didn’t like any of these suggestions. A juvenile hummingbird weighs less than a dime. I am like Gulliver the giant in the land…
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All about wildflowers this week…
The breeze in my face is sweet
and it tastes like the ocean in my lungs
although it’s not.
Then again, it really is because
that’s what it tastes like to me.
Freedom is a wildflower growing
where ever the wind blows her seeds,
in a garden or in an empty field.
Freedom tastes like the ocean
and looks like wildflowers
and freedom…she dances
with the confidence of seventeen.
Jeanne Marie, 2019
dancing in the wind…
Incredible art and writing from…
Maybe you can show me
Maybe then I can know
Why my spirit wails
Why I feel tired
Worn by the trials of this life
Why I can’t see the good
Without remembering the bad
Maybe if you try
You can show me who I am
1940 Joan Miro
Colour my soul
Curve out all emotion
Weave your hand and splay my essence
Show my sparkle and shade my gloom
Turn me round, see it all
Joys and despairs
Gray abstract artist
Dispassionate in your ways
Perceptive to all
Crafting cubes with multiple views
Deep fears and aching desires
My soul falls upon the canvas
Now I can see through the rain
Now I can see me
“The rain blinds while clearing sight” – 6word story
I hope you enjoy this,
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Enjoyed this article with quotes from Aldous Huxley and the art was fantastic.
I love Sarah’s writing.
“Is it too much to ask for a little
courage to know, without a doubt,
that everything is okay?
That is the courage I need.”
This was the moment that would make me. Or it would break me. I wasn’t sure, but it felt like I was doomed from the start. Even now, years later, I’m still waiting for that shoe to drop. For this world to come crumbling down and leave me broken on my knees in surrender. So I look up at all those shimmering lights in the night sky and beg for a little solace. For the briefest of moments when all feels right in the world. Is it too much to ask for a little courage to know, without a doubt, that everything is okay? That there’s no demons of mine waiting to blindside me? That is the courage I need.
© Sarah Doughty
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New Beginnings Michelle Marie/Jeanne Marie