The Wild Zone

 I am waiting for myself. I am waiting for something, some place to reveal itself where I can be me, a singular me, brave and free, wild - how I love this word - untamed, feminine, a woman of a certain age. I will not claim wisdom or experience. 

I have had my bursts of wildness and they have been exhilarating and terrifying. I felt as if I was jumping into a void, not knowing where I would land. I want another burst. Will I land on soft or hard ground, into light or dark? I wish for some beautiful place, an Oz of sorts - bright flowers, gold and gold dust, diamonds and pearls, emeralds and rubies everywhere - a walk down the yellow brick road. Fanciful. I do not want to think of a cold, dark, horrible space with growls and roars where I might be some beast's dinner. The only beast that I want to hear roar is me, without reserve, I'd like to do a little dance, without inhibition because at my age, I don't want to give a fuck. Yet, I don't want to offend anyone (or so I think at this moment). 

I want another wild person to mirror me, encourage me, challenge me. I want to soar, fly without measuring distance. I do not want to be careful. I do not want to feel obligated. I want to be kind. I want those I love to know that I love them. I want to be original, not a copycat. I want to love what I am doing, no holding back, no embarassment, just a wonderful acceptance of self, a permission to be.

How do I begin? I have already begun. I don't want to think that I'm at death's door - that's how I've been feeling for the last two years but enough is enough. I don't want to spend the rest of my life preparing for death. I want to move a little quicker. I want to magically be able to sing and not told to shut my mouth. I want to do something, more than one thing, that I've never done before. I want more fresh air, more sunshine, more art. I would like to sweep in front of my house. I would like to cook better meals for myself. I would like to ask more questions.

Am I asking for too much? I will not apologize. 

My life

 “I have been increasingly conscious, for the last 10 years or so, of deaths among my contemporaries. My generation is on the way out, and each death I have felt as an abruption, a tearing away of part of myself. There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.

“I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers.

Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.”—Oliver Sacks.

I am filled with gratitude. I had an operation yesterday for my hernia. It was a little scary - all the protocol at the hospital - but everyone was so kind, especially the male nurse who put the needle in my hand and the anaesthetist who said he was putting the potion in the tube and a mask on my face. Breathe deeply, he instructed. I disappeared on the fourth breath and woke up in the recovery room. Soon after, I was wheeled back to my little room where Brendan was waiting. I faded in and out of consciousness until I was told that I could dress and go home. Voila. I can see the tiny scar above my navel. No bump. It's been tucked back in place. 

I had a restless sleep but am told that it is the result of the anaesthetic. I don't mind. The feared operation is over and now I can get on with my life. Fingers crossed. 

I've fallen in love with PÁDRAIG Ó TUAMA. This poem is called "Facts of Life":

That you were born/ and you will die.

That you will sometimes love enough/ and sometimes not.

That you will lie/ if only to yourself.

That you will get tired.

That you will learn most from the situations/ you did not choose.

That there will be some things that move you/ more than you can say.

That you will live/ that you must be loved.

That you will avoid questions most urgently in need of/ your attention.

That you began as the fusion of a sperm and an egg/ of two people who once were strangers/ and may well still be.

That life isn’t fair.

That life is sometimes good/ and sometimes better than good.

That life is often not so good.

That life is real/ and if you can survive it, well,/ survive it well

with love/ and art/ and meaning given/ where meaning’s scarce.

That you will learn to live with regret./ That you will learn to live with respect.

That the structures that constrict you/ may not be permanently constraining.

That you will probably be okay.

That you must accept change/ before you die/ but you will die anyway.

So you might as well live

and you might as well love.

You might as well love.

You might as well love.

Experience the Impossible

I must look old as strangers offer to help me with my suitcase and rise to give me their seat on public transportation, but in my mind, I am young. Yes, I tire more easily and don't climb ladders. I cannot lift heavy objects and my fingers, affected slightly by arthritis, cannot open tightly sealed jars. Still, I do not feel decrepit.  

A quote by Albert Camus that I like:

The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young. Inside this aging body is a heart still as curious, still as hungry, still as full of longing as it was in youth.... Never stop your goals and dreams. Travel to the places you dreamed of. Experience the impossible.

Rob's tragic fall taught me that time should not be taken for granted. It's precious. So precious. 

I watched two TED talks recently that are significant to me - more on this shortly.

https://www.ted.com/talks/alua_arthur_why_thinking_about_death_helps_you_live_a_better_life

https://www.ted.com/talks/katrina_spade_when_i_die_recompose_me

I am scattered, trying to find my way. 

"You must go in quest of yourself, and you will find yourself again only in the simple and forgotten things. Why not go into the forest for a time, literally? Sometimes a tree tells you more than can be read in books… "    —Carl Jung

Yesterday, I took Sebastian to Tower Hamlets Cemetery Park (London) for a forest camp. The park is wild and beautiful albeit eerie - like a scary setting in a Halloween movie - and reminds me once again of my mortality. 

And yet I feel content and so lucky to lead the life I'm leading. I flew from San Francisco to London a few days ago after spending time with my daughter and getting to know my youngest grandson. Six months after my last visit, he talks in complete sentences and we can communicate. He is one smart cookie with a mind of his own, and being two issues an emphatic "no" often. Gill is a gentle mother and only stern with Wilder when it is absolutely necessary. 

I love my daughter and she loves me and cannot imagine the world without me. 

 

I apologize. This once again is a simple blog. I spent a few days with Seb, my middle grandson - another charmer with a mind of his own - and Brendan and Jane who are dear to my heart too, and I have just repacked my suitcase to begin the trek back to France. This time, I am hitching a ride with a friend. We will take an overnight ferry and then drive for hours. 

Seaside, California

 

                                                                                             
 

I am slowly finding the rhythm of Gill's family - at times frantic and how can it not be with a curious two+ year old here, there, and everywhere? He is the apple of his parents' eyes, and is so damn cute that the world is his oyster, gaining smiles wherever he goes. He is also a handful with a mind of his own and when I'm in charge, he needs my full attention to keep him safe.

I observe my daughter. She is a good mother, wife, daughter, wellness coach and business owner. A whirlwind. I would like her to slow down but she cannot so I've been doing what I can to help but it seems like too little and it's making me anxious.

This week Wilder's schedule changes. He is in daycare four days a week so I should have time to complete what I need to do in regards to my own life and finances. I need help but I think I need to wait until I am in Vancouver and can talk to my accountant and bank people. 

I am weary of travel and yet I catch so many glimpses of beauty that I don't want to stop. I have to glue myself to a chair wherever I am and plan so I am not so scattered and have more interesting thoughts.  

Saatchi Gallery, London

The main exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery is about flowers as they are an integral part of our lives. We have flowers decorate at weddings and funerals. We send them to express love. We use them to beautify our living space, our gardens, our clothes, and our advertising. 

My friend Maureen and I took a stroll through this gallery and admired drawings, paintings, sculptures, Mary Quant fashion, record covers, film clips of flowers awaking and wilting but one installation by Rebecca Louise Law "La Fleur Morte 2025" appealed to me the most:

The artist writes that "La Fleur Morte explores the place between life and death. By memorializing nature, the work invites contemplation of our human connection to this earth through flowers. 

I look at preserved flowers and I see time.

I see survival.

I see life.

And I see death.

But there is a spiritual place.

In-between.

A place we can connect.

A place we can value.

A place we can stop

And think

And be."

Bad Sisters

I had such an endearing time with my three sisters. (The oldest sister was not present because she is difficult and has early Alzheimer's.) I spent time alone with Gael (at the far left on the photo) and then we flew to Regina, met up with Maggie (far right) and surprised our baby sister for her birthday. We all wore horns in keeping with the theme "Bad Sisters". At first I felt a little silly but most people gave us a big smile. One woman asked if we were horny. She also said that we looked as if we were going to have a better time than she was with her boyfriend. That gained a laugh. I think this a good reason to be sillier in public, a little wilder.

Bev has a beautiful cottage on Lake Katepwa, an hour from Regina. (Over thirty years ago, I flew in with Gilly for Bev's wedding. When we arrived, Gill laughed and said wasn't it strange that they call a city after a woman's private parts. Since then, we call the city Vagina. 

There is something free and easy being with siblings. I was always the first one up thus the only one to see the glorious sun rises. I could greet the day with a little Tai Chi and then clean the kitchen (my job) and sit and do a jigsaw or read, waiting for the others to rise. Bev or Gael always made breakfast. I only here pause and wonder what Maggie did. Doesn't matter. We flowed together. Nothing was a big deal. And most important, the birthday girl was overjoyed and overwhelmed that we all flew in for her. 

I love my sisters. 

Two Years Past

I'm a tortoise. 

I was in London on June 11 and Brendan mixed margaritas in Rob's honour, and we drank I have no idea how many. I woke the next morning fuzzy headed and cried.

I am surprised that two years have passed and although I have struggled doing Rob's chores as well as my own, I have coped. I am a little more accepting that our relationship wasn't perfect and underneath the married dialogue, we admired and trusted each other beyond measure. I wish that we could have talked more, made love more and that I had barked less and been kinder. Still I am grateful that our highs were pretty damn spectacular. 

I posted this video on Facebook because I want him to know he is not forgotten and I wanted to publicly acknowledge this. I have watched this slideshow over and over and what I keep seeing is his arms draped round me. His sister said that I was the love of his life. I see now that he was the love of mine.

I will forever be grateful for that last kiss. 

You and me

Sittin' in the back my memory
Like a honey bee
Buzzin' 'round a glass of sweet Chablis
...

Soul to soul

Heart to heart

And cheek to cheek
Come on baby
Give me a kiss
That'll last [a lifetime]

(Long Monday by John Prine)