A Married Widow


I started up a conversation with her. She was pleasant to speak with and I immediately felt at ease. We introduced ourselves, throwing out the common formalities…where we lived, what we did for work, how many kids we each had and their ages. I added a few bits of information about my husband. She echoed me with her own biographic details, leaving out a description of any significant other.

Absentmindedly, I asked her if she was married. She replied that she once had been married, but that her late husband had left her a widow. Suddenly feeling sorry that I had asked the question, I metaphorically stuffed my foot in my mouth. I quickly offered her my condolences. She laughed, “Don’t feel sorry for me hon. It is better that way.” I nodded, honestly a bit confused.

“When did he die?” I asked.

“Oh,” she patted my hand comfortingly. “My dear, he’s not dead. He just isn’t in my life anymore. He is still very much alive.” Now I was superbly perplexed.

“But I thought you said that he was your late husband? Doesn’t late, mean that he is dead? If he is alive, wouldn’t you use the words, my ex-husband?” She laughed again.

“Honey, I even call him my late husband, to his face. He knows that when he left, that I closed that chapter of my life. He is no ex. He will always be my husband. I will always love him. We are just better apart. Because of this, there is no use for me to live in the past. We were married, he left, now I am a widow.” I marveled at her unique perception of her situation.

Seeing her again the other day, got me thinking about my own life. I too, am a widow. I just happen to still be married to my late husband. He is very much alive. I see him everyday. We are married, but unfortunately he is hardly ever there in spirit, even when he is bodily there in person. He wakes, goes to work and comes home invisible.

A single mother, I live perpetually on my own island, alone.

Being a married widow, I handle all the responsibilities of a household, motherhood, the workforce, chauffeuring, errands, homework, bills, etc…etc…but I also have to continually carry the sign that says, “I’m married and don’t need any help from others, because my husband will take care of me.”  Sigh, big fake SMILE.

Wouldn’t a lost sheep that was found by another be taken in and cared for? A branded one would be returned to its owner though, with no questions asked. What if the sheep had run for help?

So I climb the stairs each day to walk my widow’s walk. I wait and watch for my husband to come home. Maybe someday his ship will come sailing into the harbor. Until that day, I will grieve my loss, think well of my late husband and then move on. The daily tasks greet me each morning. Maybe it is better this way.

The Diamond- poem by my son

Image result for diamond

I am a diamond. I was mined from most deep.

A shovel and pick found something worth to keep.

My master, my miner moored me in his pack.

I followed him home upon his strong back.

I am a diamond. I was placed in his shed,

With other black diamonds surrounding my bed.

I waited in the cold, sparkling the best that I could,

Hoping to be noticed, sitting beside the miner’s wood.

I am a diamond, beautiful and fine.

My shimmer, cut and luster cause me to shine.

I was found with a purpose and made with much worth.

I’m patiently wondering why I was dug from the earth.

I am a diamond, waiting to bring,

A bracelet, a necklace a wedding ring,

To the miner’s wife, to be worn with love,

I am a diamond sent from above.

The miner came near. He grasped me tight.

He rolled me in his hands and held me to the light.

Speaking to me, he said, “Thank you for your role.”

Then he tossed me to the fire, for I wasn’t a diamond, but a piece of coal.

I Am- poem by my son

Image result for i am

I am a hospital, where people heal and grow,

Not hospice, where dying people go.

I am a farm, producing fertile soil,

Not a scammer, whose only work is to toil.

I am a museum, creating works of art,

Not a hunter, who destroys nature’s heart.

I am an engine, roaring loudly to life,

Not a war, which is always full of strife.

I am a symphony, that makes notes fly,

Not a lonely man, waiting to die.

I am a library, with history, adventure and fun,

Not a morgue, where people go after their lives are done.

I am an astronaut soaring into space,

Not a prisoner, forgotten without a trace.

I am a driller digging to the bottom of the world,

Not a bird, whose wings have never been unfurled.

I am words. I am power. I am love.

I am imagination, and everything else above.

I am your friend, so go ahead and take a look.

I am a story, I am a book!


Split Email Personalities

I’ve never succumbed to Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat, or whatever the newest form of social media is out there. I do though, believe that the internet has taken over my life in other ways. I have a sort of multiple personality when it comes to email accounts, that won’t let go of me, or at least the accounts are hard to let go of.

I have three family emails. One that we started out with. It was free. We use that for personal communication with friends. Then the one that we got when we signed up with our telephone company. We use this to give to businesses and keep contact with our church and school. Then one we received when we signed up for our TV. Pretty much we don’t use that one. Hope I don’t have to use it. I have forgotten the password.

I have four personal emails. One is for my work. One is connected to my computer. Don’t know why. My son said I had to have a specific type to link my computer to the internet. One is for my writing projects and one is for my blog.

I have two Face Book accounts and one Word Press Blog.

I have all these and no time to use them. Why can’t I let go? Why can’t I just have one? I do know that when I feel a certain way, I gravitate toward one over the other. Say I want to go to a friend, I go to my family friend account. If I feel like writing, I go to my Word Press or the email connected to it. If I want to connect to my writing self I use yet another. I wonder why I can’t use one for everything?

Maybe I need to give myself permission to jump into another world for awhile. A world where only certain people know me. I know that one of my problems is wanting to be liked by everyone. So if I express myself in certain ways, I need to make sure I don’t make one group of my people mad. So I go to the ones who will listen and accept. Then when I need a different sort of connection I will go to those others who would be bored by my other self.

Sounds sad as I watch myself type these words. I can hear you telling me to just be me and not be worried about who I am to others. The most important thing is that you are true to you. I hear you, but easier said than done. So I continue to split myself and wonder why I am tired.

One small thing

I came home to a flood. The second floor air conditioner had been pouring water nonstop, while we were unaware at work. It seeped it’s way through the wooden floor to the downstairs ceiling.

Digging through the mess under my son’s bed tonight while sopping up the water, we pulled out suitcases, blankets and found baby photo albums. I dropped everything and dragged the photo albums downstairs, dripping as I ran. I tore the cover off from the front of the album. I ripped each paper page from the plastic envelopes that carefully held my treasured photos. I was amazed that not one photo was harmed. (I did find one photo in the back loose, that was damaged beyond recognition. That’s it.)

Here I sit waiting for piles of wet towels to be washed and dried. There are suitcases and blankets all over the house. My ripped pages with photos are draped all over the house to dry the edges before I carefully pull each of them out.

I want to cry for my disaster, but I have to sigh. God watched over what was most important. It could have been worse. I am blessed despite my difficulties.

Great As Is


Today I decide to let go of the, “I am not good enough” chain that I usually wear around my neck.

My deeds have defined who I am. My sacrifices have determined my worth. I give of myself till I’m dry.

If my house is a mess, do not think me lazy.

If I fix frozen pizzas and boxed macaroni and cheese, don’t feel sorry for my kids.

If my bills are late,  my clothes wrinkled and stained and my pile of dishes are higher than the friends that I can count, please don’t sigh for me.

My life is one step in front of the other. That is all I can do. The homework,  the office,  the responsibilities consume. I am but a to-do-list with legs.

I long to stare at a wall, to have no one want anything from me.

I want to be invisible, yet appreciated for who I am.

I desire to magically suspend the balls that I juggle each day.

“Good enough” is a sickness and I want to be free.

Instead, my new operating system says that I am, “Great as is”. No updates are necessary. No Martha Stewart life for me.

Bring on the messy, the late, the I don’t know where I put that.

I choose to never be behind, but exactly be right where I am supposed to be.

I am exchanging my would of, should of, and could of existence for an- I am who I am, and I am proud.

That is me! I am great as is.

Life is a lot like knitting…

20170108_161058I just finished a Saxon Cable Infinity Scarf that I have been working on occasionally over the last two years. I am proud of myself.  I have a lot to learn,  but already I have come to the conclusion that knitting is a lot like life:

1. It takes practice,  patience and persistence.

2. Beauty doesn’t happen overnight.

3. Sometimes it is challenging,  sometimes things fly by smoothly.

4. Things go better for you if you follow the pattern.

5. Mistakes happen.

6. Some mistakes can’t be changed; just accepted.

7. Depending on your perspective, you’ll either see a tangled mess, or a beautiful pattern.

8. You must stop for the knots and tangles. Sometimes you even may have to cut the yarn completely and reconnect to a healthy strand.

9. As long as you are connected to the yarn, you can keep knitting.

10. When you come to a stumbling block it is always wise to ask for help.

11. It is ok to admire your accomplishments and wear them with pride.

12. There is always a new adventure ahead of you,  with endless possibilities to create beauty.