This perfect weekend is almost over.

I did not have a big expensive party, or dinner or even go anywhere. I stayed home, in my mountain house, all weekend with Lexie, my buddy and sweet friend. We had no visitors and no long phone calls with family or friends. For these two days I was totally mindful, as I understand it.

I did only what brought me joy. 
Listening to the rain and distant thunder gave me a peaceful feeling. Watching the leaves of the oak trees so close to my window as they danced in the wind, wet with the precious rain, made me smile.

Lying on my sofa watching a history-based story with period costumes on my TV with Lexie curled up in the circle made by my knees and the back of the sofa opened my heart and filled it with gratitude for all I have.

Waking in the early morning in my own bed, knowing I could sleep for awhile longer if I wished, with no pressure to get up and do something. What a blessing that is. No one needs me to do anything I don't want to do. I can sleep and sleep is such a healing practice for me. Eight or more hours of sleep banish pain in my body. Works better than pills and shots.

Having time - precious time - to do just what I want to do, reminded me that I have too much going on in my life, going and doing, and I asked myself, "What do I really want to do with the precious life I have left?"

In October I have another birthday, and it is a milestone, marking the weight of the Third Act of Glenda's Life. What will the next year hold for me? Every year I vow to reach out to family and friends, those who live far away and those who live near me. It seems to me, I never do enough. I am always so busy with other things. But I know that whatever I can do to make my loved ones know I care for them and that they are in my thoughts, is more than doing nothing.

One of my favorite things to do is listen to educational podcasts. I did that this weekend. I am a life-long learner, but I would not like to sit in classes for hours a day or be required to write or discuss my thoughts.

Having time to listen to others, agree or disagree with them, was one of the most delightful things about this weekend. I had time to digest what I heard and make up my mind as to what I believed. 

I intentionally avoided the news of the day, of the world, and found my life more relaxed and at peace. Why should I hear all the awful things reported when there is nothing I can do about it? Instead, I listened to music. I danced and I sang. 

I became aware this weekend, alone with my thoughts and with my little Lexie, that the worst of grieving the loss of Barry, my husband of 45 years, is finally beginning to wane and I can finally say, I am happy just being with me and my things in my place. 

I am enough. I don't need anyone else to make me happy or full-filled. Do you feel that way, those of you who have lost your beloved people? 

I knew in the fall of 2009 that I would go on with my life, and that I must do something to fill the time, but must also do something beneficial to others. For ten years I have taught senior adults to write about their lives. I have provided a place for writers to come and learn from excellent poets and writers. I was inspired to teach by my mentor, the late Nancy Simpson, poet and friend.  I was encouraged by other writers and friends and appreciated by many of them. I am grateful to writers, Karen Paul Holmes, Joan Howard, many of my guest instructors, who never fail to let me know their thoughts on what I do. 

Mary Mike Keller and Estelle Rice, visual and literary artists and my best friends, have been there for years through my mourning time and through theirs. How many have friends like that?

Also this weekend, I smiled when I thought of my sister, Gay, who is having the time of her life. She is dancing two or three times each week with wonderful dancers who let her finally do for herself what she always enjoyed most. After years of taking care of loved ones and being there for others, she has made the decision to do what she loves to do. The joy in her voice is exhilarating. It reminds me: We should never think it is too late to follow our dreams. 

It is never too late to make a change in who we are. It is never too late to stop and let life show us who we are and what we really want. Be still and listen. 

So, my dear readers, although you have been there through my pain and sorrow, welcome to my happiness. I hope your weekend has been all you wanted it to be. See you next week when I hope to have my essay on John Cecil Council finished and posted.


Leave me a comment or email me: gcbmountaingirl@gmail.com 

Are you following your dreams, your passions?

The painting above was one my sisters both liked very much. June, my older sister, fell in love with it and had it in her house for a while. Gay has this one and most of my good  paintings.

Going into the painting class the first time, I was terrified. I had never attempted to use oil paint. But the once a week class became a passion that helped my self-esteem, helped me escape from real life, as I painted in class and painted at home, constantly improving until I could see my work was good.

In the 1970's I decided to take painting lessons with a lovely lady named Verna. Little did I know how much she would change my life. I was going through a rough time.

My mother and I had been closer than most mothers and daughters. I visited her almost every day and I could talk to her about everything. My mother had suffered a ruptured aneurysm in January 1975. We had recently moved into the house we always dreamed of building. Life was supposed to be good for us, but my mother needed me and I had vowed if she recovered from the cerebral hemorrhage that almost killed her, I would care for her the rest of her life. 

When she came home from the hospital after three months, she had no short term memory. She had to re-learn who her children were. It was a determined family that would not give up on her. Gay, my younger sister came and spent a month helping get Mother settled in at home. After my sister left, I became the one responsible for Mother's care. I was on call 24/7. I learned all I could about care giving, Mother's illness, diet and her medications. The weight of her care weighed heavily on my shoulders and on my mind.

Depressed and lonely, not working out of the home, I knew I needed to do something that would take me out of my everyday life. My husband's mother was an artist and we had a  number of her paintings in our new house. For a long time, I had thought about taking painting lessons. One day I called Verna and signed up for classes.

I used a little glassed in balcony in our new house high up in the trees as my painting studio. The north light was fabulous. I could leave my canvas on my easel and work on it as I had time. I  love oils for that reason. They take a long time to dry. 

My husband Barry loved my paintings. That pleased me, having grown up in a family where I seldom heard a compliment for anything. Verna asked me to help her judge an art show. I was  overjoyed with her confidence in my ability. It was a day I'll never forget. I still have a small gift I received that day. 

During the ten years of my Mother's illness and my life as a care giver, painting was my absolute passion. I donated a painting to a charity that held a sale at the  local mall. It sold for the price I put on it and, I heard, it was the only painting sold that day. 

Mother died in 1985. I was devastated. Grieving, I felt I had failed as her care giver. Also I was lost with no purpose for my daily life.  

I turned to my writing as  therapy, pouring out all my fears, my sadness, my memories. I stopped painting. It seemed I could not paint and write. This became a period of soul-searching, of deep introspection. My sorrow took over  my life.

In 1988, my father died. I was free to leave south Georgia and we did.

When I moved to our little house in the  mountains, I gave away most of my paintings.

I met and became part of an exciting writing community. I followed my other passion that I had nurtured all my life, writing.

Lately I have entertained ideas of painting again, twenty years after giving it up. I  never lost my eye for scenes I want to paint. I see them everywhere. I often try to capture them with a camera, but have not found the satisfaction I want. 

This is one of the my photographs that hangs on my wall.

My  woods in winter - taken from my deck

I hope we do get to live more than one life. It took me so long to get the courage to follow my dreams and do what I love to do. I think it would be so unfair if, just as I get to the place I can do all these things I love, I would have to leave.

Are you following your dreams, following your passions and doing what you most enjoy? Don't wait. Time flies so swiftly and before you know it, it is too late. I hope you are following your passion, your dream. 

Be Who You Were Meant to Be

I spend much of my time promoting other writers, especially women writers, who will not take credit for their work and be proud of what they have accomplished. It hurts me when women will not or can not see their worth. Is it just in our DNA to downplay ourselves? I don't think so, and I was delighted when I ran across this statement on the subject:

“I now understand that the true measure of womanhood is exactly what I'd avoided for so long—to be filled with all of who I am. Beginning when we are girls, most of us are taught to deflect praise. We apologize for our accomplishments. We try to level the field with our family and friends by downplaying our brilliance. We settle for the passenger seat when we long to drive. That's why, every week, I find my television studio filled with women who tell me they're so concerned with what others think that they've compromised their dreams and completely lost themselves. It's why so many of us have been willing to hide our light. Instead of being filled with all the passion and purpose that enable us to offer our best to the world, we empty ourselves in an effort to silence our critics.

Every time you suppress some part of yourself or allow others to play you small, you are in essence ignoring the owner's manual your creator gave you and destroying your design. What I know for sure is this: You are built not to shrink down to less, but to blossom into more. To be more splendid. To be more extraordinary. To use every moment to fill yourself up.”

Read more of this article here:

http://www.oprah.com/omagazine/What-I-Know-for-Sure-Becoming-Who-You-Are

I was one of those who was so concerned with what others thought that I lost my dreams completely. I lost all confidence in myself -- many times. I floundered when I couldn't be a mother. I was expected to have children as is every woman. I quit going to church on Mother's Day because the pastor always read a scripture that made me feel worthless. He said that the true purpose of woman was to reproduce. All the mothers in the congregation stood and were recognized. (Just one more nail in the coffin of my confidence in organized religion.) 

Teaching little children did not satisfy my need for completion. Once a child left my classroom, he was lost to me and I never knew what became of him. I could not take joy in what I was doing. I became consumed with the troubled kids that I could not fix. I could not go home with them and protect them from all the pain there. I felt I was a failure as a teacher. Looking back, I realize I was a good teacher, but never thought I was good enough. 

So many of my years were wasted before I had the courage to do what I loved, not try to fit a mold made by others. 

 I try to persuade women not to sell themselves short. Follow your dreams and be bold about it. Be proud of all your accomplishments. Don't worry about what others think. When I am told, I can't toot my own horn, I say, then, who is?

This sentence says it all -- Every time you suppress some part of yourself or allow others to play you small, you are in essence ignoring the owner's manual your creator gave you and destroying your design.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OF YOU WHO ARE REGULAR READERS OF WRITING LIFE STORIES AND ESPECIALLY TO YOU WHO LEAVE COMMENTS OR SEND EMAILS.

May 2010 be the year you follow your dreams, recognize your passion and go for it!

And may you succeed in all your endeavors. Remember it is never too late, you are never too old to begin to satisfy a yearning or a need you have harbored for years. Doing so could change your life in a positive way.

Perhaps this is the year you will begin to write about your life.

No one else can tell your story as well as you can. Your efforts will be appreciated by your family and could reach far beyond your circle of friends and relatives.

To get started, you might want to take a writing class. This could be the jump start you need to make a goal to write everyday. You can do it.