Ideas

Gratefully, I've been able to easily come up with ideas so far for the A-to-Z challenge.  

Now that I am in writing mode, I'm thinking about the next letter as soon as I finish writing the last one.

My favorite writing/thinking spot is by the window in my den/spare-room/art-studio. 

It gets the late afternoon sun streaming through. 

I can sometimes sit for hours in my wicker glider chair, rocking back forth, staring out the window, while mulling over the next idea. 

My view from this window is of the gate entrances and exits to our community.  This particular gate can only be opened by vehicles that have a bar code sticker on their window.   This rule is clearly marked with large signs at the entrance and exit. 

It's quite entertaining to watch non-stickered cars coming or going.  Inevitably, the person will sit at the gate, waiting several seconds for it to open. 

 Depending on the time of day, traffic can back up with residents behind the non-stickered car waiting for the person to realize, "the gate is not going to open"! Then all the cars have to back up so the non-stickered car can turn around. 

Sometimes a non-stickered car can speed up behind a resident and sneak through.

Because I live right next to this particular gate, if you enter my address in a GPS app, the app will direct you to this gate.   One time I ordered groceries to be delivered to my home. The delivery person followed the GPS directions and wound up at that gate.  Instead of reading the sign, which would have directed her to the main visitor gate, she just left.  She sent me a text and said she couldn't enter the community, so she was taking the groceries back to the store!

Since that happened, whenever I order groceries, I add a note directing the driver to the main visitor entrance.  

Beyond the gate on the other side of the road is a stream.  Well it's a body of water, perhaps a detention basin.  But it does attract water birds.  My favorite is a white Heron.
 Perhaps an idea for another post. 

Sometimes good ideas come from watching the world right outside your window.  

Homebody: A House is not a Home

 

Two years ago, I moved from the New Jersey shore to the central part of the state.  Ross and I had lived in Barnegat, NJ for over twenty years. 

My new home is about half the size of my Barnegat house, which is perfect for me as a single person. Moving gave me the opportunity to downsize and declutter. 

Even though I parted with many things, this house is still filled with furniture, artwork, and many other things that Ross and I shared. 

Having said that, I still do not feel 100 percent at home here.  Home was with Ross. He will always be in my heart, but I miss being with him,  

Because Ross and I lived here twenty years ago, the area I moved to is not entirely new to me. There have been a lot of changes since then.  It’s more built up, busier with much more traffic. I’ve had to reacquaint myself with the locations of doctors, stores, hair salons, and the like. 

I live in a gated community with over 2,000 units. There are many interests and activities offered.  I haven’t joined in and I don’t know if I ever will.  

This has been a long winter.  I’ve become something of a homebody.  I picture my hermit self one of these days stepping out of my cave in Birkenstocks, disheveled, wearing watercolor-paint-stained clothes, hair matted into dreadlocks.

Maybe that day will come.  Or maybe this is what this time of my life looks like.  

A smaller house.  A quieter life. Family nearby.  And a home filled with loving memories.

 Grief

 

You’d think I’d be an old hand at grief by now.

 

My mother, who passed away in 2009, spent the last months of her life on hospice in our home. She had many difficult times throughout her life. She raised six children during challenging financial circumstances. As I mentioned in a previous post, her marriage to my father was not easy. She didn’t drive and depended on him a great deal. At the time, I didn’t understand how hard it must have been for her when he passed away.

 

My son, Joe, passed away 16 years ago from colon cancer. He was 34 years old—newly married, with their first child on the way when he was diagnosed. I have written through this loss for 16 years.

 

Ross was a magical time in my life. I have written hundreds and hundreds of words about this amazing man. In 2019, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I was his caregiver until he passed away in 2024.

 

Of course, there have been other losses. They are all sad, each in its own way. None can be compared to another.

 

Needless to say, my son’s passing probably hit me the hardest.

 

Now that I am a widow, though, I have gained an enormous amount of understanding, compassion, and respect for my mother. I feel her presence every day now. It’s as if she is here, supporting me as only a mother can.