I WEPT.  I WAILED.    

May 31st the moving van pulled away from my Whitefish house.  Karen, my sweet friend, started cleaning and I, without a look back or a twinge of regret, wearily climbed into my '87 Vanagon full of plants and some 'last stuff' and headed south.

It was so easy.  It was so nonclimatic.  Just another drive towards Kalispell.

I was heading 'home.'

No bells or whistles.  No breaking out in song.  No jivin' in the car seat.

The most natural drive in the world.

I stopped in Missoula at the Good Foods store and picked up some healthy treats for dinner on the road.  It started pouring, thundering.  "It's okay,"  I thought, "I'm only going as far as Darby.  Not over Lost Trail Pass tonight where it could be snowing."  My VW was pretty loaded and I didn't want to tax it or me at our ages.

Only had an hour and a half more to go….maybe two with all the road work.  Then I could eat and go to bed.  

I don't remember when I have been so bone weary.  So utterly physically and emotionally exhausted.  

(Well, actually…yes, I do.  It was during my initial separation from my husband at the beginning of our divorce process.  I was teaching high school. So exhausted that I would sleep under my desk during lunch and prep period just to keep going.  That was in 1986.)

So.  Not this tired for twenty-five years.

But.

I was heading 'home.'

I pulled into the sweet little individual cottage I had reserved in Darby.  Still pouring.  Grabbed my food and small bag and went in.  Ate.  Happened to catch a new episode of Glee…very fun.  Then crashed.

Awoke early with yet again some recurring diarrhea and upset stomach which I had been attributing to an incredibly stressful month trying to cope with discovered mold during my house inspection (the dryer vent had fallen off the pipe in the crawlspace creating a perfect petri dish all winter!), fearful the buyers might change their minds, worried of the domino effect with the condo I had committed to buy in Idaho should that happen, the coordination of Montana closing date with the moving van with the closing in Idaho. 

Craziness.  

I 'knew' this move had to be now or never if I was going to have the energy and stamina for risk taking.  I 'knew' even if I moved now there may be a price to buy.

The body.  It usually seems to be our physical health that pays that price, yes?

Ate a banana slowly, cautiously, tentatively.

Lost it just before starting out.

But. 

I was heading 'home.'

In the five years I lived in Montana I would always take this route if heading south anywhere so that I could drive through, and sometimes stay in, Ketchum,  where I had lived for 20 years, 20 years ago.  Where my heart has truly been ever since.  Where I hadn't wanted to leave after my divorce and yet knew I must.  'Life' was calling me for new experiences, new growth.  The unknown adventure.  My next step.

So traveling south on 93 to Idaho one must go over Lost Trail Pass.  Not an easy pass from October to June because you could hit snow and ice unexpectedly and it  has a steep grade and elevation gain both sides.  This day was turning out clear and that would not be a problem for which I was grateful being in my faithful yet old VW.

The Montana/Idaho state line is at the summit of this pass and in times past dropping over to the Idaho side and most especially catching the first sight of the waters of the north fork of the Salmon River, I would mostly deny that my heart always leaped and I felt an emotional reaction.  I would just appreciate the state change and keep driving.

But.

This day.

This day was different.

I was heading 'home' and somewhere in my body was the cellular, even molecular, knowing.

At the first sight of the small rushing winter melting Salmon River...I cried out.  

My mouth simply opened and a wail burst forth.  I started spontaneously weeping.

Neither was to be voluntarily stopped or lessened.  I pulled over two or three times thinking that might help.  It was temporary.

Until I saw a hillside of purple lupine.

Until I saw my first prairie dog.

Until I saw golden mules ear.

Until I smelled the sage.

Until I saw a once visited camping site.

Until I saw a long forgotten memory in my mind.

What I saw I was.  

I wept.  I wailed.

Unceasingly the forty miles to the town of Salmon.

I pulled myself emotionally spent from the van to get fuel.  Rushed instead inside where I vomited and had diarrhea…tricky choices occurring.

Bought a coke hoping to settle my system, fueled the van and somehow continued driving.

It is another three hours from there to Ketchum.  And.  Time seemed nonlinear.

I really cannot explain what was occurring for me, to me and yet, simultaneously, not me.   A catharsis not experienced since some intense personal workshop processing nearly 20 years earlier.

I felt like my DNA was remembering where I was supposed to be.  What I was supposed to be.  Where I naturally syncopated with the energy.  Where my vibration was matching the vibration of my 'right place.'  

It was like my body was throwing off, getting rid of anything that wasn't truly 'me.'  But also like there was no me, and everything was me?

In that three hours, my weeping, wailing episodes unexpectedly surfaced until that episode seemed over, that memory, that grief, that sorrow, that fear, that regret, that relief, that joy was processed???

Twenty years of living, twenty years of 'paying due diligence', twenty years of karma, twenty years of …..what?

...before I could come back 'home.'

The grief.  The pain.  The relief.  The joy.  The gratitude. 

Seemed intrinsically and equally exquisite.

Was 'home' just simply coming to my true self?  A recognition?

What is 'home' really about?  Metaphysically?  Karmically?  Geographically?  Historically?  Spiritually?

I don't know if I will ever really truly understand my experience.

It was powerful.  It was real.  It was ineffable. 

The best I can express is that "home and who/what I am" reunited after a long, even somewhat, unconscious separation.

I am deeply humbled.

And deeply grateful.

To "be" who/what/where home is.

70 to -19 Wind Chill

Baja to Montana.

Culture shock.

That's what that is.

Does 70 to -19 also mean seventy years old minus nineteen equals fifty-one years old?  Maybe in someone else's life!  Not mine.

I haven't written because, frankly, I have been 'speechless.' 

Silenced.

Humbled.

It was/is a mile marker.

For me.

It is snowing right now.  Snowed last night several inches.  Left my world in a 'new winter sleep.'  Quiet.  Waiting.  To be 'kissed by the sun' in some future month.

A good metaphor for me right now.  I feel somewhat dormant.  

Caterpillar-like.

Quietly, gently, gestalting what is true for me.

Now.

Earthshaking.

Yet not.

Am finding what a relief it is to not believe much of anything.  Have read, heard, for years:  Let all your beliefs go.  

No easy thing.  That.  

Yet, also...surprisingly seamless.

At the Course In Miracles Academy years ago, we used to say:  "Goodie, I am wrong...again!"

Was hard.  At first.  The ego doesn't like to admit being wrong.  Ever.

But.  Now.  Truly.  What a relief it is.

To be wrong.

I don't have to 'take a stand.'  A position.  Defend.  Anything.

I know nothing...for sure.

Only.  That I seem to be 'self aware.'

Nothing.  For sure.  Beyond that.

I can just be.

I can just do what I do.

Not for a reason.  But.  Just because I happen to do it.

And that, surprise of all surprises, seems to work.  

Just fine.

More than 'just fine.'

I feel like I am in the flow of life.  Have actually pulled the oars in and am going where the current takes me.  

Choosing that adventure.  That unknown.  See where that takes me.

I was planning on going to Vietnam.  Now not.  No real reason.  The current just shifted.  I now may go to Toronto?  

I guess I will go where I go!

ahhhhhhhhhhh 

I love the 'don't have to' of my life.

And guess what?

I now ski for FREE!  

What a fun perk.  What a fun 'don't have to' if I don't want to without feeling guilty of wasting ski pass money!

Is now the 'free' feeling I get when skiing....magnified.

My new metaphor for living.  

That free, quietly exhilarating, dance down the mountain.

Rather than the difficult, stressful, trek up.

I'VE HAD MY RUN.

So many thoughts, ideas, feelings to express.  And in one writing no less!  Good luck with that being journalistic material!

Oh well.....who cares?

Not me.

Anymore.

Am leaving Baja early....a trip to Vietnam in early March with my way adventurous travel buddies just popped on the screen!

So.  Life keeps happening.  I will now spend my 70th birthday in the town where I was born!  Go figure.  Feels quite right actually.  And will be with my daughter and sister then which also feels quite right actually.

A girlfriend just wrote and said she never thought she would say Bonnie and Hanoi in the same sentence.

Me neither.

But.

Why not?

I've had my run I have decided.

What freedom that idea brings.  It doesn't really matter when/where/how I die now.

Whatever I was 'going to do in life' I have probably done.  

At least the 'pressure' to do something, to be someone is finally gone for me.

Thank you, God!

Truly.  This aging, this reaching this winter season of my life, the acceptance of that is really quite liberating.

And.  I hadn't really been fully conscious that I had accepted it until recently.  

Like.

Yesterday!

When talking to a dear like-minded aging girlfriend  who had called after a deer hit her while leaving black ice Montana on her way to San Diego.  She was relating that the whole experience was just somehow...okay.....she saw that it was going to happen, couldn't hit the brakes because of the ice, and the deer hit the car, bounced up onto the hood, hit the passenger side of the window which shattered, landed on the other side and ran off.  She was able to continue driving after having the car checked for alignment and am sure was quite the spectacle on the Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, San Diego freeways!

But basically her experience was:  well, hmmmmm....wonder if this is it?

That's how life feels to me now.  Detached.  In most ways.

Not flat line.

Not indifferent.

Just.

Not particularly interested anymore.   Impassioned anymore.  Certainly not striving anymore.

Not planning on 'meeting a man' anymore.

My friend and I admitted that we really don't like 'anyone' anymore.

Except ourselves, of course!

And isn't that the sustaining truth?

Surprise surprise......

I LOVE 'ME' BEST OF ALL!

And honestly.....don't we all?  We are THE HEROES of our life, of our story, of our dream.  We are who we truly watch out for.  Make sure desires are satisfied for.

Be it food, shelter, clothing....you name it ...are for.

Isn't it a shame that all this freedom, this honesty seems wasted on the 'old?'

How liberating it would have been to 'get this' when thirty, forty.  How much more relaxing and enjoyable life would have been knowing that all the ambition, all the striving, all the identity seeking doesn't mean squat.  

Zip.

Zero.

Nada.

This poem by Mary Oliver seems timely:  Wild Geese

"You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting..

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things."

So.

Since I've had my run.

I'm going to "let the soft animal of my body love what it loves" from now on.

Without guilt.

With self compassion.

With.

Abandon.

I love you....

BUT I LOVE 'ME' BEST!

Phew. I Made It! (...said from the deathbed)

In my last post I mentioned 'posting' this chapter from my book, Am I Dead Yet?
It still seems up for me, this illusive idea of some sort of survival mechanism from death?
...So, here it is.

(P.S...all my prompts for my blog are now in Spanish!!! So I am never 'really' sure quite what will happen!)   :0)


PHEW:

Phew.  I made it! (said from the death bed)

Isn't it interesting that we spend so much, all?, of our lives trying to survive so that we can be relieved on our death bed that we made it?!

Maybe this is a futile attempt at expressing the unexpressable.

But.

I watched my father...I could use me and may...and, right now, I'll use him.

I watched my father, after mom died, go to heroic lengths to finally 'make it' to his death bed....heroically!  (See:  "Well Guys, I'm Going To Die Tonight.)

He pool exercised, often twice a day, even in 58 degree water to 'outsmart', to beat, the effects of Parkinsons, the effects of the aging body of a 90+ year old.  He had regular deep body work with a friend of mine which often left him exhausted.  He went to physical therapy.  He begged his neurologist  to have him be a guinea pig for experimental brain surgery.  He would have done ANYTHING to prolong "making it" to his death bed.

Bless his heart.

How I miss this man.  Love this man.  Because of this I think he is with me more than when he was here.

One talks about 'Keep on keeping on'.  He was the king of keep on keeping on.  He was the model for 'passion for life'.  

How could I possibly judge him?

Why would I?

Did I?

Yes.

I did.

Near the end.  Certainly, the last year.

Dad, let go.  Give it up.  You won't win this battle.

SO much will to live.  Like the new young tree growing out of the seemingly dead stump.

Reasons to live.  The last one:  buy a new helicopter for the business.  It wasn't about rationale.  It was about a reason to live.  Something to look forward to.  Scorpio intensity.  He could sit in it.  He could be a passenger in it.  Heartwrenchingly, he could not fly it.

I think he ran out of reasons to perpetuate himself:

---Burt, the quintessential pilot.

---Burt, the quintessential employer.

---Burt, the generous father, grandfather, great grandfather.

---Burt, the willing guinea pig.

---Burt, the battler of Parkinsons.

---Burt, the battler of aging.

---Burt, the buyer of new helicopters.

What happened?

Was it running out of reasons?

Did he just finally get tired?

Finally see the futility?

Made a decision to stop?

Stop trying to 'make it' til the death bed?

Let whatever Burt was, go?

Bless his heart.

Bless his heart.

Bless his heart.

Bless our hearts.

Bless my heart.

Bless your heart.

Is this the 'die before you die'?

I think so.

Yes.  

Can I?

Die before I die?

Stop?

Quit trying to 'make it'? 

In Baja & Nearing Seventy

Well, here I am again, in warm, sunny Todos Santos.

Ahhhhh.

From -5 to 68.  From white/grey to technicolor.

Flowers, birdsong (yes, roosters, too), hummingbirds, open windows/doors, palms rustling, waves crashing, aromas, t-shirt pjs, dirt roads/pot holes, and retraining about not throwing t.p. into toilets!

From wearing 'chains' on shoes to wearing nothing on feet.

From cautious stepping to mindless wander.

Liberation.

Freedom.

And yet.

Uncannily, experiencing "Ground Hog Day" movie.

"Been there.  Done that.  Again."

Life seems to be that in most ways for me of late.

Rereading: I AM THAT (talks with Sri Nisargadatta Majaraj).   And.  Am revisiting, again.  Remembering, again.  That this world is a dream of my own making.  An illusion.

Some excerpts:

"To crave is to slave.

Everything happens by itself, quite spontaneously.

To want nothing and do nothing--that is true creation.

To watch the Universe emerging and subsiding in ones' heart is a wonder.

When effort is needed, effort will appear.

You need not push life about.  Just flow with it and give yourself completely to the task of the present moment, which is the dying now to the now.

For living is dying.

Without death life cannot be.

Don't be afraid.  Don't resist, don't delay.

Be what you are.

There is nothing to be afraid of.

Trust.

Give your real being a chance to shape your life.

You will not regret.

The Universe of Pain is born of Desire.  Give up the desire for pleasure and you will not even know what is pain."

on and on............

So.

Here am I.  With some time to contemplate.  Reflect.  Remember.  From Whence Am I.

To once again.

Surrender.

This life we live.  This self-awareness we have.  This apparent duality.

What a thing it is.

Before leaving Montana, a dear friend visiting her family, asked me:  What is it like nearing seventy?  What are you feeling?  Thinking?

Provocative questions.

I am noticing several things.

My temptation to keep trying to 'be somebody.'  Establish a viable identity.  Like 'be a Human Design Analyst.'  Like 'DO' something in the world.

Have noticed feeling more and more 'invisible' as I age.  In social environments, noticing that if I am quiet....I am not noticed.  Engaged.  Unless I initiate.

I think in our primarily narcissistic culture with so much focus on being/looking eternally young that our elderly are not as honored, respected, included as in other cultures.  And that is even changing as those cultures are westernizing.  Having 'the reflection of aging' front and center just brings our mortality to close to home.  Too painful to accept somehow.  So.  Need to avoid that reflection?

It has not been without some effort, some struggle, to surrender to this aging process.  To no longer being middle aged. The mirror is not so friendly.   The uphill grade when hiking not so friendly.  The subtle and not-so-subtle memory challenges not so friendly.  The wearing out of body parts not so friendly.  

I am noticing that the idea of death doesn't bother me so much.  The idea of the process of dying is not so friendly.  But how else are we gonna get outta here?

More.

The idea of more is up to consider.

More time so that I can see the grand girls grow up.  Whom they become.  Whom/if they marry.   More time to watch my son, my daughter's lives unfold.  Yet that inkling of fear for them.   What trials ahead?

Maybe I will post  the story:  "Phew, I Made It" from my book.....seems timely.   It's like:  Phew, I made it.....without (fill in the blank) happening.   Phew, 'they' made it without......     Made it.....where?  To 'their' deathbeds?   

Crazy world, this.

Crazy mind, mine.

I think I have decided to do nothing.

Do what shows up to do.  

Not strive anymore.

Try that.

See what happens.   What life brings to me.  Without me trying to bring it to me.

Not strive to return to Idaho.  Not strive to sell houses.  Buy houses.  Move.

See what the flow of life brings to me.

Do what I do.

"Give my real being a chance to shape my life."

Experience that.

Just.

Stop.

Trying.

And.

See what happens.

Feliz Ano, all.

Besos y Abrazos!

"Potpourri"

Wow...where did ten days go?????

Have several thoughts popping into my mind to share so decided to call this posting 'potpourri'.  I don't think I have ever had occasion to write that word before.  Went to my dictionary...tried several ways to look it up, but not po't'.  Had to call my editor girlfriend to find out.  How does someone learn our language?  My my.

Well. 

So far there are four of us who learned how to swim in Fleischacker Pool! Isn't that a kick? Three of us live in Whitefish!  Have been sent very fun links to revisit Playland in S.F.  The Fun House with it's scary red haired laughing lady, the 'record player' wooden disk you were thrown from as it turned faster and faster (only the lucky person who pushed and fought to sit in the exact center survived). The thrilling steep undulating slides with scratchy burlap bags which were usually lost on one of the dips.  The very scary wooden old old old roller coaster.  omg.. I think about how unsafe it was and shutter.  But, oh, was it so exciting!  I could go on and on...but won't.  

The 'matching' of stories in the grandmother posting was quite wonderful.  I had so many emails and a few posted comments (some of you are getting more brave!) on how the writing brought back many many long forgotten memories.  I am so glad.

My grandmother used to tell me how important the memories would be.  I didn't really believe her or understand in my youth with the exciting unknown ahead of me. 

But.  

I understand now.  

Now they are quite important.

Soon I will write more about this.

Soon I will be seventy.

That I will write about.

Soon.

Speaking of posting comments....I have found that I don't like the word: "Followers." (which shows on the blog site).

Who wants to be a 'follower?'  

Not me.

'Friend.'

Yes.

'Fan.'

Maybe.

I don't blame any of you for not wanting to sign up as a "Follower!"

I may write blogspot and complain.

Christmas.

How was yours?

Mine was.....

Quite sweet in ways.  Secure and familiar in some of the traditions.

Crab and spring rolls on Christmas Eve.  (Used to be Mexican Chalupa when my home was 'home base'....divorce changes all that, ya know.)

But no more "snow/rain dances" with my brother in law.  (At our home base, there was copious drinking and much dancing.  Reverent, it was not.)

Morning Mexican food breakfast (that hasn't changed...having gin-fizzes first thing has!)  My my...

This year some key family members needed to be with siblings to connect for a probable 'last' Christmas with their mother, the matriarch, who will be moving on soon.

So.

My daughter in law's mother and I joined several friends for Christmas dinner.  

(Have not done that but once when my husband and I separated and it wasn't possible to travel to family.)

It was a delightful evening.  There were ten of us.  A 'different kind of family'.

Communal. Sweet.

And.

It also felt.......

Strange.

Am finding as I age that one, I, must become even more flexible, even more unattached to the way things 'were.'  Let go of my ideas of how things 'should' be.  Even more let go of  knowing what is 'supposed' to happen.

Just.

Let go.

Trust.

Be.

Okay.

With 'what ever' is happening in my life.

My my.

Grandmothers.

Were yours in your life?

I was so blessed.  I had both.  My dad's mom for a short time and my mom's for a long time.

Della, my dad's mom, sustained a stroke and that was limiting.  But she still made apple fritters almost every time I saw her!  My most vivid memory. 

My mom's mom my sister and I called Ga.  She didn't seem to mind.  

My mom and dad managed the small airport in Quincy in northern California.  It was pretty busy in the summer with tourists and fire season and because my sister, five years older, really hated having to take care of me I was put on the Zephyr in Keddie and had a glorious train trip to San Francisco (where Ga lived) sitting in the observation car.  There I would spend my summers.  (not in the observation car, but in SF!).

There was my dentist.  There Josephine Pomilla, same birth date as mine, lived on the corner.  There I learned to swim in Fleischaker Pool (was the biggest outdoor pool in the world.  more later.)  There Ga made my clothes for the next school year.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

Ga and I would go downtown (she and my step grandfather lived out on Ulloa about twenty blocks from the beach) to shop for fabric in Macy's basement bargains.  We always wore a hat and gloves!  We would take the bus and street car to this destination.  We would also always buy a gardenia (now my all time favorite flower) at a flower stand on Union Square.  Ten cents!   And, after sometimes walking for hours, we would go back to Macy's basement, take off our shoes and have a foot massage on the 'foot massage machine.'  Ten cents!

Ga was an amazing seamstress.  I was the best dressed girl at school.  She even made my sister's wedding dress.  I remember going to stores like Saks where my sister tried on gorgeous expensive gowns and in the dressing room Ga would be measuring 'nose to fingertips'  fabric volumes and taking quick little notes in her notebook.  The end result was this beautiful gown of white organdy, one layer of pink underneath,  delicate lace bodice and trim, pearl buttons down the entire back.  She totally disappeared in a cloud of white and pink working at the sewing machine.  The gown was stunning.  And unique.  My sister wore it.  Ga altered it for my wedding.  And it was altered for all three of my sister's daughters.  What a legacy.

Canasta!

My grandmother and I would sit out in the backyard in our swim suits, protected from the wind, and play Canasta FOR HOURS!!  I look back on that now and I surely hope she liked playing that game.  If she didn't....those are the kinds of sacrifices loving grandmothers seem to make.

Swimming!

Here I was a small mountain town girl and hadn't learned to swim.  There was only the local creek, Spanish Creek, by the airport, and it terrified me.  So I took lessons at Fleischaker Pool (it is gone now) where the zoo was.  It was enormous.  The lifeguards patrolled it in row boats!!!  There we would be.  I, freezing, in that salt water.  In that creepy creepy dark green slippery water where you dare not put your feet on the bottom...slimy slimy and god only knows what creatures lurked there!  Ga on the other side of a cyclone fence trying to stay warm in her fur coat, so foggy I rarely caught a full glimpse of her, dutifully watching, cheering me on.  

Then.

Lessons would continue in the bathtub at home.  I, still terrified.  Ga, lovingly holding me as I finally learned to float on my back.  (I loved her bathroom.  Was all white tile with those great small black and white octagonal floor tiles.)  And it had a tiny window that when opened you could reach out and touch the house next door!

After I learned to swim, we would go to Sutro Bath House at the Cliff House.  Oh, how I loved that place!  There were several different swimming pools.  A cold one that looked like milk.  A very hot one.  A fairly shallow luke warm huge one with slides and wheels (my favorite!).  And a diving one with even a high dive!  I NEVER went in that one!  The building was magical.  High high glass ceiling.  Many open stories with lots of wonderful and happy large plants everywhere.  I think it burned down many years ago....but the magical memories live on.

I was with Ga when she received the telephone call that my uncle Marion (her son) and NancyAnn (her twelve year old grand daughter) had died in a crop dusting plane accident.  I was too young to really realize what horror that had to be for her.  To lose a son and grand daughter......suddenly.

Ga's mother, Oria, lived with her for many years.  I don't remember much about her except her hair was white and piled high upon the top of her head and she had long long yellow fingernails that curled.  And that she was always very sweet to me.  

One summer Ga and Homer took me to EVERY statue in the San Francisco area!!  I took notes and made a report for school.  Got an A.  :0)

A little segue.

Josephine Pomilla, with the very same birth date, lived on the corner of Ga's block.  We became best friends.  Her family was very Italian.  Her father was a fisherman whose boat was moored at Fisherman's Wharf!!!!  On Saturdays, after Josephine cleaned the toilets ( sometimes I helped her to speed things up), we got to go out on the boat.  Wonderful memories of sourdough bread and salami picnics!  I got to go to a family wedding once and we danced and danced and even had a tiny glass of wine!

When my sister was down she and I would walk (or sometimes take our boards that fit over a roller skate and gleefully zip down those hills) those twenty blocks ALONE to spend the day at the beach and at ' Playland.'  Sometimes we would take money to ride the electric street car back home since it was all uphill.   No cell phones to checkin.  Just carefree childhood living.  

Aren't I so lucky?  To have those wonderful memories.

I had a personal best experience at my grandmother's.  There was a very tall and wide (especially to a little girl) hedge at the bottom of the front stairs up to the house.  The 'big' kids would stand on the wall of the stairs and jump way over the hedge to the grass on the other side.  I never could work up the nerve to do it and was chided often about it by those 'big' kids.  Summer was ending.  My sister had left for home earlier.  I was to leave tomorrow.  I stood on that ledge for probably a half hour.  Almost jumping several times.  My heart in my throat.  My whole body electric....knowing.....I was gonna jump before I left!  Finally, the moment came.  (I can't explain that moment, but I know we all experience it.)  I jumped!  omg...what an experience.  Flying through the air, clearing that wide wide hedge and miraculously landing in one piece on the neighbor's soft damp grass.

I never told anyone.

It was my big secret.

Til now.

I realize I wandered abit with this grandmother storytelling.  But I have to say, this cold gray winter morning sitting with my coffee next to my tiny firestove reminiscing about my grandmother and my memories with her.... has been enchanting.  

I left.. 'here.'

I spent time...again...with her.  I went to all those places.  Had all those experiences.

Again.

They were marvelous.

Thank you for sharing them with me.  I bet you 'matched' your own childhood memories.

Think about sharing them on the blog.  I would love to hear them.

Have a beautiful day.