That has to be the most ambiguous title I could think of. Something that covers conception to death and maybe the hereafter. Or at this point, my life, here and now.
As of late many thoughts flit in and out of my mind. Some come at night in the form of dreams. From real concepts to abstract thoughts my brain finds them coming, some unbidden and some unwanted.
I am to face the possibility of surgery again. In 15 years this will be number 4 and I don't care whether or not you stay overnight in a hospital, surgery is surgery and therefore it is major surgery. It is your body being filled with drugs, you go to sleep (a term usually associated with putting an animal down) and you are trusting a bunch of people that you don't know, with knives and things and you hope they don't leave anything behind (who hasn't read one of those stories?) and you hope in your brief stay in the hospital that you do not contract some sort of infection. Really makes me want to go. Then in the time between diagnoses, biopsy (in my case) and surgery you have to wait. Maybe days and maybe weeks. This wears on a person. The thought racing through my brain are unpleasant, unwanted and for the most part they just make me very cranky. I try through reading, my friends and my own optimistic nature to keep the thoughts good. But it doesn't always work. In through the back door comes the word cancer. It's a word, a thing I don't want in my life ever again. But there is this ever so slight chance is could be there, hiding in a nodule, growing, yet undetected. And that bring me to the question of life and what it is?
How do we know we have for filled our purpose in life? That our little cog like life has done what it is suppose to have done. Do we ever know? I am not a believer in an afterlife. Of voices talking from beyond the grave. If this were true then the word would be filled with people capable of hearing those voices not just a couple of television personalities. Our lives would be filled with voices from the very roots of our family trees to the tips of the newest branches. Do you get denied this voices if indeed you are nothing more than a graft to that particular tree? Or when a family dies out and there is no living decedent do all the voices disappear? Odd questions? Yes. But this is where my mind starts to lead me.
I would like to have conversations with people that aren't confrontational. Seems lately because of my job or a committee I am on there is no subject however benign that isn't capable of starting a conflict, some real and some imagined, especially when someone feels that they must play devil's advocate even though the situation doesn't call for it (part of their personality I guess).
Am what I am doing in life making a difference? Those 3 clicks in the morning, donations by proxy to autism, vets, and animals, are they really adding up? It somebody with autism getting some help, is a vet in need getting services and is 1 animal saved from death? I don't know, I do it on faith that somewhere these things are happening. I just never will see the results so my faith must be my pillar in this.
I worry about our future, me and the hubby. So far I am the one needing surgery and the accompanying baggage. He is the one who is 'healthy', a relative term as he needs his eyes checked and needs to go to the dentist and I have to bug him to get a yearly check up. He is the financial pillar of our house. I make enough money in my job to pay a 1/3 of the property taxes. Which leaves a big chunk left to be covered. There are all the usual bills to be paid, electric, gas, car, food and I wonder how long can we afford to live. Do we need a cut off date because at that time we won't be able to afford our lives? How can we live on less when like so many we live on the edge?
I am the housefrau when a life time ago I was to be an artist. Although I seemed to have a rather wonderful temperament for being an artist, I didn't seem to find the one thing that I just had to do. I believe that as an artist you are driven by your art. You can't just let your paints dry up, your kiln grow cold or drop your pencils and walk away. It is your life force, it is you and you are it. No matter which medium you choose or how many you choose, it is the biggest part of your life. I don't draw anymore or use inks. There are no canvases hidden away to be painted on. No gallery to show my work. So I take it on faith that this is where I am suppose to be. I have made a hundred or so blankets and booties for newborns, I have graced family members with blankets (of the crochet kind). I have painted the walls of my house as if they were my canvases. Rooms are filled with colors, plants and stuff. Stuff being the term for things that may bring me joy. Last year I found several small birds nests, I was fortunate in finding a large pedestal type glass bowl. I filled the bowl with the nests. Then I added closed rosebuds and other flowers that dried among the nests in lovely shades of pink and cream. The finishing touch was feathers, small and delicate stuck in among the nests and flowers. It presented itself quite well for almost a year and then dust and age took it's toll and my little arrangement became part of the compost bin. My 'art' if it is that is temporary. It seem to be what is left over from my childhood. Arrangements made of the bits and pieces of my every day existence. My little 'finds' from walking our dirt road, a rock, a piece of bark, a feather, found and stuffed in my pocket like I was six again. Then brought home a displayed. Not for all to see as very few indeed see these displays never mind understand what they mean. I don't think I understand what they mean except they give me joy.
Maybe all in all that is the answer to my question. What is life, it is joy. The joy you give when you pass on a smile, when you say thank you, get your first kiss or hold your first baby. Maybe that is why there is so much hatred in the world. The joy of the simple things, admiring art, tasting fresh bread, listening to street noises or listening to the silence in a wood has been forgotten by too many.
Life is what you make of it, how you have treated family, friends and strangers. It is not your name in lights, it is your name being said by a friend or a lover. It is the hugs and kisses from your family, your children. It is pasta necklaces and school drawings. It is the smile returned to you by a stranger. It is taking the good a paying it forward and letting spread like ripples in a pond. You can choose to live life in a manner that respects and pay homage to those around you or not. That is what life is, choice. What is your choice?
As of late many thoughts flit in and out of my mind. Some come at night in the form of dreams. From real concepts to abstract thoughts my brain finds them coming, some unbidden and some unwanted.
I am to face the possibility of surgery again. In 15 years this will be number 4 and I don't care whether or not you stay overnight in a hospital, surgery is surgery and therefore it is major surgery. It is your body being filled with drugs, you go to sleep (a term usually associated with putting an animal down) and you are trusting a bunch of people that you don't know, with knives and things and you hope they don't leave anything behind (who hasn't read one of those stories?) and you hope in your brief stay in the hospital that you do not contract some sort of infection. Really makes me want to go. Then in the time between diagnoses, biopsy (in my case) and surgery you have to wait. Maybe days and maybe weeks. This wears on a person. The thought racing through my brain are unpleasant, unwanted and for the most part they just make me very cranky. I try through reading, my friends and my own optimistic nature to keep the thoughts good. But it doesn't always work. In through the back door comes the word cancer. It's a word, a thing I don't want in my life ever again. But there is this ever so slight chance is could be there, hiding in a nodule, growing, yet undetected. And that bring me to the question of life and what it is?
How do we know we have for filled our purpose in life? That our little cog like life has done what it is suppose to have done. Do we ever know? I am not a believer in an afterlife. Of voices talking from beyond the grave. If this were true then the word would be filled with people capable of hearing those voices not just a couple of television personalities. Our lives would be filled with voices from the very roots of our family trees to the tips of the newest branches. Do you get denied this voices if indeed you are nothing more than a graft to that particular tree? Or when a family dies out and there is no living decedent do all the voices disappear? Odd questions? Yes. But this is where my mind starts to lead me.
I would like to have conversations with people that aren't confrontational. Seems lately because of my job or a committee I am on there is no subject however benign that isn't capable of starting a conflict, some real and some imagined, especially when someone feels that they must play devil's advocate even though the situation doesn't call for it (part of their personality I guess).
Am what I am doing in life making a difference? Those 3 clicks in the morning, donations by proxy to autism, vets, and animals, are they really adding up? It somebody with autism getting some help, is a vet in need getting services and is 1 animal saved from death? I don't know, I do it on faith that somewhere these things are happening. I just never will see the results so my faith must be my pillar in this.
I worry about our future, me and the hubby. So far I am the one needing surgery and the accompanying baggage. He is the one who is 'healthy', a relative term as he needs his eyes checked and needs to go to the dentist and I have to bug him to get a yearly check up. He is the financial pillar of our house. I make enough money in my job to pay a 1/3 of the property taxes. Which leaves a big chunk left to be covered. There are all the usual bills to be paid, electric, gas, car, food and I wonder how long can we afford to live. Do we need a cut off date because at that time we won't be able to afford our lives? How can we live on less when like so many we live on the edge?
I am the housefrau when a life time ago I was to be an artist. Although I seemed to have a rather wonderful temperament for being an artist, I didn't seem to find the one thing that I just had to do. I believe that as an artist you are driven by your art. You can't just let your paints dry up, your kiln grow cold or drop your pencils and walk away. It is your life force, it is you and you are it. No matter which medium you choose or how many you choose, it is the biggest part of your life. I don't draw anymore or use inks. There are no canvases hidden away to be painted on. No gallery to show my work. So I take it on faith that this is where I am suppose to be. I have made a hundred or so blankets and booties for newborns, I have graced family members with blankets (of the crochet kind). I have painted the walls of my house as if they were my canvases. Rooms are filled with colors, plants and stuff. Stuff being the term for things that may bring me joy. Last year I found several small birds nests, I was fortunate in finding a large pedestal type glass bowl. I filled the bowl with the nests. Then I added closed rosebuds and other flowers that dried among the nests in lovely shades of pink and cream. The finishing touch was feathers, small and delicate stuck in among the nests and flowers. It presented itself quite well for almost a year and then dust and age took it's toll and my little arrangement became part of the compost bin. My 'art' if it is that is temporary. It seem to be what is left over from my childhood. Arrangements made of the bits and pieces of my every day existence. My little 'finds' from walking our dirt road, a rock, a piece of bark, a feather, found and stuffed in my pocket like I was six again. Then brought home a displayed. Not for all to see as very few indeed see these displays never mind understand what they mean. I don't think I understand what they mean except they give me joy.
Maybe all in all that is the answer to my question. What is life, it is joy. The joy you give when you pass on a smile, when you say thank you, get your first kiss or hold your first baby. Maybe that is why there is so much hatred in the world. The joy of the simple things, admiring art, tasting fresh bread, listening to street noises or listening to the silence in a wood has been forgotten by too many.
Life is what you make of it, how you have treated family, friends and strangers. It is not your name in lights, it is your name being said by a friend or a lover. It is the hugs and kisses from your family, your children. It is pasta necklaces and school drawings. It is the smile returned to you by a stranger. It is taking the good a paying it forward and letting spread like ripples in a pond. You can choose to live life in a manner that respects and pay homage to those around you or not. That is what life is, choice. What is your choice?
