Musings at 50

 I make mistakes - I make mistakes - I make mistakes. Today my work is to come to terms with making mistakes. In the past couple of weeks I have made some really big and really small mistakes. I feel like life is slowly slipping out of my control. The funny part is that it was never in my control. That is hard to admit to a recovering control freak. I often believe that I can get life to do what I will it to do, and that all happens without mistakes or stumbles. To see those words typed in front of me, I have to laugh. I have spent nearly 50 years trying to make sure I do everything right - to not do it right is to fail. I have to say there is something exhausting about this pattern and I think I am really ready to let it go. As a human on a learning journey, I do not know how I can really avoid making mistakes. How else will I learn? On an intellectual level, this makes sense. But, I often believe these things do not apply to ME. I am always telling people in my life - so you messed u

Do I choose to walk the hard road? I asked what I needed to know in this moment and here we are - the 10 of wands - do I feel burdened or blocked? - YES! Difficulties - absolutely - I guess I get to explore my whiteness this is definitely NOT what I wanted to write about today - can I get a break from thinking about it - me - my whiteness, my white fragility, my white centering, my whiteness - thinking about these things - social justice - unpacking my white privilege and my white supremacy. I just finished leading a book circle on Layla F Saad’s Me and White Supremacy - it was an incredible journey - peeling back the layers of myself week by week it was often hard as I had always thought of myself as one of the good ones - an ally but in all honesty I’m not, I’m not one of the good ones - I’m a white person who does not yet get my privilege - I certainly never asked for it - I think back on my life and I’ve struggled. Have I struggled as much as a person of color? No way - not even c

#thinline Often my grandmother’s mouth  Was a thin line Her serious face As she worked bread dough Or stirred some fruit preserves  Hung laundry to dry  On the line Or getting ready to select Chickens for slaughter  Observing us as we Picked berries  No sneaking  They are for supper And yet She could laugh Throwing back her head Almost a giggle or guffaw Her eyes would twinkle Her thin mouth curved Enjoying the look As I remember now

A new world  - what is it like? I woke up today to the morning’s early light coming through the window. I could hear Cathy and Sergio next door starting their day with some sharp laughter and the clunking of dishes in the sink. I will remind my husband to take over the latest harvest of greens. Sergio came over yesterday to work on the loose door on our bedroom - he let himself in as we were both at work - we have been trading work for food these past few months and it has been really working out. Cathy’s compost helps our garden grow and it is the produce from our garden that helps us barter and trade for items we need. While we work away from the house, my husband takes the bike path to work - many of the roads have been removed to make room for more green spaces and our neighbors each have something they can make or sell or barter so there was no longer a need for the big box stores down the road. Our local grocer began to stock shelves with items from the surrounding farms. We can

Pyrite - Fool's Gold It hits me at my core - my gut clenches - pyrite - that card with its colorful rainbow like surroundings a fool’s gold as it is so often called - calling forth the thoughts of the last few days - who am I as a white privileged woman? The history of these United States of America so familiar to me - formed on the backs of blacks, browns, reds, and the others - their deaths, their beatings, their blood, sweat and tears, mass incarceration - people like me, but not like me because I don’t have to worry about what I do, how I act or where I go - can I go for a run? Yes, no one will stop me or look at me - can I buy skittles in a hoodie - yes I can, these privileges I have, that I cannot give to someone else, because I am white - and I do not understand the pain - something I have never experienced once could argue, I am a woman and all of the baggage that comes with that. But how can I compare that, there is no comparison.  I feel worthless I cannot appreciate what

#walkingonwater People make choices Every day How you show up What you say When you react And why you believe That a man Who looks different  Than you means harm What happened to Compassion  What if people are Doing the best they can But their best means Stomping out another life Or macing a child What then? How do you continue  To believe in humanity  When some base faith On a man Walking on water And miracles Yet spout hate With every action And word I cry I scream I shout But it is not enough  I feel helpless Hopeless Have faith How can I  When the world Seems torn The veil has lifted All I see is ruin Chaos 

#inandoutoffocus - Poetry prompt from 30/30 - National Poetry Month - one poem a day The image is blurred But when I zoom in I can see my grandfather’s face Jawline set Eyes flashing As if there is a fire In him he cannot contain No smile Nothing to show his feelings He is surrounded by grandchildren  Curious how disconnected He seems There is a sadness  And a haunting look To his serious face But when you look at The whole picture  It looks like a family Gathered for fun and food When I remember him He rarely smiled His voice slightly gravelly Serious and stern I was only 17 when he died My heart ached At the thought of never Seeing him again Those rare times he did smile It lit up his whole face

Things I remember Playing in a pile of fall leaves Carefully taking the cicada shell off the two towering pines Asking if I could lick the batter bowl of a cake or corn bread My father making a swing set Hours of tetherball Crushing red brick and adding water to paint the fort Running so hard I could not breathe and my lungs felt they would burst The crack of the handlebars of my bike on my face and feeling the shards of teeth in my mouth mixed with blood metallic and thick The arc of the newspaper as I fling it from my bike to hit the porch just below the screen door and the satisfying WHACK when the paper hits the door The hot and sticky summer nights laying in bed with a metal bowl of cool water with a wash cloth in it to wipe down my hot skin - which would cool me off for just a little while Sunday drives in the countryside on hilly and curvy roads looking at trees and farmland and cows and horses and people mowing and the sun setting over the next rise with the flicker

Expectations…my husband and I heard something on a podcast or something that talked about stealth expectations (possibly Brene Brown). You know when you go somewhere or do something and you have this idea of what will happen - but you have shared this with no one. So, if those things don’t happen, and the person or persons you are with miss the mark, you are forever remembering how this event did not measure up I talked to an employee today about expectations, does she know what is expected of her, and she noted that I may have a different expectation than that of her colleagues. She knows the expectation of the colleague because it is usually spoken aloud and that makes her nervous because whose expectations should she follow? Good question - the next one is are we, and I mean me, making my expectations known? To my husband, to my friends, my family or my employees - expectations - are these the same as or different than plans, intentions, goals, or is there another word that wraps th