Author Archives: lifelessons

Unknown's avatar

About lifelessons

My blog, which started out to be about overcoming grief, quickly grew into a blog about celebrating life. I post daily: poems, photographs, essays or stories. I've lived in countries all around the globe but have finally come to rest in Mexico, where I've lived since 2001. My books may be found on Amazon in Kindle and print format, my art in local Ajijic galleries. Hope to see you at my blog.

What I Didn’t Know I Knew

IMG_0443 2

This is a guest blog I wrote for Matt Estes’ blog three years ago, but I can’t find that I ever posted it on my own blog, so here it is.  If you remember reading it here, I stand to be corrected:

When I was asked to write a guest blog about finding happiness in life, I wondered what I could say that wouldn’t appear to be trite. Then I decided that all truths of life are in their essence trite—because at heart they are what everyone eventually discovers if they choose to examine life as it occurs. They are also at the heart of most writing. It is only the words chosen to convey them that change from teller to teller. Here are some truths I have discovered as I get older.

I think I like writing because it teaches me what I’ve learned but might otherwise forget.

I guess we can’t really own beauty, but I’m enjoying it while it is possible!!!

I don’t really know what I think until I write about it.

Dogs adore us and expect things from us but probably don’t appreciate us that much. I think it is one doggie treat and then on to the next. Out of jaws, out of mind!!!

We have to be glad for what happens in our lives, not sad about what ceases to happen.

Life experiences are often like presents under a tree. Although we have not chosen them and though they are not what we expected, if we choose to unwrap them, we might find some wonderful surprises.

Even the terrible things in life have the seeds of some happiness in them. Many times this is our only consolation; and if you refuse to believe this, life is likely to be a terrible disappointment.

There are many friends who will seek to tell us the truth about ourselves, but a truly good friend will make us laugh in the telling.

In my friends, I seek my copies and my opposites. One reassures me that I am not alone in this world. The other shows me alternative possibilities.

Although I am not religious, I can’t deny that there is a huge creative force in the universe. The way I have discovered this is through finding it within myself.

I have a limited amount of patience for a limitless number of children. In a way this is the opposite of motherhood, although I think it makes for a very good schoolteacher.

My 4-year-old stepson called me his “wicker stepmother.” In spite of the fact that I had a huge basket collection, I don’t think he saw the pun; although I’m sure he saw the humor as he grinned wickedly every time he said it.

I was made strong by the most terrible things that happened to me in my life. I was rewarded by the good ones. I don’t think there is a scorekeeper evening out the game. I think we ourselves choose to find the rewards in what is offered to us. One man’s prize may be another man’s punishment. Point of view is everything.

It is much easier to spout philosophy of life from comfort than from pain. I know this and acknowledge that in any crisis situations I was not thinking about the significance of the experience. Flight or fight is one thing. Reflection about fight or flight is another.

About Me (revised to reflect current age and years of residence in Mexico): I am a 70-year-old woman who has lived on the shores of Lake Chapala in Mexico for the past 17 years. I grew up in South Dakota, received my Masters Degree in Curriculum and Instruction and Creative Writing at the U. of Wyoming and immediately emigrated to Australia. After teaching there for a year and a half, I traveled through Timor, Indonesia, Singapore, Sri Lanka, Tanzania and Kenya before coming to roost in Ethiopia, where I lived for another year and a half and taught school. When the revolution that deposed Selassie made it necessary to leave Ethiopia, I taught high school English in Cheyenne, Wyoming for seven years before a very persuasive dream caused me to resign my job, sell my house and move to California to write full time. I studied screenwriting and film production at U.C.L.A. and apprenticed at a Hollywood agency, then worked for a TV production company for three years before marrying and moving to Northern California where I studied metalsmithing and papermaking and sold my jewelry as well as art lamps made in collaboration with my husband at arts and crafts shows across the nation. I was also the curator of the Santa Cruz Mountains Art Center for three years. In 2001, I moved to Mexico where I have continued to create mixed media assemblages and retablos, to publish four books and to write for several online and print magazines.

 

heliotrope

 

This post was recognized by Matt, of Normal Happenings, for the “heliotrope magenta” Nice Job Badge!  Thanks, Matt!

(You can see Matt’s blog HERE.)

“My Humorous Anecdote” by Sarah Southwest (Reblog)

DSC07692

I love this poem that Sarah wrote for dVerse Poets this week.  I’ll prime the pump, then you need to go to her blog to read the rest:

My Humorous Anecdote 

                                 –by Sarah Southwest

We have a funny story
that we often try to tell,
so funny, when we start it,
we giggle for a spell

We can’t remember how it starts
or recall how it ends,
so perhaps we shouldn’t share it
with our dinner party friends

but it’s really so amusing,
it always makes us smile,
so we keep on trying to tell it,
and we struggle for a while –

we argue on location,
can’t recall the time of day,
but it was so hilarious,
we must tell you, we say, . . . .

(To read the rest of this poem, go to:  Sarahsouthwest’s Blog.

Disappearing Act

SheSleeps

Generally, I have no desire to disappear.  Given my choice, you’d have me around forever.  The only exception is when I am ill.  In that case, I just want to draw into my shell and disappear.  This poem written three years ago chronicles such a time:

Skedaddle!

Bring me vitamins and soup,
but please don’t camp upon my stoop.
For when I have the ague or flu,
I’d rather not commune with you!
I’d rather sink into my gloom
sealed up lonely in my room.
Sleep as much as I am able,
use my stomach as a table.

Leave liquids here beside my bed,
but please don’t hover overhead.
An angel is appreciated
if, once immediate needs are sated,
they disappear and leave me to
my soggy Kleenex and the loo!

 

The prompt word today is disappear.

A Summer Garden

The garden isn’t at its best during the dry season, but I’ve had a request to photograph it, so here it is, with all of its warts. With the exception of the sculpture of the seated woman from the front patio, this is all the back garden. The front garden is a bit of a mess due to all of the debris from the roof repairs. I’ll show it in a later post. The dome of the roof is here pictured as a pale gray as it is currently being repaired but will eventually be restored to its rose color. Please click on first photo to enlarge all and view as a slide series.

For Cee’s Flower post.

 

Thunbergia Visits Bougainvillea: Flower of the Day, May 22, 2018

IMG_0945 2

How these little black-eyed thunbergia made it from the front yard to this patch of bougainvillea in an island in the middle of my backyard, I’ll never know, but here they are visiting and making themselves at home.

You must see Cee’s beautiful purple clematis.

Adolescence

 

 

 

1960, Murdo grade school’s 7th and 8th grade, first boy-girl party in the unfinished basement of our “new” house.  I’m the tallest girl in the 8th grade, dancing with the shortest boy in the 7th grade. I have on two different dresses in these photos taken on the same night.  I ripped the side seam out of the first one trying to duck under someone’s arm during the first dance.  I had to go change into one of my older sister’s dresses. Click on photos to enlarge.

Adolescence

Awkward pauses, awkward poses.
Awkward stances, offering roses.
Teens are natural at this.
First date, first crush, first awkward kiss.

Stumbling to stand like newborn colt,
One day suave, just now a dolt.
All creatures need to learn to be
what they’ll be one day effortlessly.

We learn our lessons through mistakes—
missed swings at balls and fallen cakes.
There’ll be missteps. That die is cast,
but adolescence does not last.

I’ve used this photo before, but the poem is new. The prompt today is awkward.

Red Hibiscus: Flower of the Day, May 21, 2018

hKZnpIf I hadn’t gone down to the studio today to try to find a bee and flowers to decorate the hors d’oeuvre plate I took to Jim’s memorial, I would have missed seeing this wonderful flower in its prime, snuggled up against the down ramp from my bedroom terrace to the lower garden and studio. I keep forgetting to go down and see what new surprises appear there daily.

 

See Cee’s wonderful bearded iris here: https://ceenphotography.com/2018/05/20/flower-of-the-day-may-21-2018-bearded-iris/

The Bee Keeper

IMG_0980

A fine poet and wonderful man passed away a few days ago, just a few days before the private launch party for his newest book of poetry, The Alphabet of Longing and Other Poems. Today, I attended the memorial and celebration of life for Jim Tipton that took the place of festivities meant to be his book launch. In all, there were two hours of tributes and readings from Jim’s work. For my tribute, I wrote this brief poem in which I try to wed a number of the loves of his life: bee keeping, poetry and his appreciation of women.

 

The Bee Keeper

A keeper of words,
he was a tender man with fine vision
and a honeyed tongue adept at sharing it.

A man who loved women,
but not a ladies man,
his heart could stretch to fit everyone.

He was the one among us who knew how to see the other side.
A champion of the beleaguered,
when most found fault, he always had a kind word to say.

Words lived with him. He set them free and always grew more.
Poetry buzzed around him like bees.
He was a man who knew both bees and how to be.

 

 

Because Jim missed this party, I wanted to include these photos of him enjoying the last party I saw him at—last September’s awards luncheon for El Ojo del Lago. As you can see, he was a man who knew how to enjoy life to its fullest. Those of us who knew him through the poetry or music world, his neighbors and his family will feel the huge space left by his exit from our lives. Fly free, lovely man.

Jim’s earlier book of poetry Letters from a Stranger (with an introduction by Isabel Allende) may be purchased here: https://www.amazon.com/Letters-Stranger-James-Tipton/dp/0965715922

His newest book, The Alphabet of Longing, will be available on Amazon in June.  It is presently available at Diane Pearl’s Colecciones  and Yves Restaurant in Ajijic. 

Agave Marias

 

DSC07622

Agave Marias

Two sides are battling for possession of my life. One pushes me ahead, urging, “Do, do, do, and you will be of value,” but the other twines a hand around my ankle and pulls me down to earth and whispers, “Be.” The “Proud Marys,” I have named these contrasting women who emerge one at a time from my center, but since I have lived in Mexico for seventeen years now, perhaps Maria would be a better shared name. A name is all they share, for by their own natures one is an outward person: a doer, a liver of life, a socializer. The other is inner: a reclusive watcher, dreamer, thinker, artist and writer.

Some people know how to balance these voices, but I don’t. And so I live on a little seesaw of made and canceled plans, meetings and random days of alternately reading, writing, watching movies or wandering around my house attending to my ever-lengthening “to do” list. What is life, I wonder? Is it your accomplishments? I have lists of those I seem to have less and less willpower to sit down to and finish. It’s like I have to sacrifice the satisfaction of ticking things off a list for the promise of a different kind of life.

I don’t think I’ve every really felt I had significance other than as a doer of things: artist, writer, committee chairman, decorator of houses, organizer of my friends’ lives. Yet during all of this activity, I always suspected that all around me people were leading lives that were more fun than mine, more satisfactory. If I gave more, did more, accomplished more, I thought I would attract this ideal life to me.

A tour guide once explained to me the importance of the agave plant in Mexico. For the Mexican of the past, the agave was what the buffalo was to the American plains Indian. Different parts of the agave plant were used to make rope, housing, clothing, food, dye and last but never least, mescal—the finest of tequila-like alcohol. So perhaps I should call my Marias the Agave Marias. Between them, they furnish me with all of the necessities of life. One says organize, proceed in a linear fashion. The other says, “Brainstorm. Go with the flow. Let process win over need for a perfect product.” So I let one Maria lead me through my mind and put it all down on paper, now and then letting the other Maria pop in to clean things up a bit and organize. Agave Marias, furnishing it all.

Childless, have I instead created all of the possibilities for myself within myself? In refusing to give birth, have I hoarded all of the possibilities of my genes within myself and is that what has led to this slightly schizophrenic seesaw of existence-—one day running off for an entire day of activity, the next staying home behind walls? One side wanting to be Cinderella at the ball, the other side wanting only the security of my own hearth?

I was married for fourteen years and before that lived with another man for three years, I’ve also had female roommates, but most of my life has been lived alone. There is some part of me that only exists in solitude and when I’m too long away from her, I miss her. Without her I feel superficial. It is from this side of my Agave Maria that I draw all of my real nourishment—my creativity, my soul. The other Maria is my reward—the finished product, the publication party or the book tour.

All of the seed I hoarded has given birth to these different entities within myself. Failing to produce offspring, I have become my own offspring. These children, my Marias, journey out from me but always return to the wellspring. I go to the party but come home to snuggle into bed for the entire next day, venturing out only for popcorn and a different CD. Or I sit on the side of the tub for two hours with my laptop on my lap, writing a story which takes me into a wonderful world of my own creation.

It is Christmas, and in the background, a chorus sings what to my ears becomes, “Agave Mar-eee-e-e-e-aaaah,” and the beautiful notes convince me, for a short time, that I am the mother of creation, the one Maria that all of Mexico celebrates, tattoos upon their chests, dyes into their T-shirts, puts on decals and bumper stickers, commemorates in stone or plaster or clay or wood in every house. She is the spirit of duality in all women and in all men: flesh and spirit, of this world as well as heaven, of the utilitarian and the creative, human and divine.

All of us are Agave Marias, learning to collect ourselves and pull all sides of ourselves in to ourselves to appreciate them. We are our own mothers as well as our sisters and daughters and friends. Within all of us are these Agave Marias, like sisters absolutely indispensable to each other who are nonetheless competing for our attention.

“Honor them by listening to each,” Mother Maria says to me and suddenly I realize that there are more than two Agave Marias within me. This third motherly Maria seeks to reconcile the others and whispers, “Look deeper. There is always one more. All welcome. All part of life.”

 

The daily prompt was Narcissism. Since I had already written on this topic in April, I chose a slightly different slant on this prompt, concentrating on the different sides of myself in a slightly nacissistic manner. My original Narcissism poem, published in April for NaPoWriMo is HERE.

Royal Poinciana: Sunday Trees, May 20, 2018

IMG_0667 6 3
These glorious trees are still blooming all over town. I want to stop and photograph every one I see, but usually resist.

For Becca’s Sunday Trees prompt.