Connections

I'm aware of a change in me these days. I'm not talking about moving on or healing more .... it's a bigger change and more about how I respond to the world and to others in my world. I've written before about how open and gregarious Jim was. How he would pull me out and into the party at times. How I could be closed down, shut off and let the introvert of my personality rule. I could do this because Jim was so extroverted and would cover for me.

But lately I notice that I am opening and far more receptive then I ever remember being. I am willing and wanting to make connections. And this silent change has me operating through my heart far more than my head. This is incredibly hard to explain ... but damned if I'm not going to try!

One example is how, in the past, I might see an acquaintance at the grocery store and rather then go over and say hello I would pretend not to see them and thus just keep moving along without having to engage with that person. I don't do this anymore. I find myself thinking "what would Jim do?" ... and sure enough, I'll walk over and re-introduce myself if need be and just quickly say a few words of recognition and ... well ... connect. And it feels really good to do this. I don't expect the person to remember my name, nor do I think my saying hello is going to make that persons day. But it makes mine, and I blossom a little more for having done it.

That's it I think .... this tight little bud of Mary Lello is blossoming; a part of my being is beginning to open and bloom a little bit. Oh I'm not saying I was a complete wall flower before - I know that's not true - but I didn't really reach out to people. I didn't need to connect with so many people and I would question why Jim needed to do this .. why he always did it. I am understanding it a bit now. Maybe, in that 18 months of such intense caring for Jim while he drifted away, the channeling his words and thoughts for him so he might communicate with others on some level through me, the helping him to walk, caring for his every need at times, a part of Jim Daniels fused into me. A bit of his spirit joined with mine and he left me with this gift ... the gift of wanting to connect more with others.

I'm amazed at some of the connections I'm making and maintaining. It's not like me ... but then again ... it is me now. It's all me now.

And many of you reading this are indeed one of these connections that amazes me and has me feeling so incredibly warm. Hell, even those of you on facebook with me .. some of you I haven't seen for over 30 years and some I've never even met in person and yet ... you have become a friend. You have reached across that cyber-space in some way and connected with me on such a deep level that I'm totally astounded by it. And, the blessing and gift is, I find myself open to it and willing to accept and allow it to happen and you are there and so willing to reach out and touch me. Damn!

This feels like pure grace. And for this, I am incredibly grateful to Jim Daniels who always demonstrated to me how to reach out, how to unfold and open with love and humor, interest and respect for all those people he connected so completely with.

And I feel my own connection now, with all of you.

And I thank you .. for these connections.

I am ... loving you all back,

Mary

One Child Born

My niece, Jennywren, had her second child yesterday. She and her husband, Jay, opted not to know the gender of this baby until it was born. A gorgeous little boy named Raife. I was in attendance with her first born, Skyla, last August 3, and Jennywren asked me to do acupuncture for her and be at her side with the birth of this second one also. Yes, August 16 - exactly one year apart - Irish twins as we say.

First off I have to say JW is an amazing woman. So much pain endured - and yet love conquers all doesn't it? I'm in awe of this raw, female power. I'm in awe of Jennywren who chose to go the natural route with both births, who was able to still crack jokes and sing along with "Sittin' on the dock of the bay" after a pretty intense contraction, who could look at her husband as that baby's head was crowning and mouth the words "I love you" to him ... and then begin to growl as the next wave pulled her into the task she must complete.

Yup, she amazes me and I'm in awe of this gorgeous, gutsy, funny, full-of-life, creator-of-life woman who is my niece.

I must tell you all though, as that baby's head was crowning somehow the big screen TV got turned on ... now, if you've ever attended a birth you understand this is a pretty intense moment ... and there , directly in front of all of us, in full color was a re-cap of the Red Sox! Frantically, Hanna (JW's sister) figured out how to turn this thing off so we went back to business at hand. When we were all just sitting around holding the new baby I shared what had gone on in my mind when the Red Sox came on during the labor. I told everyone that I knew this little crowned head was going to be a boy. When the TV magically turned on with the Red Sox, I figured there might be a tiny bit of Uncle Jim in this kid and that this little guy might be saying ... "Hell, if I have to poke my head out of here then I at least want to know what's happening with the Red Sox!" This brought a good laugh from the family ... but it truly was my very thought at that moment!

There is a bit more testerone in this family of mine that has a lot of powerful women in it. And attending this birth has me thinking of the song by Blood, Sweat and Tears (just realized how appropriate that is too!) and thus the title of this blog:

"And when I die, and when I'm gone,

There'll be one child born in this world to carry on,

to carry on"

The circles of life on this earth.

Loving you all back,

Mary

Crow calls

I feed a family of crows. Some of you know this, those of you who are on Facebook with me get to read about the morning actions of this little family pretty frequently. I've been feeding them for a few years now so I've observed three seasons of fledglings. When I first started with the feedings there was only one baby that year. A sweet little crow that had mom, dad and a couple juvenile spouses hovering over him/her. A very spoiled little crow.

This first crow was very brave and far less skittish around me, perhaps because it had grown up and learned to come into the yard when I called in the early morning and put out left over protein scraps. The mated pair - mom and dad - are loud and shrill and won't tolerate my looking up into the tree and acknowledging their existence ... even though they sit directly over my head at times. One good stare from me and they flee to a distant tree, screeching a warning for the world to hear "DON'T LOOK AT ME!" Meanwhile, the little fledgling would watch this tactic, look down at me, make a little "mew" sound as if to say "what the heck was that all about?"

This year there are two young ones. By late summer they are getting much stronger and more adept at flying. They still have a slightly brown head vs. the glimmering black of the adult. They are much smaller then their parents and haven't quite found their "voice" yet ... a bit of bubbling and chirping at times instead of a solid "Caw".

A friend gave me a crow caller - which I've tried out several times. It's hard to make it sound like anything other then a duck or a very loud fart - and my crows aren't buying it. But it's gotten some funny reactions! Because they have excellent memory for faces they know me now. Actually they know my car, my dog and can even recognize me on my bike with helmet and sunglasses on - more then some of my friends can do! But when I step out into the yard they will swoop in now, even when I'm not feeding them. So one afternoon I stepped out and waited for a crow to come into the nearby trees so I could try out the crow call. I blew into the whistle shaped caller and a shrill "quack" escaped. This juvenile crow tilted h/her head and looked down at me as though saying "was that you?" I tried it again. This time she ruffled her entire body and lifted her wings as if to try and shake off this weird noise coming from this human down below. The third time she lost patience and took off proudly demonstrating what a crow should sound like.

The other morning I went out to feed them. I had been giving them fat I'd cut off a pork chop. They really liked this food so when I stepped out they were clearly impatient for me to drop the food and go back inside. But I was waiting for my dog, Ella, to complete her morning business so I wasn't going in right away. The ruckus got louder until the entire family of six birds was literally yelling at me! Wow. I looked up at one and said "HEY! Ask me nicely!" There was silence immediately ... and one of the young ones looked down and gave that sweet little "cawk" sound. I said "thank you" and Ella and I went inside.

This little family of crows got me off the couch a billion years ago when Jim, who was not doing real well and had a lot of trouble walking, had fallen down the stairs and we had spent the entire day in the ER. Laying on the couch that afternoon when we finally got home I thought I might never be able to move again. But then this family of crows appeared. Being excited that I may have found their nest right outside my living room window I pulled myself off the couch to watch them ... and thus found one more tiny reserve of energy to keep going. On some of the mornings when I wake too early I will hear my crows in the distance and know that I'm not the only one up with the first light in the sky.

I'm finding more and more reasons to keep going these days. I'm feeling a new excitement about life again, something I truly didn't believe possible. And always I am in tune with the calls of this family of crows who share this neighborhood with me; who help me smile first thing in the morning, who watch and know when I have gotten out of bed, who recognize and tolerate my strange actions .... and talk to me when no one else is around.

Loving you all back,

Mary

Healing Happens

The picture is of me and my sweetheart of a dog, Ella, is out on Vinal Haven where I went to visit my wonderful friend Tina this July (2011). Her hammock is an amazing place to hang in the late afternoon. The best view from this angle is up into the deep green of the huge spruce that towers over this spot with the blue sky in the background. There was a breeze this afternoon so I actually had that comforter wrapped around me for a little bit of warmth.

Oh, and then, after Tina snapped this picture, she appears with a cold flute of Prosecco for me. Any wonder why I like to go out there and visit her?!

I was there last summer at just about this time. That was only a few months after Jim had passed and I was still horribly wounded. I remember writing about packing the car up and having the horrible awareness that I was the only pilot of this trip. The experience of driving up there, navigating the ferry, my gear and Ella without having Jim along was all new to me then ... and felt so difficult. This time, I didn't even think about it until after I got home. And this realization has me feeling that healing is happening, if I pay attention.

When I take my bike out for the first ride in the early spring after not riding in the winter months, the first hill feels so difficult. I have to drop down into the lowest gear and get out of the saddle to grind up the hill as best I can. After a month or more of riding I suddenly realize I'm flying up this same hill, still in my saddle and still in a high gear. Muscles flex, strength comes and there you are a bit stronger and more capable of attacking what was once insurmountable.

This is what this healing feels like in small ways. I still get hit with missing Jim - hugely! Just yesterday I braved looking at our old Ladokh pictures of when we hiked together in the Himalayas. Jim looks so fit and handsome, so happy with his arm around all the other trekkers on the trip with us. He was so incredibly loving and fun to be with. It felt good to view his images ... and then it hit; no big tears, but just a sigh and a whisper to him of how much I miss him. How horribly sad and lonely this can all be at times.

I imagine missing him will never really end. I don't know. I'm pretty new at all this. But I did notice out on Vinal Haven I was able to go out for a run this time, go into town and poke around the shops, stay up later, rise a bit earlier. But last year all I wanted to do was be in that hammock, starring up into the bows of that massive Blue Spruce and into the infinity of blue beyond.

Healing happens. Day by day. Week by week. One full circle around the sun at a time.

Loving you all back,

Mary

Memories

It's light at 4:00 a.m. now. I know this because I was awake at 3:00 .. again ... and thought I could get back to sleep. But after laying there for an hour the morning light and all the troubled thoughts pounding around in my head had me feeling that I should just get up and see what I might accomplish versus laying there thinking about all this stuff.

There is much to do around this house as it's summer in Maine and I have found myself very busy with a lot of weekend mini-trips away. It's been really good, though I'm actually looking forward to having a weekend at home soon. Last weekend I went to my youngest sisters camp which is an hour out of Bangor along Route 9. I loved her directions - "after the funky little Airline Snack Bar and rest stop look for the weird radio tower and the NEXT double passing lane look for our camp road on the right, East Gish Road, the one with mailboxes and For Sale signs. I think it's East Gish Road ... anyway you can't miss it. " As my brother once said "whenever they say 'you can't miss it' you know you're in trouble!"

Route 9 actually runs from New Hampshire to Canada. The leg in Maine from Bangor to Calais is known as the "Airline Route" and was named long before any airlines actually existed. It's a dangerous and lonely stretch of road in the winter and the main route for logging trucks - which barrel down this road at startling speed. There is a two mile stretch in Hancock County that is called the "Whale's Back". I'm not really sure how it got this name but I do remember how my dad would drive along this section of road that had rolling hills; he would speed the car up so we climbed the hills with some momentum and then he would lift his foot off the accelerator just as we crested the top of the hill and your stomach would flip-flop, like it does on a roller coaster. Mom would yell at dad for doing this reminding him that "Mary is going to get sick", while the three older kids in the back would egg dad on. Inevitably we would have to stop so I could leap from the car and throw-up. Fun was over at this point, much to my siblings grumbling and my mothers "I told you so Jay" statements.

Jim use to drive this section of the road the same way come to think of it. I would tell him if I had to throw up I wasn't going to give any warning and he'd be in charge of clean-up. Sometimes this would get him to stop, but mostly we would both just get laughing.

Oh, I laughed so much with that man. I worry I'm already forgetting what his laugh sounded like, what his voice sounded like. How certain memories slip away from us because we just can't hold onto them ....

.... and other memories wake us at 3:00 a.m. and leave us sleepless.

Loving you all back,

Mary

Maine Islands

My friends MaryMargaret, Alice and I went out to Islesford, orLittle Cranberry, island this past weekend. There's something very magical about visiting an island in Maine. You don't have to exchange any money and they still speak the same language but you feel like you've truly left home and really gone somewhere for a little while.

I have wonderful friends out there who own a cottage that has been in Chris's family for years. As a young boy he grew up on this island so he knows all the nooks and crannies on this spit of land in the Atlantic. His boys now have the same history of wonderful boyhood adventures and memories of summers spent out on this island.

Everybody knows Chris and Marion so we name dropped a bit on our ferry ride from Southwest Harbor to Islesford; we aren't really tourists you see, we know people out here!

Last Fall my sisters-in-law, Donna and Stacie, and I went out there to stay in Chris and Marion's cabin. The island population drops dramatically after Labor Day and all the shops (all three of them!) close up as well. In the fall this island is a real haven; quiet and intimate. The three of us spread some of Jim's ashes off the rock beach down in front of the cottage. Jim, though not a "true Mainah" like myself, loved Maine and I wanted to have some of his remains in the Atlantic .... off Islesford was the perfect place for his carbon to return to the cycle.

Obviously this island is pretty special to me now. I found myself feeling a little melancholy when I first got out there. Jim's ashes are long gone from that spot. And I am coming to terms with this reality that Jim is gone from this spot .... here ... with me. But his laughter, his crazy faces, his lust for life and his loving nature are still here with me. When I'm not feeling so damn sad about this loss I can feel truly grateful for having had this man in my life for as long as I did. I guess "healing" will mean I can be in that grateful place more often then not.

Spending time on Little Cranberry Island is healing for me. Watching Eagles swoop over us as we walked around the point that was perfumed with the wild sea roses; playing cards on the kitchen table and laughing while the fog bank rolled in and out, in and out; kayaking to the dock for a drink on the opening night of the island restaurant (and walking home since the fog had rolled back in!); drinking coffee on the rock beach in the brilliant morning sunshine while listening to the gulls croon and the waves dance over these tumbled rocks.

This weekend I began to feel a strength seeping into my being. I became aware how my body, as it's own island, is getting more comfortable with her own ebbs and flows and understanding that, though I'm alone, I am blessed by a rich life filled with adventures, laughter and some amazing friends.

Thank you Chris, Marion and Adam for that wonderful weekend on your island and the gift of your friendship.

Loving you all back,

Mary

PS - And still I struggle with the lay out of my blog and the pictures! Top photo from left to right is: MaryMargaret, me, Chris, Alice, Tim, Marion. We are in Marion's island pottery shop. It's on the ferry dock if you get out to this island. Stop in, gorgeous stuff! The second picture is Lupines ... this field made us all gasp when we first saw it. Photo credit: MaryMargaret.

The Hoya

I've had a hard time coming here to write lately. Not sure why. Not inspired and worry I'm getting a bit boring with this process. I bore myself with it sometimes. I've been told it's "normal" to want to just be done with this whole grieving shit and to just move on. However, like so many other things it seems to have it's own time line, one that I don't have much control over.

I'm slowly rebuilding this life of mine. Rearranged some stuff in the living room and cleaned an area that I had not gotten to for over two years. It was a pretty big project of cutting back my Hoya plant, which is a tropical plant that is a climbing vine and had gotten quite overgrown the last few years. The cutting my dad gave me long ago comes from a plant that originally belonged to my great grandmother - thus this Hoya is a family heirloom. It has gorgeous, big white flower bundles that have an intoxicating smell. One flower head will perfume my entire house, but only at night! A sweet, sticky nectar will drip from the tip of each segment of the flowers bundle (see picture). I believe it's probably evolved to be pollinated by bats. As fascinating as this is it can be one messy plant over time as the syrup drips onto the walls and furniture and then dust and crud will stick to that and ... ugh. So, cutting this plant back exposed the wall it's been climbing up for so long, which exposed the blackened old sticky spots. Cleaning the wall didn't work, I had to repaint the entire wall! It looks so much brighter and feels so much cleaner in this space now.

I laugh at myself because this half days project of cutting back the climbing vine of the Hoya, rearranging the furniture, cleaning, vacuuming and repainting this corner started out as my heading to my desk to try to organize and file stuff away ... which is in another room entirely.

The desk project still hasn't been attempted.

And this is how I function these days! A bit ADD really, heading for one project and getting so engrossed in something entirely different. There are still many, many projects that need to be tackled in this house and I still find myself running out of steam too easily. Still find myself hitting a road block composed of stuff. Some of this stuff, being Jim's, will hit me in the solar plexus and I have to walk away. Another day perhaps .... but WHEN will that day come? Seriously? When will I find the energy, the focus, the old me that could tackle big projects and complete them?

I know my Hoya will grow back the vines I cut down, that it will burst into blooms again at some point. All the new growth won't change the plant, but it will be different all the same. It's growth has it's own time line and not in my control.

I guess I see similarities in my Hoya and myself. I too got a haircut. I too weep - but only at night. The "old me" has also been cut down. The changes I am going through, so painful at times, is my new growth that also has it's own time line that I need just unfold into and not control.

I must trust that I too will bloom again.

Loving you all back,

Mary