Free Again

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

my African violet celebrating freedom to bloom in winter

Today marks the first day in awhile that both Pete and I feel free. Not free in the sense that we have no obligation but at long last, are not confined by cancer, sinus infection or nasty viruses to a particular diet or bed or part of the house. 

Pete, had Phase 2 have his Papillary Thyroid Cancer treatment the last four weeks which ended yesterday. This consisted of three weeks of a low iodine diet followed by three days of thryoid hormone shots. After that he swallowed a radioactive iodine pill which forced him to stay overnight in the hospital and then be sequestered in his own part of the house once I brought him home. We could look at each other from a distance but couldn't touch. Pete couldn't touch any of the utensils I was going to use to eat so I had to serve him everything. As of today, this is all over!

Meantime, I contracted a nasty virus that led to a nasty sinus infection. For this same three weeks, I have spent more than half my time flat on my back in bed and some of my time caring for my grandson, who started antibiotics the same day as me. I figure in that time I used upwards of 600 kleenex tissues, and sucked about 75 cough drops, not to mention all the drugs and tea and soup. And I coughed so much I got sore stomach. Sunday was my first day out in public. I'm still blowing but the pain and headache are gone and the energy has returned. And no more cough drops!

So today, is freedom day! For the first time in ages, I feel like getting up and accomplishing something. And Pete was up and off to work at the crack of dawn. There's something so magical about the first day you wake up well after a long confinement. It feels as if I've been reborn, like I have been given another chance at life. Outside the temperatures are dropping below the zero mark, the land and some cars are freezing up and refusing to go. Inside, where all dreams are born, it is spring and green. The winter flowers are ready to burst. I'm having delusions of grandeur, of a clean house, one that is finely decorated for the holidays and all my papers sorted and my ducks in a row. I'm dreaming of holiday parties and gifts and writing my annual letter. Okay, that is a little grandiose but let me have my moment please!

Meantime, I hope each and everyone of you gets to stay healthy over the winter and holidays and that you have a moment to celebrate the freedom this health offers you. 

I'm free again! We are free again!

Happy Hans Day!

Hans Peter Bonde....(March 24, 1989--September 28, 2000)....Leaving us with Joy Forever

A week wrapped in love and a "rain-set"

Last night's "rain-set" (a combination of rain and sunset) was spectacular. Here is a photo of the sunset through the gentle rain that had fallen all afternoon ( out my book door). As Pete and I stood on our back steps and watched, I kept thinking that this was a week wrapped in love and prayer. The sun and rain helped me see that. Let me explain.

I have to back up a ways. At the end of June, our son noticed a bump on Pete's neck which we decided should be checked out. then there was a doc visit, an ENT visit, a CT scan, a biopsy and an ultrasound. On August 4, Pete was diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer. That whole first week after the diagnosis, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. It took all my strength to not jump to horrible conclusions. And actually the news was good. This is a cancer with a 95% cure rate, even after 20 years. And Pete is one of the healthiest people I know. But I've been down the path that runs through the shadow of death before and I've lost people, including my 11 year old son Hans (in 2000). Just because everything looks good doesn't mean it is. I know this truth in my bones and deep in my heart. So I reached out for support and prayers because no matter how things turn out, life is just better when the community focuses on blessing and supporting each other.

On Wednesday, September 14, (just two days ago) Pete had his surgery at the U of M hospital with the same surgeon who did my parathyroid surgery 5 years ago. This helped give me confidence in the outcome. I totally trusted Dr. Evasovich. Then on the day of surgery, my friend Cheryl, and Pete's sister Kris (and later my children) joined me in the family waiting room. It was a long, long day which included a 3-hour delay before the surgery started. But we weren't wrong about Dr. Evasovich. She did a great job taking out his thyroid and several lymph nodes as well as avoiding all the risks of nerve damage. She even caught an extra problem in one of Pete's parathyroids and removed that.

All the while, I knew people were praying and sending love and holding us tenderly in their hearts. It was exhausting to wait but inside, at the center, I felt a peace that passes all understanding. It was similar to something I had felt before when our son Hans got brain cancer...the mystery of beauty in the midst of pain and chaos, the mystery of how people can hold one another with love.

Yesterday, Thursday, I brought Pete home from the hospital around noon with every hope that he will fully recover. He has a very sore throat but was able to eat and spent most of the afternoon resting. And then in the evening a very sweet thing happened. There was this poetic movement of the sun echoing off of every raindrop as it sank into the horizon. Yellow and orange filled the sky as the rain continued to fall. I couldn't help but think this is what happens when everyone prays...the light shines and echoes off of every teardrop, every deep sigh. Tears wrapped in love turn to gratitude and joy. This is another truth sinking deep into my bones. Light and love change everything, even a week spent fighting cancer.

So I offer my gratitude to God, to all of you, to the mystery of how love can make a rain-set appear on your back steps at the end of day full of struggle. Thank you for wrapping my week in love!

Love, jules ~ 9/16/16

Bitter and Sweet

Life is bittersweet at its heart, perhaps at its best. For it is in those moments of deepest sorrow or pain that we also are suddenly keenly aware of the amazing gifts and beauty of our lives.

I'll never ever forget the 16 months we had with our son Hans after he was diagnosed with stage 4 brain cancer (glioblastoma multiforme) the summer between his 4th and 5th grade years. I can't remember the excruciating pain without also remembering it as one of the best times of our lives. Being faced with the total and complete vulnerability of life for each of us (no matter how healthy) made all those unimportant squabbles and desires melt away. Money and success and being right ceased to matter. All that mattered was love and the moments.

Hans following one of his surgeries.

In some ways it seemed like time stopped. We suddenly had time to enjoy each other and be with each other in ways we hadn't before. We celebrated every day we had together. We went camping, biking, played games, laughed, hung out with extended family. We talked, we sang, we prayed. We hugged and cuddled. We fell in complete love with each other. Honestly, it was an amazing time for us. We lived with joy. Each day was so precious that we closed with a ritual of good night with blessing and goodbye.

Of course, one day we did say goodbye forever as Hans moved on to the next life. (September 28, 2000) And of course there was some pretty wrenching and dark days of mourning to follow. But even those gave birth to a deeper sense of gratitude and honor for this sweet person we were privileged to have among us, even for a short time. And eventually that expanded to a deeper gratitude for all of life, however flawed it is.

What I'm trying to say, is that the bitter and the sweet are so closely tied, that I can't separate them. I'm not arguing for cause and effect, just for the constant companionship of them both in my life. Bitter whispers in one ear with how tragic life is and Sweet sings in the other how fantastic and amazing it is. And peace grows in me, I am transformed, as I learn to dance with both these partners.

Peace!
Jules, 9/2/2016

First steps

sweet chubby bare feet cutting their first paths across the hardwood floor arms out for balance and reaching my grandson learning to walk and climb and tumble and bump into things which I find so encouraging inspired again in my own journey to take the path accept the bumps and falls and rise again strong daring greatly sparkling eyes grin his mouth opens in wonder and I'm inspired again to enjoy the moment wallow in the joy of it living life as it comes
every step another adventure ~grandma jules, 8/25/16

TWO WORKSHOPS COMING THIS FALL

Hello my dear friends!

I am so excited to be offering 2 workshops this fall! Both workshops are designed to be experiential. You will get a chance to try some new ways of thinking, writing and listening. You will go home with things you can use in your everyday life.

• Saturday, September 24th--Writing as Spiritual Practice--come and have some fun writing to free your inner voice! This one is with yours truly--Julie (jules) Bonde CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFORMATION AND TO REGISTER. 

• Saturday, October 29th--The Art of Listening--join me and Joyce Finch as we practice better ways of listening and communicating! CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFORMATION AND TO REGISTER. 

I hope you will be able to join us! If you are interested in either of these but can't make these dates, please let me know at madjules@gmail.com. I/we plan to offer both workshops later. Also stay tuned for a Writing-Part 2 workshop.

blessings on your listening!
jules

Hold that Thought Please!

Here comes that inspiration.
What a wonderful train of thought!
I'm running down to the station to meet it
Let's write it down, then let's do it.
But on the way I get distracted.
I wander off to check out something else.
I start making tea to drink while I write.
The phone rings and I answer.
I remember I'm thirsty so back to the tea
Now where was I?
Uh-oh! the train has the left the station.
And the inspiration did not get off!
It's gone!
I hate it when my brain doesn't hold the thought for me
Perhaps when the next train comes I'll be ready?
Perhaps...

(true story written by jules, 8/17/16)

Winning the Lottery!

July 21, 2016

In 1959 I was born into a beautiful and loving family. I am just so grateful that I landed there. My parents were in their forties, about 10 to 15 years older than my friends and peers. My siblings, (all 5 of them) were off at boarding school, 700 miles away. [my parents were Lutheran missionaries on the island of Madagascar from 1948 to 1976 and boarding school was part of that experience] My mom and I flew down to introduce me to them when I was 6 weeks old, the first of many attempts at family reunions--with intention to be family together. But as it turned out, we never really did live together except for a few vacations here and there. There weren't as many gatherings as we wanted. Like the others, I went to boarding school too, when i was in first grade and on from there. And then after college, each of us in turn spread our wings and flew far and wide and now live in 5 different states and coast to coast.

As I look back over the last 57 years, there have been a lot of tear-filled nights and days, longing for my family, wishing I could live with them and praying that one day, I would have a family to really belong to. This being apart has influenced both my mistakes and my wholehearted decisions. It's been my deepest pain and most exquisite gift.

Three weeks ago was our most recent family reunion. We all (all 6 of us siblings) came together (plus a few spouses and children) to spend a week together. It was amazing! It was loving and it was, for a few days, that feeling of family. We did more story-telling than ever before. We spent more time together. I found myself returning to that deep gratitude, for landing there, in that place 57 years ago. We've all grown up a lot, we're all in our wisdom years and now in addition to loving each other, we have the grace to just be together and enjoy the moments when we can. I am filled with love and gratitude for that week.

I can't stop  there though. I have to include another reunion that happened the week before when I spent a week with 7 women that I have known since birth as all of us grew at boarding school together, all of us close to the same age. We had a reunion at one of their homes and spent a week, laughing, talking, crying and just wallowing in this space of friendship and this feeling of family; adopted family. I can't believe the kindness and support and generosity I felt that week. I can only begin to express my gratitude for that.

And there's more! because after both of these reunions I went to practice with my hospice/comfort choir [Morning Star Singers]. And in those first few notes of harmony, I felt so at home, more myself perhaps than I feel anywhere else in the world. This is my tribe too, these gorgeous hearts that live so lovingly, that blend so beautifully, that fight to keep kindness and peace int he world with their presence.

And there's even more! In a few days, I will celebrate 35 years of wonderful, joyful, amazing marriage and friendship with my husband Pete. I can't believe I got so lucky! he is truly one of earth's most treasured gifts. And with him came another entire clan who took me in and cared for me. And with him came our beautiful children and grandchildren. In addition I have great friends who have stood by me through thick and thin.

I feel today as if I've won some secret lottery. And like any winner I am crying with tears of joy. I've won it all! --Family, partnership, marriage, friends and time to enjoy them!

How many ways is there to say thank you? and grateful? I thought perhaps this old picture of me would do the trick. In honor of all those who have touched my heart and my life, I raise my hands to the heavens!

Thank you!

Recipe for a 21st Century Presentation

Recipe for a 21st Century Presentation

1 fifty-something husband and wife team with a mission
1 previously used PowerPoint Slide Show
2 previously used Word Documents stored on OneDRive
1 Word Document stored on Dropbox
Windows 8 and Windows 10 and Apple-iOS
1 extra PowerPoint Slide stored on a thumb drive
5 digital photos stored on Google Drive
1 Dell XPS ONE_2710 desktop computer
1 Store-N-Go thumb drive for backup
1 wireless printer
1 Lenovo Yoga2 laptop computer
1 Micro HDMI converter
1 HDMI cable connector

1 27” widescreen TV mounted on the wall at restaurant
Wi-Fi at restaurant to email forgotten speech content from laptop
1 Apple I-Pad to receive forgotten speech notes on said email
Use “cloud” and “internet” generously
A huge dose of Calm Perseverance
2 twenty-something waitresses who can help get laptop hooked to TV
1 audience with lots of grace
Great Team Work!

Mix it all together with tenacity, hope, passion for the mission.
And voila! A 21st Century Presentation enjoyed by all!

Am I still on earth? I think so.
Is this a messy tangled life? Absolutely!

Remember when words like "drive" and "cloud" and "connection" meant something else?

Cautionary Note: Before using this recipe, be sure to double check all devices for possible online updates! Also, if you were born before 1960, some of these ingredients may be hazardous to your health. Check with your children before proceeding.

The Basement Excavation: Giving Thanks for the Connections

In the silence of the early morning, I stopped to meditate for a bit, to ponder. I became overwhelmed with gratitude for this knowing in my bones that I am not alone, that Love, that God, that all of you are with me. I have spent a lot of my life longing for connection (due in part to the conditions of my childhood growing up in a boarding school).

Later, down in the basement, the box I picked up to go through contained all of the sympathy cards sent to us after our son Hans died fifteen years ago. As I threw them into the recycling, I opened each one to read the names signed inside. I just wanted to see the names again. A feeling of gratitude washed over me and stopped me in my tracks. I am so thankful for the community of people whose threads of love held us up during that dark time.

As part of my ongoing longing to connect, I signed up for Facebook long before many of my peers. As a result I was able to "find" people I had lost track of. But Facebook itself is a surreal place. It is not a place of real connection, of real relationship but it is a place where we can come and remember how connected we are. As I have been going through decades of letters, cards and notes, I am experiencing the same thing there. Those letters and cards are not the real relationship but they are a reminder of all the connections my family has had over the years. Honestly, if I had to count them all, there would be hundreds of people over the years that have woven their threads with ours. Perhaps that is part of the answer of why my mom and her parents saved so many of their letters--as visible reminders of those connections. I can't say I blame them. Sometimes when we feel so alone, we need those reminders. It can help to have someone call or text or send you little note on email.

Brene Brown says humans are "wired for connection." This is certainly true in my case. There have been times when I have felt so alone, so separate from family, from friends and even from God. The longing to connect has sometimes been a physical pain in my body. But always when I pause to look and listen, to meditate and ponder, I notice there are threads there. You are there! And I fill up with gratitude and realize I have enough, more than enough.

So if I haven't thanked you lately, for weaving your threads with mine, consider yourself thanked! Friends like you, are worth more than all the gold!

THANK YOU! MERCI BEAUCOUP! MANGE TUSEN TAKK! MISAOTRA!

The Basement Excavation: the 100th Box!

“Letting go is hard (really hard) but sometimes holding on is harder.” ~ Anonymous quote.

“Sometimes letting things go is an act of far greater power than defending or hanging on” ~ Eckhart Tolle

What's the greater risk? Letting go of what people think - or letting go of how I feel, what I believe, and who I am? Brene Brown

_______________________________________________________

(NOTE: I did not say last box...I said 100th box!)

Today, just today, I went through my 100^th box! Of the boxes I have gone through, I have emptied 62 boxes! This means that most of those 62 boxes has ended up in the recycling bin by our garbage…and a few have made it to the thrift store. I am 8 weeks in to my commitment to attack 2 boxes per day. Of the boxes that are not empty, an additional 15 are scheduled to be given to other people; mostly old Malagasy books. And though I still have umpteen photo/negatives/slide boxes to go through, I am pausing to celebrate my progress.

Wow! The 100^th box! When I started I was very skeptical about getting even this far. I didn’t even count the boxes past 100 because I never believed I’d make it that far. This is amazing, so miraculous! I am not even sure that I can take credit for it even though I have felt each box in my bones and heart as I’ve sorted and emptied. A lot of tears have been shed. A lot of deep breaths have been let go. There have been many days when the instinct to hold on was stronger than the the need to let go. I can honestly say I am getting better at it though. Little by little I’m beginning to feel the power of letting go like Eckhart Tolle says in his quote (see above). Little by little, I am beginning to notice that along with the stuff, I’m letting go of old definitions of strength, of family, of connections. I’m letting go of what people think, of perceived expectations and focusing more on what I need to do to be healthy, what my family needs. Little by little, I am beginning to believe that my life after this will be freer, lighter; that I won’t be carrying this burden of stuff so I’ll have room to give more of my heart to other adventures.

So I am nearing the end of going through boxes of papers (which were mostly letters and scrapbook savings). Soon I will be going through a couple dozen boxes of old photos/slides/negatives. As I head that direction, I want to offer my gratitude to all of those who have offered me support and understanding in this process. I never dreamed I would get this far. Thank you!

~Jules

The Basement Excavation: Pushing through the Wall

Often when we go on a diet, we lose a lot of weight in the first couple weeks. The first ten pounds are pretty easy, although we have worked hard at the new habit of either not eating or eating healthier. It's great! We are proud of ourselves with good reason. We're making progress. It makes us want to keep going, to lose more but then something happens. Our body slows down the weight loss. The needle on the scale doesn't move. We hit the dieting wall. We work just as hard but with less results. Sigh!

Clearing my basement has been like going on a diet. It's been hard and it's been rewarding up to a point. At first it felt like I was making progress, emptying boxes. But as the days rolled on, it got harder. Four weeks into my 2-box-a-day commitment it began to feel like nothing was happening at all. I kept doing the work but it kept feeling messy, lost and confusing. Like the kid in the back seat, I kept wanting to ask, "Are we there yet? when are we going to get there?" Ugh! I have some days where I just wanted to close the basement door and forget it. Then I got sick with a cold this last week and that about undid the whole thing for me. Like in the beginning I would walk down the stairs, look around and then just come right back up. I really needed some new energy.

Fortunately for me a solution presented itself. Our son and daughter-in-law (Karl & Erica) live nearby. They are working on a project at their house too so we decided to do an exchange of help. So yesterday I got my burst. For the first time since I started the project, we were able to move furniture around and begin to create the new areas. We also did some deep cleaning as we moved things. The result makes the clearing much more real. Now when I look around, I can see the open spaces. It feels good. It feels like I might have actually done something. I still feel the burden of how much is left to do but I feel a renewed sense of commitment.

We will over time meet several walls in our lives. Some of these walls will be "dark nights of the soul." Some will just be piles of  laundry or bills to pay. I confess there have been times when I sensed a wall and just turned myself around and went a different direction. It's hard to go through the walls, be in the discomfort long enough, sweat a few drops, get dirty and weary. But we don't necessarily have to do it alone. We can get help. It is amazing how much easier it is to push through that wall when we have someone willing to stand next to us, to be in it with us.

I pray that you will have someone willing to stand with you when you face your wall.

love, jules

The Basement Excavation: Remembering Mom and Dad

Case #3: Remembering Mom and Dad

The other day I was sorting though another old box of my mom's. She had old letters, school programs; a chaos of papers. She used to save everything we ever did, every letter we wrote, everything. I came accross a card I made for my parents for their 30th anniversary. It was exquisite in both design and content. I was professing my love and gratitude to them for the gift of family they had given me. It undid me. I remembered how much I loved them and how much I miss them. Mom and Dad weren't perfect but I do believe I learned about love from them, real love. I wish with all my heart and body that I could tell them how I've lived in that love and used it. Oh the ache of that moment and the sweetness of knowing I had given them a gift in return, of gratitude. I didn't get much done the rest of that day. Perhaps I won't throw that card just yet.

Sometimes I wish, really wish that Mom hadn't saved everything, that she had let go. But that day, I was grateful. And I know her well enough to know she let go of plenty. Sigh!

Update:

AS of today, March 10th, I have gone through 66 boxes. 40 of those boxes have been emptied. some have been reused to haul things away to recycling or the thrift shop. In addition I've unloaded 4 big bags of clothes. Lots of tears have been shed as I face old family baggage that I've avoided for a LONG Time (at least 15 years). They have been therapeutic tears though exhausting at times. Today there are no tears and I'm grateful for that too. Today I just feel good to still be in it, to have not given up yet.

I've been saying that the word for the year is CLEAR. I love that you can interpret this in a number of ways. i'm still waiting for a sweet mission statement to come out of this, a nice statement of intention that makes the purpose all CLEAR.

I am praying and yearning for God's guidance and wisdom in all of this. If I let go of the old family stuff, will I better be able to handle the truth of family that is NOW? i hope so. and will I find renewed energy to pursue other dreams? I hope so.

Gratitude:  Many thanks to those friends, I think you know who you are, who have been so supportive of me during this project. I am so grateful! ~ jules

The Basement Excavation: Facing Grief and Finding Treasure

The Basement Excavation—Day #17

So far I’ve been faithful to my commitment to go through two boxes each day. There is a growing stack of empty boxes in one corner. I hope that empty stack continues to grow but not every box gets thrown. Though clearing is the ultimate goal, throwing it all out is not the immediate goal. The idea is to go through everything, taking the time to painstakingly acknowledge all of it and get a grip on the reality of what IT really is.

In some cases, I’ve been able to throw a whole box right away. I am grateful for those easy ones, where the choice is obvious. In others, I’ve opened, looked through a few things and said, “Okay, I’m not ready for that one until later.” This is an acceptable response but I know eventually I will have to deal with those too. And then there have been those moments of profound encounter with something deep within.

Case #1: A gift from Dad

Two weeks ago, on a Saturday, I was leading a writing workshop on journaling. As part of my presentation I told those who came about what I had learned from my dad about the Lord’s Prayer. I was telling them how he used to encourage people to use the Lord’s Prayer to pray about specific things in their life. The next day I am down in the basement. I open a box and sitting right on top is the old Lutheran Standard article which my dad wrote about just that. With tears of gratitude I grabbed the article, and closed the rest of the box (for now). It was if Dad was encouraging me, letting me know he was happy to share this gift with me. I scanned it into my computer for future reference and to save it in new way. I have no idea what will happened to that article in the next generation but by then I will have shared it with many and the ripples will be enough inheritance to share.

Case #2: Encountering Hans 15 years later

Just a few days ago, I had a really busy day but in the free hour that I had I decided to suck it up and head down to do a few boxes. I saw an unmarked box in the middle of the room and wanted to have an idea what was in it. Initially unreachable, I climbed and squeezed in to where I could get a look. I opened the box and there was Hans’ stuff. As the tears started to form, I sifted through the random collection of junk. I have begun to notice that the more ridiculous the item, the more it triggers my grief. Why? Because the ridiculous stuff, the stuff that holds no intrinsic value is there only because my son cared about it. This box of apparent nothingness is classic Hans. And yet we still have to let go of most of it. Letting go brings a new wellspring of grief…that very really emotion as we experience the physical separation once again. I can’t express enough how physical grief really is.

Initially I find it odd and unsettling that such a box of junk can mean so much to me but there it is. Without the physical connection to my son, these stupid little things taking up space clearly give me a sudden material connection to the reality of my sons’ life before and now.

The sudden desire to speak to him, to see him in the flesh again is unbearable and the tears are unstoppable. This is the part of de-cluttering that takes more than determination and a good self-help book to conquer. This takes a breath and a prayer and some emotional support. Here I must stand with the grief, allow the tears and honor the pain as well as the joy. I may have to take a couple days to process before I am ready to let go. I may need to bring my husband alongside for this part of the journey. And even so, there is hope just in the fact that I am able to choose this work. 

The Basement Excavation: A family history of saving and grief.

Ash Wednesday was ten days ago and much like many other people I've decided to try a new spiritual practice during the 40 days of Lent that follow it. I've decided to practice getting rid of things, letting go of the past, letting go of stuff, and in some cases letting go of commitments. this is a very personal journey. It is not the first time I've told myself, I am going to de-clutter; I'm going to let go. "Easier said than done" is understatement.

Looking back on a history of family saving
I was born into a family of savers (some might call them pack rats). There were some very logical and practical reasons for the saving over the generations. We didn't have much money. My mom had grown up moving around a lot.  Our family, in turn, also moved a lot, traveled a lot. Along the way, as you travel, you collect things. My parents were missionaries on the island of Madagascar so we couldn't just run to the store for new things. We were thrifty, using the same clothes, books, toys over and over again. We saved them, took care of them and were able to enjoy them for more than one generation. This served my family well for a long time. it was a good habit that taught us to be good stewards of what we had. It also taught us to save things we would never need to use again.

In addition, there are family historians on both sides of my family; in particular my mom's side. Before the dawn of the digital age, these ancestors, including my grandfather, kept diaries, extensive family tree information, took wonderful photographs and slides and even wrote books. My grandfather had a habit of saving all his correspondence (every letter he wrote or received) some of which serve to narrate his family relationships.  He wrote about 40 books, most not published but there are copies for his children. He had his own library. So for my siblings and I, our inheritance consisted mainly of a shed full of books, letters, photographs, slides and boxes with various sentimental and practical things that my parents thought we would use after they were done with it. They meant well. Our parents were trying to help and somehow, as the youngest child, it all ended up in my lap, my basement. And I added some of my own.

Storing my Grief
Over the years I have explored several theories and justifications and analysis for the behavior of hanging on to stuff. The reason that stands out above the rest is grief. I was born in Madagascar, spending most of my time in an Eden-like setting on the southern tip of the island with vacations with my parents in the capital city. For me Ft. Dauphin and Tananarive, Madagascar are my home towns, but there is no home in either one of them to go back to. So when I left, I took what i could with me and hung on to those possessions, notes, diaries, photographs with all my might. I took my home with me. When my parents died, I welcomed their treasures from those places too. It was then I realized they had been taking a piece of home along with them too.

Grief, in its darkest moment, is the excruciating pain of separation from those people and places you love. It makes sense to me then that in those darkest days of grief, we just hung on to what we could of those lost relationships, those lost places.

When I was 17 I left my home in Madagascar for the last time. I have never been back. When I was 27 my dad died. When I was 41 my third son Hans died of brain cancer. Six months later, my best friend died. Several years later my mom died. With each death, each separation, each new wound of grief, I hung on to the pieces of those places and relationships that I could, much like my parents and grandparents had before. And all the while the basement filled up with my grief.

By the time I was in a better place, I didn't want to return to the boxes, the stuff I had stored. I just wanted to live in the joy that I could. Above ground, above the grief, I went on with my life (a pretty joyful life) but every time I walked through the basement, I was reminded. The pile was growing and it was serving me less and less.

So here I am, years later. The boys are grown up and have homes of their own. Pete and I are grandparents. It's Day #11 of my commitment. I've gone through at least 2 boxes each day. Pete is making the first haul to the thrift store. Our recycling container is full. There is a long, long way to go. I've done the easy stuff first. But there is hope.

There is hope.

Prelude to the Basement Excavation project.

Introduction: On February 10, Ash Wednesday, I made a commitment to dig in and clean out all the stuff in my basement. I've been putting it off for a long time and it seems like Lent is as good a time as any to make this attempt. I'm petrified and I'm determined. I thought I'd share some thoughts about the process along the way. If you believe in prayer or wishes, please send some courage my direction. Thanks, Jules

The Basement Excavation: Prelude

I take a few steps down, turn and go back up.
can I? once I start, will I have the strength? the courage to finish?
It will be an even bigger mess before I get to the good part.
I will have to face my grief, my nostalgia, my sentimentality.
I will have to face my tears.
Can I? Will I?
I really want to.
I really need to.
It feels like it is time.
I start down the stairs again, determined to go all the way down.
I wander around the boxes, overwhelmed as usual.
"Break it down" they always say as if it's that easy.
"Do it in small chunks" they say as if I even know what the chunks are.
"if you haven't used it in a year, you don't need it." they say, a saying which totally ignores all the precious relationships those things represent
People think stored stuff is just about cleaning.
It is much more than that.
No one tells you how to deal with the grief when it rises.
no one tells you how to let go.
It's like diving off the high dive.
I suspect I'll survive but I'm not sure it will feel as exhilarating as they say.
I open my first box and surprisingly find something I can toss right away.
There is hope.

God help me...
Here I go....beginning to uncover more than a decade of stuff buried in my basement.

I mean it God...Please help me!

a beach sabbath

(In Feburary, 2016 Pete & I spent 8 days on vacation in Ixtapa, Mexico. 
This is a reflection of that experience)

a beach sabbath

sitting on the beach

the angle of the afternoon sun

reveals stardust in the sand

tiny bits of bright shiny stars beneath my feet

and on the surface of the sea too

tiny bits of stars reflect back the light

the earth is breathing

a slight ocean breeze running through our lungs

teasing our hair, gently caressing our skin

the rhythm of the waves crashing 

echoes the heartbeat

i breathe deeply,

feeling even my fingertips relax

my main appointment of the day 

is to show up for the sunset

to sit up then and bear witness 

to the nearly unbearable beauty

of each day as it comes to a close

this is vacation

this is sabbath

this is rest, renewal down to the deepest molecule of my heart

it took some time to get to this moment

the first day I was still reading, checking emails

trying to catch up on even fun activities

by day three i was staring more and more 

at sand, the sea, the sky

an abashed, shameless staring

I can't and don't look away

I forgot my books, my list

I have no place to be, 

no need to be anywhere else

I don't know what we will do next

and it doesn't matter

by day six, that's today,

I have left most of my "activities" 

in our hotel room

my reading list can wait

the internet at the hotel stops working

almost as if the universe senses

our complete surrender

now sitting on the beach

the sand lures me with its patterns

and then the sparkling stardust there

catches my eye and then my heart

while i have forgotten the clock 

and the computer

i have remembered my connection to the universe

i have remembered my heartbeat

i have remembered the earth, the sun, the air and warmth

I am lost and found in this moment

connected once again to my soul