Time and understanding

Yesterday, we went to a family reunion and birthday party for Gramma; she will be 105 in about a week. She is doing amazingly well; she has some trouble hearing, which she finds frustrating, but her mind is as sharp as ever.

Still - at 105 - she knows that her time is running out; she's surprised that she's lasted this long. She doesn't necessarily expect to wake up when she goes to sleep each night, and one of these days, she won't. She's very matter-of-fact about that. She has come to terms with the eventuality of death; she has an understanding of it that I am not able to accept.

I've mentioned before that the concept of mortality has begun to slap me around a bit; yet, when I look at Gramma, I'm faced with the fact that I'm only a little bit more than half-way to her age. There's no guarantee I've got her life expectancy, of course; but neither can I focus on the possibility of dying for the next 52 (or more!) years. It's still time for me to work on being alive.

I may grow hard of hearing; I may not be able to do the things I can do today at some time in the future, but I can do them now.

105 years and counting.

Opening and closing

This year has been a year of change for me; physical changes to be sure; but emotional and life changes, too. I've been trying things that I've always wanted to do, but didn't have the nerve to do, and I have been working on getting healthy and strong.

As the year winds down, I'm really feeling the changes; I've let go of some things, and opened up room for others, yet unknown. Letting go can be very painful; not just for the one who lets go, but for others, who don't want to let go. That's the hardest part of letting go; sometimes other people feel hurt.

I wish I could please everyone all the time, but I can't. I've spent about 50 years trying, and have recently come to the reluctant conclusion that I must let go of that need in me to please others; I must, finally, be true to myself. And so, I've opened another door, cleared out some more space in my life, made some more room for something that will be a better fit for me.

When I did that, a door closed behind me.

It happens sometimes. It's sad; but it also makes me very grateful for the times when the door wasn't closed behind me; grateful for the friends who understand that sometimes we need to walk in different directions in order to meet up again and share our stories. Those people are rare and precious jewels; I treasure them, and love knowing that we will always be close in our hearts, even if life has taken us in very different directions.

You know who you are. I love you always.

Check in

It's been nine months since I started dieting, and I've been on a plateau for the last two or three months. Maybe even longer than that, actually. It's sort of hard to tell, since I'm still refusing to step on the scale.

You see, I'm dreadfully competitive. If I were to purchase a scale and use it, I would fixate on the number I saw there; I would weigh myself daily, and put the number in a spreadsheet. I would analyze it, and I would want to see results.

I can't do that to myself any more; it's not productive and it only serves to make me unhappy. But I know myself too well to think that I could make myself stop if I ever let a scale into my life.

How do I know I'm on a plateau? My clothes. My belt has been on the same notch for so long that it's starting to wear. I haven't needed to move down a size for quite awhile. I'm not gaining, so I'm not complaining.

Much.

But I would love to get off this plateau and lose the rest of the weight. Ideally, before my one year anniversary. But I'm not going to stress too much about it; I'm committed to living a healthy lifestyle, and I've been doling that. Instead of counting the pounds or the sizes, I'm keeping track of my exercise routines and staying away from the sugar.

I'm still at it so I'm calling this month a success.

Once more, with feeling

I'm studying voice, and I've reached the hard part: my teacher wants me to sing with feeling.

You see, I'm a living, breathing, walking contradiction. I'm a very emotional person who presents a very even-keeled view of myself to the world; I've spent the past 50-plus years making my shell stronger, smoother, and harder. I don't share my feelings; I'm calm. I'm rational. I handle things.

I do my feeling in private.

How can this be the next step? It's not fair. I love the technical aspects of singing: it's fun to find the perfect pitch, to feel my voice resonating with the guitar or the piano, to make the sound waves match up; I like my breathing exercises; I like learning where my lips, tongue, epiglottis and breath need to go to make a good sound; I revel in warm-up exercises and am startled when I lay claim to a new, even higher, note. I'd be perfectly comfortable staying in this analytical phase forever.

But no.

Apparently, music is about feelings. About sharing feelings. About communicating feelings. I'm having trouble with that; I'm not sure I remember how to do that; I know I'm not comfortable doing that.

But I'm going to try.

Step one is this post; you're not only getting my confession; you're getting a piece of my abstract art. I loved painting abstracts; I loved shutting off my brain and letting my emotions fill the canvas. It was the one thing I let myself do that was completely irrational. But even that became too difficult for me; I set down my paints over 20 years ago.

Today I thought I'd try an abstract in Photoshop. It may not taste like paint, but the feeling is still there.

Remembering why I do this

Here's a shot of my bead mat, as it is this very moment. As you can see, I'm building some components; I don't know yet if they will turn into a bracelet or a necklace, I'm just playing with shiny things today.

I've been at loose ends this summer; I haven't been my usual, driven self. You may have noticed that I haven't written many new tutorials lately; I just can't seem to get myself settled down to draw diagrams, or write directions. I have several projects waiting to be written up, but i've found a million excuses to do something - anything - else. When my resistance to something is this high, I've always found that it's best not to force it; time and tides have a way of coming around again, and I'm sure that one of these days I will wake up and begin writing and drawing diagrams like a madwoman.

But not today. Today I am playing with shiny things.

It's been a rough year; mortality has reared its ugly head, and I've had to face the fact that things change and I won't live forever. Not that I really ever thought I would, but it's just not as abstract a concept as it used to be. No matter how I slice it, I'm in the second half, or maybe even the last quarter. This year, I committed myself to eating properly and exercising; I know it won't make me immortal, but I'm hoping that being in better shape physically will keep me from facing some of the physical problems and limitations I've seen recently in the people I love.

I want to keep playing for a long time yet.

That's why I make jewelry; I like to play. I like to experiment; I like to build things. I like to put beads together, one at a time, and I love shiny, sparkly things. Today I'm playing with gold-plated Delicas, rivolis, an exorbitant number of bitty little Swarovski crystals, and faceted ruby rondelles. You know: all the good things that I haven't used because they were expensive and precious.

I'm using them today.

Because life is short, and everything can all change in an instant, I'm going to start using up all the expensive, too-good-to-use beads.

This is my time.