nature

Conversation With…An Older, Wiser Question Mark…about losing momentum while growing older.

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 103 Comments

Though I’m still traveling Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick road, I haven’t written much lately because I’ve been thinking. Up to this point, I’ve mustered up positive energy while growing older…but suddenly and unexpectedly, it has come to a halt. What can I do? I was told I’d have a life changing experience if I spoke to the Older, Wiser Question Mark. I found it sitting by itself in the middle of nowhere and I started a conversation…

question mark

Hey Question Mark, I’ve got a question. Why have I suddenly lost momentum? Why are the freeing feelings I’ve had during this phase of life no longer there?

OLD QUESTION MARK: I don’t know.

Okay. Maybe I should be asking this a little differently. Is it possible that I’ve reached a certain satisfying point during the aging process and I’ve expressed everything I have to say about it? Now I need to talk about a different aspect of it? Do I need a new perspective and a different way to creatively express my feelings?

OLD QUESTION MARK:  I don’t know.

This feels like a bad therapy session. Listen to me! How can I pull myself out of this rut and find a new direction?

OLD QUESTION MARK: I wish I knew.

Okay. I get it. You’re a question mark. You’re never going to give me a straight answer. Right?

OLD QUESTION MARK: What do you think?

What do I think?  I think I’m at the end of my rope! I’m totally and completely frustrated! I need help!  How do I channel my older energy when it’s suddenly just sitting there?????   I mean, here’s something I’ve learned in the past year. I see my  older body can still heal itself at this moment, so I can push it a little harder to keep it healthy.  But NOW, how do I go about it? Do I take private yoga classes for overly sensitive, paranoid Baby Boomers? Do I  work with a trainer and lift one pound weights for six years until I’m brave enough to lift two pound weights?

OLD QUESTION MARK: I wish I could tell you.

I wish you could tell me, too! Because here’s another thing I’ve learned in the past year that’s making me feel stuck.  Sometimes I have random aches and pains for no reason.  Okay, fine.  I finally accept that. But NOW I  need to know how to keep my head when my body does weird stuff. How do I remind myself it’s the way my body works at this point in life and those feelings will come and go?

OLD QUESTION MARK: I–

Don’t say it!  And another thing! How do I move forward creatively when I’ve already said what I have to say about older age? Shall I call old colleagues and network? Do I reach out to companies with my ideas and test the water? You know? Just ask questions about what they’re looking for and see if my ideas are in sync with theirs?

OLD QUESTION MARK: If I respond, you’ll just get mad.

Hey listen…you might be shocked, but I’m actually getting something out of this conversation. I’m feeling inner strength emerging. I’m starting to realize it’s not what everyone else thinks at this time in life, it’s more about what I think and being very specific about what’s right for ME. And if I don’t have the answers right now, asking questions is a good way to start the process. I think that’s what I’m supposed to be getting out of this conversation. Am I right?

OLD QUESTION MARK: What do you think?

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What do  YOU think?

 

 

Conversation With…A Dried Flower…about the parts of ourselves that die.

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 65 Comments

Traveling Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a fork in the road.  The path that led to the left had a powerful, bright light at the end. The path on the right led to TJ Maxx. My favorite clothing store. Which was the correct way to go?! I noticed a dried flower floating toward the bright light. Actually, it was a beautiful, dried rose.  I asked her opinion…

dried flower

Excuse me! Dried flower?  Do you know which way to go?

DRIED FLOWER: It’s a matter of opinion.  I’m surprised you’re talking to me.

Why?

DRIED FLOWER: Because I’m dead.

No problem. I’ve always wanted to talk to someone dead.

DRIED FLOWER: Okay. Your choice. So, what do you want to know?

How do you know you’re dead?

DRIED FLOWER: I Googled it. The definition of death is, “the cessation of all vital functions.” Since I don’t have to make sure I have water or sunlight anymore to keep going or growing, it sounds like the right diagnosis.

How does it feel to be dead?

DRIED FLOWER: Kind of freeing in a way. I can let go of stress and move on. But this is crazy. I’m sure you can’t relate.

In some ways I can. I mean, even though I’m alive, some parts of me have passed on.

DRIED FLOWER: What are you talking about?

Well, I used to have brown hair. Now it’s gray. I’ll never have brown hair again. That phase within my body has died. Passed on.

DRIED FLOWER: Interesting. What else?

I used to menstruate, but that part of my system has shut down. Died. I’ll never get my period again. And there’s more. There are emotional deaths.

DRIED FLOWER: Like what?

Well, I remember when I was a teenager, one summer I went to sleep away camp. I was obsessed with the boys and having a boyfriend. There was a newness, a crispness, a freshness about the anticipation of that experience. I can’t really describe it, but it was so exciting. Even if I tried to go back to that phase of life, I’d experience it differently because I’d bring wisdom and perspective to it now. That phase of my life has passed on. I’ll never feel quite that way again.

DRIED FLOWER: Hmmm…

But then, there are other emotional phases I’m happy have died. Like, for years I used to be terrified of thunderstorms. If thunderstorms were in the weather forecast, I’d hide in a bathroom with no windows while the storms passed through. But then! When my son was born, I suddenly wasn’t afraid of thunderstorms anymore. Out of nowhere.

DRIED FLOWER: Maybe you realized you had bigger things to worry about.

Maybe. Now I actually love thunderstorms.

DRIED FLOWER: That’s nice.

So you know? Maybe life and death aren’t black and white. Maybe deaths are just series of cycles that move on to new cycles…even during life. I mean, look at you. You’re dead, but you’re an elegant, rust color. You’re very beautiful.

DRIED FLOWER: Thanks, but I gotta go now. I’m feeling pulled toward the  bright light.  Want to come?

No thanks. I’m going shopping.

DRIED FLOWER: What’s so enticing about TJ Maxx?

When you go in, you have to wade through a lot of stuff to find something you really like. You might find something, you might not. But if you do, it’s the greatest feeling, and it’s probably on sale so it’s within your reach.

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With that, I took a few steps toward the store. I turned around to say good-bye to the dried flower, but she was gone.

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

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Are there parts of you that have died?

Conversation With…Mother of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer…about empty nester worrying

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 54 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a huge building known as “The Worriers’ Warehouse.” In my older age, I worry more than ever. So I went inside and immediately noticed an older reindeer nervously biting her hooves. It was easy to start a conversation:

R 2

 

Hey Reindeer, what are you worried about?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: My son Rudolph.

Wait. Are you telling me you’re Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’s mother?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Yes. And I’m constantly refilling my Valium prescription.

Why? What could you possibly be worried about? He’s Santa’s personal assistant! You raised this heroic, caring reindeer who pulls a sleigh filled with presents to children all over the world.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Christmas Eve makes me crazy for the entire year. It takes me 364 days to recover from it.

Why?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: How would you like it if your son flew across the sky all night lugging a five billion ton sleigh filled with gifts? What’s holding him up there anyway?

Magic?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Not the most reassuring concept for a mother. What if he makes a crash landing?

I never thought of that—

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Or if he doesn’t crash, what about his physical health? He’s dragging a sleigh full of gifts for kids all over the world with just a few other reindeer. He could pull his back out.

I see your point.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Not to mention, my Rudolph could pass out from exhaustion! Thirst! Hunger! It’s a busy night! No breaks! Very high pressure! And I know him! He’ll never say no!

Another point well taken.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: And what if Rudolph has to fly through a blizzard? Or a tornado? Or a severe thunderstorm? Who knows how high those reindeer go? My son could be hit by a meteor! Or slam into the moon! He could—

All this makes complete sense, but you’re not alone. I worry about all kinds of things with my adult kids, too.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Like what?

Bad relationships, lack of relationships, driving at night, driving too fast, driving when the sun is rising and blocking vision, driving when the sun is setting and blocking vision, traveling in planes, buses, trains, taxis, living on pizza, needing help when there’s no one around–

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Okay, okay. We’re on the same worrying page.

But with all that, I also think we’re giving our kids one big, giant, great gift.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Oh good. Because I never know what to get Rudolph for Christmas. What’s the gift?

The gift of freedom. That way, our adult children can DO all the things we worry about. They have a chance to figure out where they belong in the world. When we don’t call or text them every five seconds or stalk them on Facebook, we’re letting them go. It’s a gift. Even though it kills us inside.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Well in that case…why can’t we just say to ourselves we raised mature, intelligent beings who can take care of themselves and make good choices? What if I stopped worrying about my millennial reindeer so much?

What if I stopped worrying about my adult kids so much?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Would something be missing from our relationships with our children?

Yes. Our connection.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Are you sure about that?

No. But I worry about it.

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

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How do you control the amount you worry about those you care about? (This includes pets.)

Conversation With…An Older Imagination…Dealing with what’s imaginary as we age.

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 79 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a glob of mist with eyeballs. When I asked who it was, it answered, “I’m an imagination. An older one.” I absolutely had to start a conversation.

imagination

Hey Older Imagination, I’m glad I met you because I’ve always had trouble balancing the good and bad sides of my imagination. As I grow older, I find it’s even harder. Maybe you can help me.

IMAGINATION: I doubt it. Though I’m older, I still have very little self-control. But I do see the good side of your imagination. I mean, right now you have a ton of imaginary friends.

What? What are you talking about?

IMAGINATION: Everyone who lives here, “Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road,” is imaginary. They come from inside your head.

I never thought of it that way. I guess they blossomed from my imagination, and then took on lives of their own.

IMAGINATION: Is that when the bad side of your imagination comes out?

Nope. It’s still the good side. Because talking with everyone here has led to conversations about being an empty nester, feeling fragile as I grow older, not knowing what to wear as I age, and all that stuff. Talking about those things helps me get through this phase of life.

IMAGINATION: And what happens next? The dark side of your imagination creeps in?

No. The conversations about growing older actually led to my book “Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road.” I’m really proud of it.

IMAGINATION: Phew! So I guess there really is no bad side of your imagination!

Yes there is. As I get older, if I feel a particular pain I don’t recognize or I feel anxious about my age, my imagination makes it much worse. It exaggerates the bad feelings. Makes them run wild.   

IMAGINATION: Guilty as charged. But knowing my limits after all these years…might there be another way to relieve your pain and anxiety as you grow older?

Well…I can pray more. Like, I pray my children, who are not always near me anymore, will be safe and well. It helps…unless, of course, God is really just another form of an imaginary friend.

IMAGINATION: I see the way the good and bad sides of your imagination work together.

Drives me nuts.

IMAGINATION: I’ve gotta stop talking now. If I don’t, I’ll start coming up with really weird ideas and we’ll both freak out. This conversation is becoming overwhelming for me.

Me too. It’s giving me a stomach ache. Or… am I imagining it?

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How do you stop your imagination from making life crazier in older age?

Conversation With…Fading Tinker Bell…About believing in older fairies

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 84 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I noticed a fading, flickering light in the distance. As a fan of fairy tales, I knew who it was right away. Tinker Bell! From the story of Peter Pan! I remembered her light faded the same way during her story, when Captain Hook poisoned Peter Pan’s medicine and Tinker Bell drank it to save Peter’s life.  After that, children everywhere clapped their hands to voice their belief in fairies…and Tinker Bell came alive So, why was she fading again? I rushed over and cried, “Excuse me, Tinker Bell. I’m not the paparazzi. I’m a loyal fan. Why are you flickering?  What’s wrong?!” She answered in a weak, faint voice:

Tinker Bell

TINKER BELL: I flew Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road to rekindle my spirit, but it isn’t working. I’m dying.

You can’t die! How did this happen? Did you drink Peter’s poisoned medicine again?

TINKER BELL: No. The situation is quite different this time. You see, after all these years, Peter has stayed young as he was meant to. But I have aged. I’m ever so much more than 110.

But you’re a fairy! Maybe you can live longer! Why is your spirit dying?

TINKER BELL: Because I’m not useful to Peter anymore. Do you remember our story? We appear outside children’s bedroom windows at bedtime and fly them to Neverland.

Of course I remember your story! I was always waiting for you!

TINKER BELL: Well, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. I can’t fly in the dark as well anymore.

So? You’re not alone. I can’t drive at night as well as I used to.

TNKER BELL: I appreciate your kind words. But that isn’t the only problem. You see, I always carry fairy dust to help children fly. But these days, I can no longer carry it. The weight of all that fairy dust throws my back out.

I have back issues too. But that’s no reason to give up on everything in older age. Can’t you try to adjust? That’s what everyone else does.

TINKER BELL: How?

Well, as long as we’re on the subject, I’ll blurt out something that has bothered  me about the story of Peter Pan for decades. It might help.

TINKER BELL: Go ahead. I fear I’m almost dead anyway.

Stop saying that!  Listen to me! Every time I read the story of Peter Pan, I feel it’s unfair that only children get to fly to Neverland. What about adults, like me, who will always be young at heart?  Why can’t we go too?

TINKER BELL: That is an excellent question. I’d like to fly you to Neverland myself, but as I told, you, I don’t see as well at night anymore. I muddle through it with Peter, but I don’t think I can add extra excursions.

You’re missing the point. I can’t see as well at night either, so I’d be happier flying to Neverland during the day! I bet others who are young at heart would say the same thing.

TINKER BELL: Hmmm…perhaps I could manage that. But what about the fairy dust? I can’t carry it.

I’ve got that figured out too. When you decide which bedroom window you’d like to visit, go ahead and order fairy dust from amazon.com a few days in advance. Use their two-day delivery service with free shipping.

TINKER BELL: Hmmm….Tempting thought.

Yes! And that way, the fairy dust will be waiting for you on any  bedroom windowsill as soon as you arrive there.

TINKER BELL: You know, I think this could work.

Yaaay!

TINKER BELL: But there’s one other thing I’ll need before I begin taking others on daytime trips to Neverland.

What’s that?

TINKER BELL: Heartfelt support to keep me alive.

What do you mean?

TINKER BELL: I’ll explain. As you recall, in my story, when I drank Peter’s poisoned medicine and almost died, Peter asked children everywhere to clap their hands to prove they believed in fairies.

I remember I clapped so loudly, my hands almost fell off.

TINKER BELL: That was you? Oh thank you. Anyway, now I must ask all those who will always be young at heart to clap for me again, and chant: “I believe in older fairies. I believe in older fairies.”

I’m in. And…everyone reading this post who feels the way I do, please, please clap your hands and chant along with me: “I believe in older fairies! I believe in older fairies! I believe in older fairies! I believe in older fairies!!!!!”

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I’d like to extend a huge, heartfelt thank you to all those who clapped and chanted. We brought Tinker Bell back to life. From this day forward, please listen for a light tapping on your bedroom window. Yes, it might be a woodpecker. But you never know. It might also be Tinker Bell, waiting to fly you to Neverland.

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Conversation with…An Older Sponge I Met Once Before…No longer trusting her physical capabilities

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 88 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I was feeling anxious. It was a hot day and I forgot to drink a lot of water, so my mouth was dry. I couldn’t accept the fact that dry mouth could be a normal reaction to slight dehydration. I thought my tongue was no longer working properly and I was going to die.  I was obsessing with it. That’s what happens to me sometimes as I feel myself growing older. I don’t trust my body to get its act together and move on. So I kept walking in a panic and passed a spa. I decided to stop in and try to calm myself down. I was heading to the spa café, when floating around nervously in a hot tub, I noticed a sponge I’d met once before. I wandered over and asked:

sponge in hot tub

Hey sponge, do you remember me?

SPONGE: Yeah. We met when I was soaking up sadness from other peoples’ lives and wondering if I was crazy.

Right. So what are you doing here in the hot tub?

SPONGE: I’m trying to calm myself down because I’m scared! I’m anxious! Every day I obsess with a different symptom and I can’t pull myself out of it! I don’t trust myself to get well anymore! Because I’m getting older!

Me too! A few days ago, I had a headache and thought something was wrong inside my brain. I got over that, but the next day I ate some broccoli and a small piece got stuck in my throat. I thought it would never go down because my throat was too old to push it and I’d stop breathing. Today I have dry mouth, and yesterday–

SPONGE: Don’t tell me any more of your symptoms. I’m suggestable. I’ll think I have them too and sink deeper into my sponge holes.

Why do you think we’re panicking now?  What clicked in our brains to make us distrust our physical selves??

SPONGE: Maybe we’re looking at situations around us differently, with an older eye. It’s not always pretty.

How do you mean?

SPONGE: Well, I don’t know about you, but I had a terrible Mother’s Day. My adult children were too busy to come and visit me. I feel like I don’t matter anymore. Maybe I shouldn’t even be here. I think that’s why I start thinking all these things are wrong with me physically.

I think you’re on to something. Like, since I’m older, I’ve decided it requires more effort to be sure people take me seriously the way they used to. I feel less useful and my world of possibilities is smaller. It makes me so sad. Maybe I shouldn’t even be here. That brings on the symptoms of doom. They’re based in deep sadness.

SPONGE: Well as I said, that’s why I’m in this hot tub. I comfort myself by floating around in here for weeks. The problem is, it’s not good for me. The more I sit in here, the deeper I sink and the heavier I get. When I’m heavier, it’s harder to get myself back on track. I’m all sogged-out.

I do the same thing with food. I eat because it’s comforting. But when I keep eating and eating and eating, even though I love it because food is so delicious, it makes me heavier and lethargic, and it’s much harder to get back on track. The food sits in my stomach longer and I gain weight much more easily these days.

SPONGE: So what can we do to calm ourselves down in a healthy way when we’re older?

Take medication?

SPONGE: Nope. Hate that stuff.

Me too. I won’t even take Advil.  Meditate? Or go for a walk?

SPONGE: When I’m in a panic mode, I can’t get myself to do that.

Me neither. Try tapping methods?

SPONGE: Nope. When I’m in a panic, I can’t pull it together.

Same here. Get a massage? With oils?

SPONGE: Not happening.

Acupuncture? Physical therapy?? Go to a chiropractor???

SPONGE: Nope, nope and nope.

So… you think there’s no way to make ourselves feel better when we’re anxious in older age?

SPONGE: I don’t know! I guess some conversations just can’t end with comforting answers.

I guess not…

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With that, I told the sponge I’d catch up with her later. I wished her well, and just before I left, we embraced. Oddly, the sponge immediately felt better. By wrapping my arms around the sponge, I’d squeezed all the water out of her. All the water that was weighing her down. She felt refreshed. Temporarily. And so…I guess I can say… sometimes, the best cure for anxiety in older age is simply…a hug.

How do you make yourself less crazy?

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Conversation with…A Lilac…about being young and old at the same time

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 78 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, in early May, I saw a lilac growing beside a tree. Lilacs are my favorite flower ever! I cherish the time they’re here! So I rushed over to it. But I noticed the lilac looked confused and distraught. I asked:

lilac

Hey lilac, what’s the matter?

LILAC: I can’t tell you.

Oh. Okay.

LILAC: It’s too upsetting.

Alright. I won’t ask.

LILAC: It has to do with my age.

Believe it or not, I’ll understand. What’s bothering you?

LILAC: I can’t tell you.

But you just started to.

LILAC: Forget I said it.

Okay. Fine.

LILAC: The tree next to me just told me I’ll only be in the world for about two weeks. But I just got here. I’m young and getting old at the same time. I’m a freak.

Well, for what it’s worth, I’m young and getting old at the same time, too.

LILAC: Really? I think you just look older.

Oh thank you.

LILAC: I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just being honest.

What I was trying to say was, I’m older on the outside but young on the inside. Young at heart.

LILAC: Well then, you must be confused too.

Baffled. 

LILAC: How do you deal with it? How do you stop yourself from obsessing with being older and young at the same time?

Well…I think every living creature is born with a gift. You know, some kind of outstanding talent that makes the world a better place. So, no matter how old I get, I focus on my gift and try to find new ways to use it.

LILAC: What’s your gift?

I believe it’s writing. The way I communicate. And I hope somehow, in my writing, just for a moment, I transform others. I hope I can suggest that others see the world a little bit differently through my words.

LILAC: That’s cool.

And people have all kinds of gifts. They make the world a better place through their art, music, photography, dance, recipes, families–

LILAC: I see where you’re going with this. But I’m just a flower. What’s my gift?

Your scent.

LILAC: Really? You mean, all I have to do is sit here and let people smell me?

Yes. And…you can carry on the lilac legacy—for all those lilacs who have been here before and those who will be here after you’re gone.  When you’re no longer here, others will remember your graceful, elegant petals, stunning color and most remarkable scent. You will become part of them.

I’m so neurotic. What about people who aren’t near me now? They won’t be able to smell me.

Just the sight of you will inspire them. Like this amazing illustration of a lilac created by Lisa: https://lismorepaper.com/2018/05/06/lilac-botanical-print/

I never looked better.

And! People can close their eyes and remember a time they experienced a lilac’s scent. 

How?

I’ll show you. Friends who are reading this post, when I count to three, close your eyes and imagine the scent of a lilac. One…two…three…

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What is your gift?

CONVERSATION WITH…The Cheshire Cat from Wonderland…about virtual friendships in older age

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 82 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yelllow Brick Road, I saw a grinning cat sitting in a tree. A moment later, the cat disappeared. The next moment, he appeared on the top of a bush. Then strangely, his body faded. All that remained was his smile and his eyes. Was it possible he was the Cheshire Cat from the story of Alice in Wonderland? I had to ask!

cheshire cat

Hey—are you—

CHESIRE CAT: Yes I am. The Cheshire Cat.

But, you live in Wonderland. What are you doing here? How did you get Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road?

CHESHIRE CAT: How does anyone ever get anywhere? With great difficulty.

I suppose.

CHESHIRE CAT: But I just had to come. Like the rest of you here, I’m growing older and trying to figure out where I belong in the world. I’m having trouble relating to the Mad Hatter, the White Rabbit, and the others the way I used to. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I’m changing. I’m obsessing with my age.

That’s how I ended up Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road. I was looking for friends who understood what I was going through. I wasn’t sure where or how I’d find them, but I felt compelled to look.

CHESHIRE CAT: I’m looking for others, like me, who can appear and disappear in older age.

 Oh. Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I don’t do that.

CHESHIRE CAT: Of course you do.

What? How?

CHESHIRE CAT: You’re a blogger. And so are most of the others who are reading my words right now. Your relationships with each other appear and disappear with a tap of an electronic device. As soon as your phones or computers are turned off, you’re gone. And as soon as you return to the internet, you appear.

You know, you’re right—

CHESHIRE CAT: The question is, if your blogger friends are virtual, are they real?

Well, you appear and disappear, and you’re real.

CHESHIRE CAT: Fair point. But how can you be sure?

Because though I can only see your grin and your eyes at the moment, I feel your spirit as you speak. The same is true with my virtual blogging community.

CHESHIRE CAT: Hmmm…Anything else?

Well, when I don’t have access to the internet, I’m sad. I miss my virtual friends.

CHESHIRE CAT: Hmm. Do say more.

Since virtual bloggers and I communicate through posts and comment sections, we say exactly what we want to say, very concisely. No small talk. And we speak from our hearts.

CHESHIRE CAT: Intriguing.

Also- I never worry about the way I look when I communicate with virtual friends. I don’t have to clean my house before I speak to them. I don’t have to make special appointments to get together and then change my schedule around. We appear to each other, and disappear, whenever we’re ready.

CHESHIRE CAT: Increasingly interesting…

And, if I can’t leave home due to health issues or other problems, my virtual community is still there. We communicate the way we always do. So, though I have never met these amazing people in the flesh, they MUST BE REAL.

CHESHIRE CAT: It’s a distinct possibility. In that case…when I return to Wonderland, might I join your virtual community? May I follow your blog?

I would love that.

CHESHIRE CAT: Thank you.

So…I guess you’re saying…you don’t think it’s insane that I call a virtual community of people, who appear and disappear, my friends?

CHESHIRE CAT: Do I think it’s insane? Well…you know what they say in Wonderland. We’re all mad.

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Are you real?

CONVERSATION WITH…The Soil…Feeling left behind by a flower…

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 77 Comments

I just returned from a week’s vacation, visiting my daughter who lives thousands of miles away. Now, since I’m back “Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road,” I’m feeling angry, hurt, and as if I’ve been left behind. Walking along the Yellow Brick Road, I was glad to hear a pile of soil on the ground calling out to me. The soil said:

soil

SOIL: Hey you, I know how it is.

What? What do you mean?

SOIL: You have the “I wish I could adjust to being left behind” look on your face. I’d know it anywhere. I’m in the same place.

How so?

SOIL: Well, about a year ago, a seed came into my life. I hugged her under the ground so tightly I almost squashed her to death. I was just trying to keep her safe and warm.

I did the same with my daughter when she was a baby.

SOIL: Yeah. Whenever it rained, I did everything I could to be sure my seed was nourished with water. And miraculously, she grew roots.

I gave my daughter roots, too.

SOIL: But, my seed’s roots grew bigger and wider. Sometimes it drove me crazy, trying to figure out how to keep her nourished, and continuing to hold her in place, even when she made it difficult.

I’ve been there.

SOIL: And then…things started to fall apart. When I least expected it, my seed shoved herself above the ground. She grew a stem and kept growing higher and higher. She kept growing further and further away from me.

Welcome to my world.

SOIL: Then she grew thorns on her stem! Who told her to do that? Not me!

Sounds like my daughter’s tattoos.  Not my personal favorite.

SOIL: I guess those are just parts of who they are.  Anyway, at this point, my seed is a fully grown rose.

rose

She’s beautiful.

SOIL: Thank you. But her stem is so tall and far from the ground, if I want to talk to her, I have to scream my guts out.

Most of the time, I talk to my daughter through some kind of a screen. It’s not the same as speaking to her face to face. I hate it.

SOIL: What’s up with this???? Why is this happening?

I don’t know! But leaving my daughter was so hard this time.  Accepting I won’t see her in person very often makes me want to give up. I want to somehow separate myself from the pain. And move on!

SOIL: It breaks my heart when I realize no matter how hard I cry or how loudly I whine, my rose is never coming back down here.

Although…you know…you can never really separate from your rose.  And I can never really separate from my daughter.

SOIL: Why not?

Because we carry their roots. And deep down, I think they appreciate knowing we support them.

SOIL: I guess in that way…we’ll never really be left behind.

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How do you handle being left behind?

Note: A special, heartfelt thank you to baffledmum at:  https://baffledmum.com/2018/04/25/giving-up/  Her post about “giving up” really inspired me. Check it out!

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

CONVERSATION WITH…A Withering Balloon…Anxious about sudden endings

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 60 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, a withering balloon floated by. It had a clueless expression on its face, so I figured it was new in the area, as I was. I started a conversation.

balloon

Hey balloon, what brings you “Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road?”

WITHERING BALLOON: I drifted here. I’m not sure how I got here, and I’m not sure where I’ll be going next.

You’re not alone. In a very broad sense, the same is true of my existence.

WITHERING BALLOON: Really?

Yes. How did you end up here?

WITHERING BALLOON: Well, I used to work in a Real Estate office. I had a string tied on me, and I was attached to an “Open House” sign. The house was finally sold, so my old, worn, tattered string unraveled and I floated off on my own. Now I’m here trying to figure out where I belong in the world.

Me too.

WITHERING BALLOON: I have to say, I passed a lot of enchanting things on my way to this place. The world is absolutely incredible.

It is.

WITHERING BALLOON: I’ve had a great ride so far.

Me too.

WITHERING BALLOON: I’d like to see more.

Same here.

WITHERING BALLOON: I’d like to keep going and going and going.

So would I.

WITHERING BALLOON: But at any moment, I could pop. And that would be the end.

Well–

WITHERING BALLOON: I mean, I’ve made it this far in life, but how much longer can I possibly go on? At any moment, I could float into a sharp tree branch and burst. Or I could drift into a street lamp and I’d be gone in a flash. Or I could–

I see you’ve given this some thought.

WITHERING BALLOON: I can give you more examples.

No need. I think about it, too.

WITHERING BALLOON: So, what are we supposed to do about it?

Well, the way I see it is…there are two choices. We can continue to enjoy the beautiful ride and take in as much as we can. Or…we can obsess with when it will all be over.

WITHERING BALLOON: I wish I could just enjoy it. But anxiety runs in my family.

Mine too.

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How do you find a balance?

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018