A friend sent me a picture of what appeared to be a snowy enchanted forest this morning. She lives just about as far from where I live as anyone can and still be in the continental United States. So I sent her a picture of what my yard looked like at that moment.
Not very enchanted, is it? Well, the cardinal has scarlet magic. And the chickens have their own pragmatic voodoo but overall, it's just a gray, wet, rainy day in North Florida.
I haven't been able to figure out my mood today. I do not feel especially depressed. Maybe a little. And maybe a tiny bit anxious. Some sadness but not about anything in particular. Perhaps it was the dream I woke up from this morning. Lately when I've dreamed of my mother, she has become a more glamorous character than she ever was in real life. Beautiful hair and lovely figure and very fine clothes. Somehow there is a storyline wherein she is married to a man who is and who is not my stepfather. I could probably sort this all out if I really thought about it. But they travel a lot, my mother and this man, and they are spending vats of money I didn't know she had. Always her money, not his. And I get so angry at her, whether for all of this expensive galavanting or because she appears to be so young and carefree or because her house has become filled with trash and items hoarded by the man, I do not know.
Perhaps all of that.
I know I cannot stand the man. I abhor him. And I tell her that.
In this morning's dream we were at a family reunion of sorts. My cousins and my uncles (her brothers) were there and in the presence of all of them she told me, "I knew."
"You knew what?" I asked her.
"I knew he was abusing you."
I was stunned. Not because she had known, but because she had admitted it.
Well. Once again- no need to call Freud.
So yes, that could be the reason I have been in such a strange mood and then I spent the entire day listening to the tying up of the impeachment trial and then the vote and although it was exactly what I had expected, I was still flattened. Perhaps because there is a part of me which does still believe in magic, in fairness, in justice.
In my country.
Silly me. Grow up, little girl. Grow up.
And there is another part of me which thinks I probably wasted an entire day listening to it all, hoping for a different outcome despite knowing there would not be one. I did work on August's blanket but that too, is rather depressing. My embroidery looks like a five year old child did it. And as I hold the blanket and push the needle in and out, my left wrist hurts and I am reminded of my age and of all the injuries that have befallen me. There are lumps and knobs in my joints and knuckles now that amuse and astound me, both.
My ribs ached this morning when I woke up. I am learning that rainy days will do that.
And this is where I turn and say, "But. However. And yet."
And list all of the ways that I am so very, very lucky and so very, very blessed.
And I am and I know it and I am grateful.
But some days you just have to sit with the feelings and fullness of it all. To let it pierce the armor of blessings and goodness and gifts and feel it. To gently rock your own heart in your own arms and then tenderly replace it in your chest when it is quieted.
The rain is falling gently, gently. It is not cold, it is not warm. It is not day, it is not yet night. I am not especially happy nor am I deeply unhappy. I am certainly not feeling joyful but I am not overly sad. I am at once content and itchy with discontent. I am blessed but I am in no way special.
I am a human being. I am a woman in her sixties watching and noting with sometimes dispassionate observance of how she is slowly becoming old. I am aware that the same soul which inhabited me when I was a child inhabits me still. I am a woman whose granddaughter's soul is the same one which will live within her when she is my age.
As I write this there is another (the same?) male cardinal on the feeder, taking his evening meal in the drizzle.
This is life in Lloyd tonight.