Tag Archives: Awakening

Kinfolk

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My brothers and I are transplants. Our mother’s side of the family came from the Philadelphia area, first emigrated from Italy. My father was from South Georgia. We were transplanted as a result of his Navy career. Growing up just south of the Mason Dixon line, it was easier to see family on our maternal side and we also had the added benefit of having our maternal grandfather live with us. That offered us a built in connection. My father’s side seemed so distant as it was more difficult to maintain that connection. I have shared before that at the age of ten I first read To Kill a Mockingbird. It portrayed the era that my father was raised and I thought reading it was imperative to understanding my southern roots. I will also admit that Gone with the Wind gave me a very inaccurate picture of the environment where my father was raised. He had shared that he grew up on the Colton plantation. What I had envisioned was far removed from the dark brown framed humble abode which was the reality.

With my retirement quickly approaching, I had planned a trip to Savannah, Georgia, as a gift to myself. There was no familial connection to the area yet it was front and center on my bucket list. In conversations with my Georgian cousin we came up with a plan to visit Savannah and then spend time together becoming reacquainted as family. I won’t go into details but that plan was abandoned and I spent my week with family enjoying a long overdue visit. My cousin and I hadn’t seen each other face to face since we were young but our connection has become strong in adulthood. I felt totally comfortable with accepting her offer which embodied perfect southern hospitality. I still have plans to visit Savannah but I thought it was more important to delve deeper into my family’s history.

What did I take away with me? I was already familiar with the red clay and the abundance of pines. Here in the north, we are fortunate not to fall victim to kudzu. This invasive vine can be seen everywhere, as it takes over hills, valleys and fields. The only plus I could grasp was the sea of green it created. Not every neighborhood has a wandering goat but my cousin’s does and I found it delightful. For the first time in my life, I tried boiled peanuts. That might be the last time they cross my palate as I think it takes a considerable amount of time to get use to the texture. I gave all the other southern fare a big thumbs up! Tender baby back ribs and the boiled shrimp was most enjoyable. I learned to appreciate many of the foods as a child since my father introduced it to us as part of our smorgasbord menu growing up. Good fried okra and pimento cheese is not considered a staple here, north of the Mason Dixon line, but I was grateful to find an abundance there. My cousin made a point to expand my sweet tooth and I found buttermilk and chess pies to be a wonderful dessert added as a delicious finish to a meal. It is amazing that we found so much time to talk, and catch up, when she spent so much time in the kitchen, cooking items to expand my horizons and waistline. We have talked about future trips and I hold out for the addition of peach cobbler and corn dogs the next time I am there.

Obviously I enjoyed my time visiting, eating and sightseeing. What I found more gratifying was the opportunity to meet my cousin’s grown children and her grandchildren, her husband and his siblings. It was important to me to understand what I had missed by not growing up there and fill in many blanks, as well as rehash family stories and histories. The last time I made a trip to Georgia I was able to visit with two of my aunts. They have since transitioned and I considered my brief time with them a gift. One expects the loss of their parents, and my aunts’ deaths, although mourned, didn’t come as a shock. What I do find unsettling is the loss of six of my Georgian cousins since my last visit. Little by little, I see time slipping away but I don’t want my southern roots going too. This visit has me reflect on the questions I wished I had asked earlier. In retrospect, I can’t make up for lost time, but I can change the future. Conversations and visits will continue and if they include fried okra and brewed tea, all the better.

Going, Going, Gone

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In an ironic twist, I recently found myself making purchases at both a flea market and an auction. After my last post, More or Less, bringing items into my home appears to be a hypocritical choice. As much as I find it necessary to simplify my life and lessen the load I have collected over the years, I have never lost a certain level of sentimentality for certain items. Our mother, Rita, lived for twenty two years after the death of our father. Her home was filled with items acquired over time, permeated with copious amounts of love and memories. When she gave up housekeeping, I brought many of her items over to my home. I continue to call my style Rita Revisited.

I go through stages when I invest my time in auctions. I can remember the first one I attended. I tagged along with our father to one being held very close to our home. I don’t think I caught the main purpose of the event and I don’t recall if our father bid on anything. I do remember, being a child short in stature, I couldn’t see over the people standing in front of us. Our mother was much more a fan of yard sales as auctions made her nervous. She and Dad would spend Saturday morning scouting through others’ junk to find their treasures. They would pass items along to us that they thought might be helpful or needed. Maybe it was their hobby that now has me discern if I truly need something prior to bringing it home.

I have enjoyed auctions, although historically I am outbid. Many of them today are buyer friendly as you can review the items and place your bids online. The last time I attended an auction in person, I came home with sore feet and a sunburn. Recently I had picked up my online high bid items from an auction in my old neighborhood. I was aware of the house from living in the area. Being that it is well over a century old, I suspected it held character within its walls. I was right, it was apparent that the house had aged with charm. I had the opportunity to speak with the family on that bittersweet day. They lamented that they couldn’t keep all of their late uncle’s possessions but they would keep the memories of him and all the special occasions that they gathered there for holidays and events.

You might be curious about what items I am allowing into my home after sharing my battle cry about purging. I have begun collecting vintage handiwork: quilts, embroidered pieces and crocheted doilies. My plan is to repurpose them which pays homage to the time and talent it took to produce them and also gives them a new life that makes them available for daily use. I have a collection of these pieces from my maternal grandmother and her sister. I never had the opportunity to know them but I currently find it difficult to repurpose these pieces that they lovingly toiled over. My paternal grandmother was also very talented with needle, thread and crochet. In my own way I honor them. No longer present in this world, their legacy is very much a part of my life, but I am just not ready to take scissors to those items.

As I pay tribute to my ancestors, I question what legacy I may leave. I believe that each and every one of us is put on this earth for a reason. The majority of us will never know fame or fortune but within our small and personal realm there must be something that is left. I think of it as a ripple in a pond. Those concentric circles can continue on and reach farther than we might have intended or realized. For a long time I worked within my community. My hope was to make a difference in my small corner of the world. Now that I am beyond work and retirement is my reality, I revel in the fact that my time is my own. Satisfied with what I have achieved professionally I don’t want to drop the ball now. In the future, if there is a handcrafted item that brings joy to someone, than it was worth the effort. Putting words to paper brings me great joy and if there is something I have shared and it touches just one soul my time has not been spent in vain. Who could possibly be the proverbial high bidder on what is behind? I don’t mean our household goods and property but rather something we personally created. We have this one life, before it is going, going, gone, let’s not squander it.

More or Less

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I recently began a new stage in life. I crossed the great divide and am now retired. As in all life changes, this prompted an introspective look. Am I content with my accomplishments? Are there things I have left undone? Are there important items on my bucket list that I feel I must accomplish? Like life, the answers to these questions present an ebb and tide in my mind. Depending on the day, the answers, contentment and resolve can often change. I do recognize there is a thought that seems rather pronounced. This transition has brought a personal perspective that others, my contemporaries, might have also come to realize.

When I was young, I wanted more. I had my whole life ahead of me. As cliché as it sounds, I truly did feel that the sky was the limit. My aspirations where not far from others in my age group. My plans for a higher education didn’t pan out exactly the way I would have liked but a bright future appeared to be within reach. My contemporaries and I might have shared the same checklist which had marriage, home and children. Looking back I can say: check, check and check. I wanted my professional life to be a reflection of who I was. I wanted responsibilities and programs that I could build with foundations that would remain strong and exist well into the future. I wanted to leave my mark. I would say I also desired more money but my career in nonprofit work would not ordinarily allow for it.

I have never considered myself materialistic, yet I still wanted more. A closet full of clothes was an acceptable quest. Vacations were something that were planned and enjoyed yearly. My home was filled with décor I enjoyed, trinkets and souvenirs. It was the normal and acceptable way of life. Again, it didn’t mean I wallowed in shallowness as this drive was even a part of my faith life. It was not enough to attend services on Sunday, I felt it necessary to be part of the church leadership. This also extended to other volunteer activities. I didn’t dare be a hypocrite. How could I ask someone to give their time if I didn’t do it myself?

I am not clear if this is an observation or a confession. Either way, it invokes exhaustion. I thought I was going with the flow but in retrospect it looks like there were times that rivaled what felt more like white water rapids. There were moves and new starts in different communities. A divorce and two professional positions that were eliminated had me muster both perseverance and flexibility. Those might have been the times that my original drive and passion for more began to chip away. I might have even accepted the realization that the status quo was something I could live with and still be content.

Now my retirement looms brightly before me. I laugh and say the losses in life gave me the gift of frugality, which will be helpful as I navigate the years ahead. I am content in the little home that I share with my quirky cat. I now find the need to clear out the items that I thought were once so important to acquire. I still enjoy a change of scenery but souvenirs are not nearly as important as the memories. I recognize time spent with family and close friends is priceless. Once consumed with “more”, a lifestyle of “less’ is what I now most desire. Would I change anything in the years that are now history? I don’t lose sleep even questioning it. What has taken me a lifetime to realize is that I am grateful for currently being enriched by less.

A Father’s Day Post

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As I mentioned Mom in a Mother’s Day post, I would be remiss if I didn’t share some recollections of Dad on Father’s Day. It has been well over thirty years since he walked this earth. I miss that soft southern accent that never left him or his routine of pipe smoking and the scent of tobacco that would linger in the air. There are stories that he told which I hold onto with bittersweet emotion. They are just a small portion of the man he was. I would like to be a fly on the wall and observe, one more time, what a typical day would be like. What non important matters were covered by conversations no longer committed to memory? Why is it human nature to take so much of our daily lives for granted?

I was destined to be a Daddy’s Girl. My father, career Navy, made the trek from Norfolk, VA to Pennsylvania in a snow storm to greet me at the time of my birth. My three brothers and I were the recipients of many of his life stories. Being from southern GA, our father’s upbringing was so different to the one we knew. Hardship very much comprised his youth. It might have never been spoken out loud but I know in his heart, his desire was to provide a better life for us.

My father would recount the stories of his youth. He and his one brother, tried jumping off the barn roof with springs on their feet and once they pushed a winged crate out of a chinaberry tree to see if they could fly. One of them would hatch the plan to tie tin cans to the tail of their cow. The clattering sounds spooked the cow and she jumped over the fence, leaving her tail behind. I imagined that the cow wasn’t the only one with a sore bottom that evening. He would relish telling these stories. He didn’t dwell on the fact that he and his brother, as youngsters, would be the ones to find their father on the porch after suffering a heart attack. They struggled to get my grandfather into the house but his death was imminent.

Growing up in rural south GA, without a father, couldn’t have been easy. Dad was an avid fisherman. He never cared for hunting. He said he had to hunt to help provide meat for the table and it held no charm for him as an adult. He enlisted in the Navy with the theory that there was more to life than picking cotton. Dad would tell us about the good times he experienced in the Navy. I’m sure as a young boy he never thought he would have the opportunity to travel the world. His enthusiasm for the Navy rubbed off on me. My one high school term paper focused on Admiral Chester Nimitz, Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet during WWII. I got carried away with my research and read several accounts of battles at sea. I remember one graphic description shared by a sailor.  He stated that during battle you could see your shipmate die a horrible death, next to you, which would cause you to vomit. There was barely time for that human reaction as you would have to quickly return to your gun. I disclosed what I had read to Dad. He listened and quietly replied that yes he was aware as he was there. That was the only somber admission that I ever heard about his Navy career.

Dad managed to get two full careers under his belt before retiring at the age of 62. He was never at a loss of how to fill a day. He and our mother had raised the four of us and opened our home to our maternal grandfather who suffered a stroke later in life. He remained at home with our mother being his caretaker. Finally, after a life of hard work and providing for all of us, it was Dad’s turn to slow down and enjoy the freedom that retirement would provide. It was not to be. He was diagnosed with cancer, a result of being exposed to asbestos during his years in the Navy. Although he was willing to follow recommendations and treatment he was resigned to his accept his diagnosis. If he was afraid of what the future held, he never showed it. Upon reflection he said that those were the cards that were dealt him. He died one month short of his 66th birthday.

I thank you for indulging me and my reminiscence of our father. We should all have stories to reflect upon for those of us who no longer have a reason to celebrate the day. For those who are fortunate to still have their father, I would suggest you listen to those stories and commit them to memory. You don’t know when that voice will be silenced. Let’s not squander the opportunity to keep them alive for the next generation.

Full

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I count myself a very fortunate individual. I can be inspired easily by mundane surroundings. Observations that are truly unique may seem rather comical. If I tell you that seeing a septic truck brought creative thoughts to mind, you might think I have a need to talk to a professional. I think not and I will share why I feel that is the case, at least this particular time.

First, let’s discuss what a septic tank is and what service it provides. Then I will touch base on the importance of septic trucks. A simple search on Google will tell you that a septic tank is an underground chamber made of concrete, fiberglass, or plastic through which domestic wastewater (sewage) flows for basic sewage treatment. That is a rather delicate way to describe how to keep up with human waste. Those who live in a more populated or metropolitan area will rely on a sewer system which carries the waste off through underground pipes that transport it to a treatment plant. I understand if you think this topic may be bizarre but I promise you, there is a point to this blog.

I grew up in a household where we did make use of a septic tank. We were a family of seven, three adults and 4 children. That would equate to a lot of water usage and disposal. My father would try to combat some of that collection by having our washing machine drain outside through a hose. That way all the used water would not unnecessarily fill the septic tank and there were no concerns about it being a biohazard. You can imagine the amount of laundry that our family generated. It was a world of woe when the tank would reach its limit and a call was made to bring in a septic truck. I don’t recall what would trigger that request and it is probably just as well that I don’t remember. I do know it was a big deal when it happened. The truck would come and the driver would access the underground tank and pump out its contents. I don’t know what leads someone to choose that as a career but it remains an essential service.

Now let’s get back to my original premise, that inspiration can be found everywhere.  Whether it be a sewer or a septic tank, everyone needs something to rid one’s life of collected waste. The human condition insists that it exists. I’m asking you to use your imagination and not refer to bodily waste but rather negative thoughts, unkindness, nastiness or anything that could be considered within the realm of hatred. We don’t need to maintain it as part of our life and it is so much more beneficial if we rid ourselves of it and make room for the good. Life has so much goodness to offer. There are glorious experiences, relationships and positivity that exists. Just because this unpleasantness lay dormant below the ground, or under the skin, it not recommended that it be allowed to stay and fester. It is much healthier to wash it out of your system and purge yourself of it. Life is much too short to expend energy by lugging that heaviness around with you. Burdens find it hard to exist within the lightness. One more observation comes to mind. Be watchful and don’t let your tank ever get close to overflowing. Keep your thoughts and actions in check so the septic truck doesn’t need to make a house call. No one wants to be full of it!

Winter

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Everyone seems to have a favorite season. I gave some thought to this and feel that autumn might be mine. I enjoy the colorful backdrop that the changing leaves provide. I appreciate the chill in the air that has one transition from iced tea to hot tea and also prompts the addition of a blanket to the couch. I find I am lulled into the coziness that the season brings. I think there is something for everyone in every season but as winter’s last hurrah is upon us, I would like to focus on it.

I know those who enjoy winter’s brisk weather. It could be the chance of snow that brings a smile to their face, or possibly the holidays within it. I find I appreciate winter, but maybe for reasons unnoticed by others. I enjoy the lack of vegetation as things that might be hidden in other seasons are now visible. I am always impressed by taking notice of a hawk among the branches of a tree. These majestic birds might want to remain hidden as they watch their prey but I enjoy seeing them sit high and mighty without the cover of leaves. I also appreciate the work that went into creating a squirrel’s large nest. There are condo’s that don’t hold a candle to them. Winter is a time for Mother Nature to show off some creations that go unnoticed through the remainder of the year.

As a tribute to Mother Nature, I play along with her during the winter months. The blanket I introduced to my couch in the fall often finds me under it, enjoying its warmth. I can admire those animals who hibernate through the season. I, too, find I am happy to dig in on the dark, cold nights. A big pot of soup works its wonders as the bounty from the previous seasons creates an aroma that makes you glad your windows are closed and the scent doesn’t quickly escape.

I also think of how our lives mimic the seasons. This can be true where our relationships are concerned. In the spring when all is fresh and new, a heart can be full of anticipation. Planning what plants might be introduced to a barren flower bed is enjoyable. One looks forward to future blossoms. Summer can bring heat and weeds but those issues can all be creatively handled. As the time progresses winter can make itself known. Those can be the gloomy days of a relationship. As in winter, when Mother Nature introduces a barren landscape, so can true feelings be uncovered. I don’t see that as necessarily bad, rather an opportunity for the development of unconditional love. No cover-up, but an acceptance of seeing someone for who they are and loving them, blemishes and all. Unconditional love is such a beautiful gift that we can give one another. A beautiful bouquet grown through commitment. There are never any guarantees but hope springs eternal. Everyone will continue to have their favorite season but if something blossoms into unconditional love then maybe winter isn’t so bad after all.

Timing

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I received my education from the School Sisters of Notre Dame. When I was young, and the most vulnerable, they impressed upon me ideas beyond the typical school subjects. One, stressed in many different ways, was to always remain prayerful. There was a prayer for everything and special times to recite them. If you were to hear the siren of an emergency vehicle, it was cause for prayer. In particular, if it was that of an ambulance, one was to pray for the victim to overcome an illness or survive an accident. I would think that it doesn’t come as a surprise that I still carry that with me to this day. I’m not the least embarrassed to admit that I am prompted to pray for a total stranger during their time of need.

If the nuns assisted in giving me a foundation of prayer, as an adult I have not only claimed that as beneficial but have continued to build upon it. I feel a sense of gratitude that I am not the victim in need of transport by ambulance when I hear one on its way. I don’t have a sense of better you than me.  I have experienced it for myself and know how helpless one feels when your body reminds you that you are not immortal and you are the one on the stretcher taking a bumpy ride to the hospital. It is a sincere feeling of gratitude that I am not experiencing it this time and I pray for the well-being of the individual whose turn it is.

I also have a feeling of gratitude when I realize I avoided some misfortune, possibly due to timing. Again, it is not my wish that anyone suffer but often I have thought that there for the grace of God go I. One recent morning, when ready to head to work, I noticed sleet as I got into the car. I was running late, as usual, but I wasn’t concerned about the state of the roads. A little bit of sleet shouldn’t disrupt travel. As I approached a nearby town the sleet turned to snow and it was quickly laying. I didn’t see any snow plows, nor did the roads look like they were treated. As I approached the mountain I cross daily, I was stopped by a line of vehicles ahead of me. They were blocked at the base of the mountain and I could see flashing lights ahead. The ambulance prompted a prayer and then I offered an additional one of gratitude. If I had been on time, maybe it would have been my car that would have been caught in the collision. There have been several times that an unusual circumstance changed my timing and it left me wondering if I was being protected from harm.

I will share with you the time that I could have been the unfortunate victim. I have a level of comfort when driving in the snow. I don’t wish for it but when it comes I don’t shy away from getting behind the wheel. Upon returning from work one evening, I was close to home on a well-travelled, straight stretch of road. Although I didn’t see it or feel it, I must have hit a patch of ice. The car crossed the line and I found myself staring at oncoming traffic.  I might have tried to correct the direction when the car went into a spin. There was nothing I could do to stop the momentum. It was literally time for Jesus to take the wheel. Soon I found myself in my original lane but was facing the vehicles that were initially behind me. At that point I slid off the road, down into a slight ditch and finally came to a stop. I was inches away from hitting a telephone pole. There was barely any time to catch my breath when someone knocked on my window and asked if he could help. Although he was wearing a trapper hat with the ear flaps down, I still can remember what he looked like. His curly ginger hair was visible under the brim of his hat and his eyes were a bluish gray, his face sprinkled with freckles. I was in no position to refuse help and he quickly went to the rear of the car and pushed me out of the hollow and back onto the road. Although he appeared to be slight in build it took him no time at all to push the car out of the ditch and back onto the road. I was shaking but continued on and, when at a safe spot, turned around to go my original direction. I instantly thought that I should have thanked him for his kindness but it all happened so quickly. I passed the spot where I had gone off the road and there was no sign of him. Initially I thought I was so fortunate that during a snow storm there happened to be someone out in a cow pasture, right where I was to go off the road. What were the odds? Was it timing or something else? In hindsight I realize that my car returning to the road without tires spinning in the snow or additional assistance to push the car up and out appears to be rather unusual. Then I question what others around me might have witnessed.

Years later, I have deemed the experience as miraculous. I wasn’t granted the timing to stay removed from peril yet I was kept from harm during a potentially dangerous event. It was an answer to prayer that I barely had the time to utter. The experience was more than a decade ago yet I can relive it in my mind as if was yesterday. I have come to understand that there are things that life sends us which are beyond our control. There can be events where timing is on our side and others when that may not be the case. Although it might appear that there is no rhyme or reason, it is all part of the human experience. Let’s hold on tight and see what timing might bring us next.

Happy New Ice Cream

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Now that we are well ensconced in 2024, I have a confession to make.  I have never been one to get excited about celebrating the New Year. My contention is that if you had no calendar or clock, there would be no way to tell one year from the next. I know that sounds cynical and nonsensical. I don’t feel that way about other holidays. It could be because their focus is not specifically based on time. Maybe I didn’t always feel this way but long gone is my childhood tradition of watching Guy Lombardo ring the New Year in on television. If that doesn’t make sense to you, I suggest you google it. No, I am one who stays home, safe and warm, as another year rolls in and the last becomes history. Even though I don’t have the desire to celebrate, I find I must witness the change. It feels like my civic duty to oversee the event.

As in all aspects of life, attitude plays its part in how we view things. Watching the ball drop on television, or any other media, gives you the impression that it is so large that it must light up all of Times Square. I have actually seen the ball, in place prior to the New Year celebration, and it didn’t look huge. It actually looked dwarfed by its position on the building. This year I had the feeling that the performer wasn’t finished singing as the descent of the ball began. I might be the only one who was annoyed by what appeared to be an example of poor time management. I don’t feel that is the optimum way to start a new year, especially when the focus is upon the last minutes of the outgoing year.

I have a solution for myself and anyone else who might feel the need to make this holiday a bit more palatable. Let’s make the New Year ice cream and proceed that way. Incorporating sweaters and blankets might be needed rather than hats and noisemakers but I think we can meet everyone’s expectations. I fear there could be a select population that might not be fans of the idea. I personally hope my suggestion doesn’t alienate anyone.

I have heard, how you spend New Year’s Eve, is an indication of what to anticipate for the following 365 days. There are decisions to be made. How do you want your ice cream? Are you going to play it safe and have it served in a cup or are you going to incorporate a little bit of risk into your choice? If you go with a cone you not only get the ice cream but the additional treat of the cone. Are you courageous enough to take the chance? Yes, it could get messy, just like life, but there are napkins along with soap and water to help correct the situation. Another thought, as you prepare to celebrate Happy New Ice Cream, give some consideration to the flavor you select. Are you going to choose your favorite flavor or try something new? Your tried and true favorite might be a safe way to go and you will know what to expect. If you consider stepping outside your comfort zone and try another flavor, it might bring your taste buds excitement and sheer happiness. You never know unless you try. The decision of how you want your ice cream is entirely yours.

I doubt my suggestion will take the country by storm. Even though you won’t find me at a party reveling, I do believe that the New Year offers us all a fresh start. Resolutions aren’t required but meeting each day with anticipation and purpose will make it more appetizing. My wish for you would be the ability to look back and see that you not only had a delicious year but you might realize it was topped with sprinkles, or better yet, with whipped cream and a cherry. Now, you must excuse me. For some reason I feel the need to go to Dairy Queen.

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“There are hundred of paths up the mountain, all leading to the same place, so it doesn’t matter which path you take. The only person wasting time is the one who runs around the mountain, telling everyone that his or her path is wrong.”

Hindu proverb

Solitary

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What makes us who we are? Is it heredity, environment, experiences or innate personality? This question has resonated with me various times in my life. I often feel that I fall in the minority of what most consider the norm. None of us should exhibit cookie cutter uniformity and our uniqueness should be celebrated. That being said, being content within one’s choices may come into question by those who choose another path.

For the last twenty years I have walked solo through life. This comes as a result of divorce. It’s not that I am against relationships. I dated and married. My son and I are close, my immediate and extended family care for one another and I have a large and varied circle of friends. Yet for the past two decades I have not had a romantic relationship. To be honest, I looked around when I was newly divorced and spent some time cruising through the dating sites, yet I could not bring myself to seriously pursue it. It might have been the expected activity but throughout my life I have always bristled at following the standard.

I could safely say that I would have been considered a tom boy. I thought my future was to either join the Navy, following in my father’s footsteps, or be the first female player for the Baltimore Orioles. The second would have never happened for many reasons but mainly because I was no athlete. I did have a sense of propriety as I matured. I chose not to take typing in high school as I knew I didn’t want the role of being someone’s secretary. The ability to type was remedied later as it is difficult to exist in the professional realm or as a writer without having command of the keyboard. As I look back at this time in my life I see where I was laying the foundation of individuality.

I would like to return to my original question. What elements in life contribute to one’s personality? I evidently never saw a wedding as a glorious event to dream about starting early in life. When I turned eight a friend gave me a bride doll. She was about six inches tall, covered in what appeared to be a satin and lace gown. As a miniature bride, she was showcased in a cardboard box with a cellophane front. The doll stood before a fancy backdrop and that is where she would stay. I remember those at my birthday party being envious of such a beautiful doll but it did nothing for me. She would never have the opportunity to escape her display and mingle with my Barbie and all her friends.

I was responsible for the fate of my bride doll and I continue to fashion my own. I don’t let life stop as a result of not having a significant other. I go to concerts solo and have the realization that I am there to see the performance and not to chat with someone sitting next to me. I take vacations without a travel partner. My house is decorated as I like yet there are times when I think it would be nice to have someone else living under the same roof. Those times are few and far between. Honestly, the only time I have felt that way would be the times I had to step up to do something undesirable. The removal of a black snake from my dining room was one such time.

Is my choice of a solo lifestyle so unusual? I can recall my late mother often saying that she wish I had someone in my life. I appreciated her love and concern. I also recognized she was part of a generation where you married and your husband took care of you. I am grateful that I am not bound by those constraints. When I look in the mirror I see an independent and courageous woman. I can appreciate someone as being attractive or an interesting conversationalist but I don’t need to have another individual in my life to feel whole. I am not critical of those who do seek to share their life with someone. I revel in their joy when they find that special person and admire their dedication and commitment. We are all on a personal journey and the path we follow should be our own. It may be cliché’ but the time tested practice of live and let live should be embraced. Our passage through this life will be so much more rewarding if we follow the course meant for us and let others navigate theirs.