words and pictures....
November 23, 2015
Today, I am re-minded that the even the tiniest of blessings, hiding from plain view are potent reminders of the gifts of life that we each can find gratitude in, if we take a moment, stop and look and listen. There are so many things to be grateful for today and every day. I am blessed by an appreciation for the little things in life. In this appreciation I find the true abundance in my life. My life is rich…
Namaste… Pamela
November 22, 2015
Letting Go and Holding On is a four-part short memoir essay, which is part of a larger creative non-fiction project that I am working on…
Part Two:
So there I was, unpacking all of these fancy dresses and wondering why was I still hanging on to them. Chances are at this point in my life, living in a small coastal town on the north shore of Massachusetts, I was never going to have the need to wear one again. And then there was my daughter Juliet, I could always use her as an excuse to hang on to those dresses. Yes, I thought, “She might wear them someday. She likes vintage clothing.”
The thought of paring down my closet comingles with the thought of paring down my body. I hang on stubbornly, wishing I were forty—forty-five years old again; even fifty would do, still rocking those tight little black dresses and spike heels at the blues bar on Saturday nights. Who was that woman, I ask myself now. “She feels like she was some styling soul sister,” I respond to myself, “She was not my self. No she was just a facet of me back in the day.” In truth, I had begun to separate from that self, a few years before I left Los Angeles, but part of me still hangs on to her clothes now, secretly hoping I can slip into a little black dress and head down to the local blues bar for a Saturday night of good times and good tunes. I have a hard time letting go of things. My memories of these times gone by both haunt and amuse me.
A trip down memory lane, a night out in the blues club, grooving to straight-up, white hot road musicians who regularly toured with the likes of Bonnie Raitt and others. Yes, that was I, in my other life sometime in the 1990’s on the left coast. I rocked my little black dresses and spike heels with my platinum blonde buzz cut. I fit in in there that eclectic city of angels. I was even consider more normal than eclectic there in L.A., unlike here at home where I am a bit avant-garde in my attitude and tastes.
“Look at me now I think,” my hair is long and au natural, in multi-colored streaks of gray, blonde and brown. In fact, my hair is so long that it falls a few inches below my shoulders, the longest it has ever been in my life. He liked my hair long. Somehow, I felt as though I let my hair grow with the instinctual knowledge that he would consume himself in it one day. Yes, it was that sort of connection that we had. I knew the hair would pull him in. And it did. A year and half had gone by from the last time we had seen each other and all he could say was “your hair… please don’t cut your hair.” “I won’t,” I told him.
Stay tuned for Part Three…
Read –
November 21, 2015
Letting Go and Holding On is a four-part short memoir essay, which is part of a larger creative non-fiction project that I am working on…
Part One:
From time to time, I have a hard time with letting go of things. Clothes, books, and rocks top my list. My mother’s bedroom set has crossed country at least a half dozen times, it is bound together with nails and wood glue, too dear to me to let go of. There is most recently, my father’s battered and torn Persian rug that the cat peed on a few months ago, I cannot bear to part with it despite the fact that the smell lingers. These are among the things I have a hard time letting go of, these things, and men.
Yes, these are all things that I tend to hold on to. Did I say men? Oh yes, I did. Men or at this point in time, one man in particular. I have been having a tough time letting go of the illusion of something more with this one. Maybe that is because I am still single and long for a special someone in my life, or maybe that is why I am still single at fifty-eight years old. Because, I hang on to the hope of a man I cannot have. Because, I hang on to the hope of a relationship with a man who is unavailable and not worth my misplaced desire.
These are the things I think of. Fifty-eight and single. Living alone and loving it. Well, loving it until the occasional loneliness sets in. The kind of loneliness that causes me to occasionally hold on to men, men who are not worth my time. I entrust the object of my illogical affections with a string of justifications of why they are still worthy of my reveries, despite the fact that I should have long let go. Never the less, I am drawn to what I cannot have and I am driven, still despite my age, because I am not sure age diminishes the desire for communion with another.
I just moved a few weeks ago and I hauled with me all of this stuff that I have carted about for the past seven years since I moved back east from Los Angeles. First, there were all the dresses that I packed and unpacked again, and squeezed into my closet hoping I would one day squeeze it to them again. “Good luck with that,” I thought to myself. I was almost there, they almost fit a year ago and then I quit smoking on Christmas day. Sugar had become my best friend. But that is different story.
Stay tuned…
Read:
November 20, 2015
Today, I re-mind myself that perspective is an integral part of manifesting goals in life. If my perspective involves a road or path that is not clear, my way will be fraught with stumbling stones and blocks. When the path is clear, it comes into perspective offering a clear view to the way forward. I affirm today that my path is clear, I have a positive perspective in my mind of the path I wish to take. And so it is, that i follow that path, making my way towards my goals and dreams for the future.
Namaste… Pamela
November 18, 2015
Today, I am re-minded that the riches of the soul far out weigh the riches of the pocket…
Indeed, my life is rich and filled with the greatest blessings for I never cease to be amazed by the wonders of the world around me. The simple pleasures in life, a stunning sunset, the song of a mourning dove, a flutter of fall colored leaves falling to the ground on a windy day. All of these things are the riches of my soul. Yes, indeed… My life is rich. And so it is, that I affirm this day and every day… I Am Abundant.
Namaste… Pamela
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