Category Archives: Moments

How they change us

Torn together

I write about moments. Those fleeting windows of now…or never…or forever.

Those moments that change you, your loved ones, life.

A moment beyond our control. This one cruel, a rip in the fabric that can only be mended, never the same. Always visible. Always raw.

Followed by millions of moments that make no sense, have no cohesion, don’t add up to anything but chaos, fear, waiting.

Too torn to feel.

Seemingly too torn to heal.

Can’t reach out. No energy, no time, no space. So much darkness.

But out of the darkness, light must prevail. Is that not so?

My beloved ocean beckons me. Down to the sea I must go. Breathe in the salt air, hear the waves crash, become one with the timeless, relentless motion.

Go where you must. I’ll always be with you, no matter what form you take. It’s all right.

We’ll heal together.

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She took my mother with her

My mother was of the Moon. Aren’t all women?

Each month, when the moon is full, my mother comes to visit. I know it’s her way of telling me that she’s still with me. And how lovely to know that we’ll see each other every month until I no longer inhabit the earth. Perhaps then I’ll be with her on our infinite journey.

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I usually photograph the rising moon or when it’s high in the sky. But this time, the first full moon after my mother’s death, I awoke early at 5:00 am and looked out the window. The moon was sliding down into her setting, and I said my final goodbye as the she took my mother with her.

The August moon is the most precious as my mom’s birthday is August 19th.

My mother’s hands – a symbol of love

This week’s photo challenge is “symbol.” I don’t usually write much for these photo challenges because I think the photo should speak for itself. But we were also asked to tell the story behind the choice of our symbol.

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My mother’s hands. The last time I saw her. We were sitting on her patio in San Miguel de Allende, July 2010.

These hands held me, caressed me, bathed me, massaged me, wrapped around my face, and held me when I was learning to swim. They brushed my hair, cooked food, tended flowers in the garden, held our kitties, stroked our dogs, and cared for her beloved horses.

They held castanets and ballet positions when we danced together. And they played her piano. Beautifully. They were poetry in motion.

They never once hurt me. They were living symbols of love. And when she was dying, I held her hands in mine and gave her back as much love as I could.

Death can be beautiful

For plants and trees, autumn means death, or at least hibernation. I don’t see autumn as death; I see it as a glorious transformation from one phase to the next.

 

 

 

Faded memories no more

August 19, 2014

I’ve just reconnected with my dear friend Russ from 42 years ago. Little did he know what a gift he gave to me today.

ninaMy mother would have been 86 today, and I wish she were alive to see these old photos of me dancing my heart out with abandon, especially since I was ballet-trained and normally very disciplined. (These photos are stills taken from a very old film.)

 

She loved my dancing, supported and encouraged me, and she was there when I fell from grace.

Russ sent me a link to a dance recital from high school back in 1972. Memories of that night flooded back to me. Dance was my life, my breath, my soul. I went professional for one year before realizing the competition was too stiff and the pain too great. I came home from New York a little bit broken, but I knew I had made the right decision to quit. I continued dancing for years and now wonder why I don’t anymore.

Memories fade, what the body could do fades, the desire fades. After enough years, even the belief that one could do this—actually did do this—fades. I never felt good enough, always feared that I wouldn’t live up to expectations, knew that I didn’t have what it took to be a real dancer. Sometimes I wonder if it happened at all, was this person truly me?

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I have photographs of my “dance career”, but even they seem unreal, posed, photos in frames on the wall that became wallpaper that no one ever looked at anymore.

But seeing an actual film of myself dancing with movement, soul, grace, and (gulp, dare I say it?) some talent, I knew it was me and it was real. We can never go back to another time, the past is the past, it’s over and done. I’ll never be that young, lithe body again, I’ll never feel on top of the world again, dancing with such freedom or suspended en pointe holding an arabesque for endless seconds. That chapter is closed.

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And yet. Russ, you gave me back a part of my life today and made it live again inside of me. I can say with all honesty that I’m filled with joy for what had been. Seeing that chapter open for one moment has allowed me to close it once and for all without regrets. I am truly grateful for this gift of my past life, which I can now reintegrate into my present life emotionally, if not physically.

At her finest...

At her finest…

Mom, this is my gift to you today. You did well with your love, and these small moments are a tribute to you. Miss you so much.

Dawn | Early bird

Dawn. 6:00 AM flight.

From my kitchen window, sipping a cappuccino. Glad I didn’t have to be on that early bird! For the daily prompt.

Early bird trail

Morning ritual

A friend has been posting a painting a day. Such inspiration to get creative! Her theme this month is coffee and tea. So, as a little tribute to her theme, this is my morning ritual…how I love cappuccino!

I want to be in Italy when I’m 80

A caravan pulls up to our neighbor’s house and the music starts. Bells are ringing, people are singing and shouting joyous greetings. The house is lit up with all the outside lights (which is very special here since electricity is so expensive!) to welcome the local bandwagon of people, gifts, and good cheer.

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This Christmas Eve mission? To visit each and every house in this tiny valley where someone (or more) is at least 80 years old. And there are a lot of them! At least 20 people out of a population of 100 or so.

I stand on the terrace and watch and listen. My heart fills with joy, I smile. And I think to myself, I want to still be here when I’m 80.

Merry Christmas to all.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Merge

This week’s photo challenge is about merging two diverse entities. This photo is not photoshopped. I took this photo through one of our wrought-iron gates looking out onto the morning light in the trees.

Through the portal

Weekly Photo Challenge: Purple

A little passion on purple.