Our Inner Fairies

Don't you find it just so amazing that, at the advanced age of 67, one can still make discoveries about oneself? Wouldn't you think we'd know all there is to know about just about everything at this time in our life? Some people seem to be on that level of wisdom and knowledge, but I'm thinking they may be just bluffing. Of course, it's possible that they're just more advanced and have circled through the life experience a few extra times. Maybe they're incredibly quick learners of the ways of life. I don't have these answers, but what I do know for sure is that I'm not one of them. My guess is that I'm on a slower boat this go-round, and it's just where I'm supposed to be.

Recently, one of my especially special friends pointed out something to me. She said that on a couple occasions, she actually saw the Maggie me. Once, when I was particularly enlightened about something and the other when I was having one of my "Lucy" moments. (More about that on a future blog. ) But, for the first time, I realized why I try to keep my Maggie self alive. Maggie is lighter, more fun and ever so much more open. Lynn is the responsible one..the how -can -I- make -it -right- for- you person. Big Sister...responsible for the world. Ah! So serious!

But, don't we all have, at least, two sides to ourselves? I think when we evolve from one life to the next life, we carry our past selves with us, and sometimes we're able to separate one from the other, and sometimes we can't quite let certain pieces of our past persona go. To my way of thinking, this is how we become the person we are designed to be. It's sort of like a puzzle, we get a piece here and there and, somewhere down the line, we finally acquire the last piece that makes us whole. Then we can stop trying and just enjoy the ride...wherever it takes us.

Do you have a "lighter you"? How cool would it be to create a "Lighter Me" day? Obviously, it would have to occur, at least, once a week. On this day, we allow all the little fairies and elves inside us to come out and play. We dance and we sing and we just celebrate our very own "me". If we do this, it will free our spirit and allow us to go out into the world and do whatever we can to make things better.

Of course, I know it all sounds very Pollyaannaish, but hey, WTF...tell me something else that is more important than finding our special place in the world and then helping others to do the same. We really are all in this together whether we like it or not. Supposedly, the world was to end today...well, looks like most of are still around. I think we can all agree that, as long as we're here, we might as well make the best of it, right?

See...I think that's where our inner fairies come into play.

Maggie Mondays

Here we are in April and can someone please tell me how the hell that happened? A) Did I sleep through the first 3 months of 2011? B)Did I spend all my time in angst and feeling simply unable to function beyond the very basics of Survival 101? C)Did my inner lazy being just totally take over? D)All of the above?

My answer is D and that's about as honest and accurate as I can be.

But...I set in my mind that I was going to get back into writing on the first Monday in April because I needed to be clear of fickle March and since Monday is universally considered to be a relatively crappy day, why not make it Maggie Monday. Why? Well, why not? I seem to be coming from a contrary inner being these days, so it makes perfect sense to claim Monday as my day to be Maggie and just write whatever comes.

If you remember, from a blog way back, I told you I wrote in the spirit of Maggie and would explain that to you later on. It's taken a whole lot longer that I anticipated, but that's just life, right?

My maternal grandmother's name was Margaret (Maggie) Forrest. I was named after her and my maternal grandfather, Lynwood. My parents called me Lynn, a name I hated for so many years. I absolutely adored my grandmother...we called her Munna. She loved me beyond anything I had ever know...I never did anything wrong in her eyes. She even stood up for me against my dad...and that is something that stuck with me throughout my entire life.

For so many years, I've wondered if my life would be any different if people called me Maggie. Actually, in college some did. The professors always called you by your first name, which led to classmates who called me Maggie. I liked that, but never has the courage to introduce myself as Maggie or even ask my friends to call me that. Keep in mind, this was 1962...way before I knew much about the empowerment of evolving. : )

So...essentially, when my sister and I were on our trip, we decided it should be Luna and Maggie rather that Donna and Lynn. Donna will need to tell her own story, but for me, Maggie made her appearance when I was writing...I felt her deep within my being, just as I feel her right now. Purely and simply, she helps me find the words and the confidence to just put them down on my computer and believe, in my heart, they are just what they should be.

I don't know where the hell she was when I was so fearful of the heights and the lonely road and whatever else frightened the very breathe out of me...but, I'm thinking, maybe Maggie was just as frightened as Lynn. And to maintain my "relatively sane" persona, it's probably good to acknowledge that we are one in the same.

So, now you understand that Maggie writes this blog, and I think it's because the Maggie-me is not so shy about certain things, she believes in the Lynn- me and loves me...just because. My meandering is about spirit, no matter where my physical me happens to be. Isn't that what we're all about? I mean..really deep in our souls? We meander...and that's how we discover our true self. Right?

A new year...

Do you ever wonder how it can possibly be the year 2011? Are you still feeling the sense of adventure and anticipation that came with our switch from the 1900's to the 2000's? I have to admit that I'm still a bit in awe of it all. Each year as I write the date on my checks or bills or notes...or wherever...01...04..08....10, I often think about the people, I knew, who wrote the very same number 100 years ago. That makes me feel old...really old! As we get further into the 21st century, I'm thinking....in 8 years it will be 100 years since my mother's birth....in 9 years the same for my dad. How can that be? How can the time, which went so slowly in my younger years, be going by so quickly now?

Ah..I know the answer to that! My grandmother, Maggie, or Munna as we called her, used to tell me that time goes much faster when you get older. As much as I adored my grandmother, I figured that's just what old people say and I gave it zero credibility. Silly me. I now, totally, understand exactly what she was saying. What is the saying...the days may seem long but the years go by so quickly? Well, now the days don't even seem long. I wake up in the morning and what seems like 45 minutes later, it's time to go to bed. WTF!!!! And now I'm truly realizing that there's so little time and so much to be done. This might just be the year to do some major transformation. Maybe.

Here's what I'm thinking....I'm 67 years old and this is going to be the year I finally learn to let go and practice non attachment to things. Well, to at least 364 things as I plan to let go of something every day of the year 2011. There are many reasons for this...#1...I have way to much stuff...#2...I need to lighten my load so I can better see the moon and the stars...and the real me....#3...it just makes sense and it feels good....#4....it will open me up to 2012 and give the good energies more room to find me.

I know some of you are really shaking your head at #4, but we can get into that later.

Everywhere I look all I see is stuff, stuff, and more stuff. Hard to believe that I've actually done quite a bit of "letting go" the past couple of years because there's still so much left. I don't need all this stuff and the sane part of me knows that...but on the clingy, sentimental days... it's more like...oh no...you can't get rid of this little whatever...it came from whomever or you might need it and then regret you let it go, and how wasteful is that for God's sake!!! Do you do that to yourself? Are we insane? Of course we are!

Yesterday, a friend told me that her word for the year is...Balance. Such a great word and intention, isn't it? Don't we all strive for that? Today, another friend, says her word for the year is... Intention. At first, I was thinking...now that's pretty broad and it allows quite a bit of room to err. But...does it really? If whatever you do is done with good intention, isn't that a level of consciousness that keeps you in the moment? We talked about "The Road to Good Intentions" and all the ideas behind that, but decided..the hell with them. It's another guilt trip "they" put us on, right? I love both of these "year" words and I'm still working on mine.

So, we've made it through the first week of the year and to be honest, I'm a little behind in everything I set out to accomplish. However, in respect of my age, I'm allowing myself to be Ok with that. So...I didn't do all I had planned for the first week...the good news is...I have 51 more weeks to get it right! Plenty of time to come up with whatever I think I need to do. What a freeing thought!

Please allow yourself the same latitude...you'll do what you need to do...just give yourself however much time you need to do it. It's not really procrastination...it's just allowing ourselves a little break...there are times to do and there are times to just be. Right?

And if our time runs out...oh well, we tried.

Christmas and life....

I'm wishing I had more insight and understanding about all the hows and whys of our feelings. Maybe if we understood and could better define our innermost feelings, we could explain ourselves out of the pain. Maybe.

Normally, I keep my soul angst to myself, and at most, share with my sister or a trusted friend, but there is a voice inside telling me I need to allow my meandering spirit to share the sadness I'm feeling this Christmas season. I don't know why...but maybe I'm finally old enough and wise enough to just allow this voice to lead me.

For some reason, I'm just really missing my mom this Christmas. Going into the season, I was feeling an emptiness that I didn't understand and can't explain. I wanted to put off getting a tree and then once we got it, wanted to wait to bring it in, and once we brought it in, wanted to wait a little while before we decorated it. Once we started to decorate it, wanted to stretch it out as long as it made some kind of sense to do so. Throughout the decorating stage, I listened to Christmas music from the seasonal music channel and so much of it was from the 40's and 50's...Perry Como, Bing Crosby, Rosemary Clooney, etc....which, of course reminded me even more of my mom. She loved Christmas music and that's one of the many things she passed along to me.

But...I listen to this music every year..why is this year different? No answer. My mom was a very quiet person...in a beautiful sort of way. She loved Christmas, but it was never about the gifts with her...it was the music and the love of being with the family she loved with every fiber of her being. She made cookies and cakes and she decorated the house, not in the way any professional would approve, but we loved it. We always had a big tree and the decorations were a combination of the things we, kids, had made in school and some glass bulbs and angels and lights, multi colored, and a star on top and ice cycles everywhere...carefully placed on each branch. It was always a magical tree. Once we were grown, my mom and dad switched to an artificial tree, but although it wasn't quite the same...the magic was still there. Of course!

The mantle was decorated with candles and little elves and there was always a poinsettia somewhere. Nothing extravagant or fancy...just a regular middle-class home decorated with a mother's love.

Extravagance didn't come under the tree either. There were 5 kids and my dad's salary only went so far. There was also a much beloved family member who sometimes needed a little extra Santa help and my mom and dad were always there to share whatever they could. But, to my memory, we were happy with what we got and if one of us felt deprived, I never heard about it. And, no one ever said anything about the halloween candy that mysteriously appeared in the stockings that hung on the mantle.

My mom loved Christmas and she taught us that it was more about what was in the heart than what was under the tree. What a beautiful gift that was. What a beautiful gift she was.

So, I can't say I've answered my question about why the loss of mom is more painful this year, but I can say that, in a sense, I feel thankful for the pain because it makes me remember all the more about the Christmases that we Wilkinson's had. And, I feel the love that mom had for all of us as she went about filling our home with the wonderful scents of cookies and cakes and the magical Christmas tree and the soft and gentle sounds of Christmas songs playing on the stereo. Most of all, she filled our home with her love...and that is something that never leaves any of us. We carry it with us forever. Thank you, Mom.

So now that I've written this all out, I think I understand a little more....definitely, I get why I made so many more cookies than I've made since my children were home. Looks like my mom is hanging out with me this Christmas and I'm just going to enjoy her company and maybe just go make some more cookies. And, somewhere there must be an elf to hang on the little make believe fireplace we have. Oh, and I have to pull out the Perry Como Christmas CD. Christmas ain't really Christmas without Mr. Como, right?

But, most of all....I need to go get the green glass bulb that was on every Christmas tree since I was 5 years old. It's tiny and fragile and has faded stars on it. This Christmas I didn't hang it because I thought it would just make me even more sad. I know better now. It will be like putting my mom's love right where it belongs.

So...my spirit has meandered back to a calmer and gentler place. Thank you for listening. I hope your holidays are filled with love and beautiful memories, and if you're carrying extra sadness this year, I wish you peace and hope for the new year. Merry Everything, y'all.

Meandering on "normal"...

I've been thinking about just what the word "normal" really means and if there is any part of this label that might possibly include me. Per Webster's International Dictionary, the definition is...typical...usual...standard..sane. Hmmm.

Typical? What, exactly, does that mean? Well, back to Webster...he says it means... characteristic of a group or type. Huh? So, if I'm a card carrying White Supremacist, I'm typical, ie. normal and sane? WTF???

Usual? Back to Websters we must go. He says... customary or common. Well, as a Southern gal, I know I'm not common because my mama told me so, and we just never were allowed to associate with common folk. Probably, Webster is from the North and doesn't understand these things.

Customary= usual or according to custom. No real progress with this one, right?

Sane...ah, here we go again. On my facebook profile, I claim to be relatively sane, and damn proud of it. Does that make me relatively normal? Checking out Mr. Webster, one more time, and he says... sane means having a sound mind. Hmmm. Again, per Mr. W... sound, as an adjective, means...healthy, free from flaw, decay, etc., correct or logical.

I'm getting a little worried here. I think I'm relatively healthy, mentally speaking, but free from flaw or decay may be a few too many steps outside my relatively speaking realm. And, let's be honest here...correct is a relative term...we each have our own ideas about what's correct and what's not, right? But, regarding the logical....even in my most sane state, logic is simply not, typically, a huge part of the equation.

Which takes me right back to where I started. Raise your hand if you never felt quite "normal".

If you're following this blog, I'm pretty sure you're raising your hand about now. But, after reading all the words that Webster used to describe "normal"...I'm feeling thankful to be somewhat outside the norm. Did you ever think if you just were a wee bit more "normal", life would be easier and just not so... untypical? Growing up, did you feel like you were on the outside looking in? And, conversely, did you ever feel like you were on the inside looking out?

If your answer is yes and yes, how do you feel about that?

Maybe we are normal... characteristic within our own group. Are we a group of normal abnormalities? Or, are we just deluding ourselves by thinking we're somehow different from the lot...somehow, we're special? You know, I'm not even looking for answers...the truth is...we all have our own questions and must find a way to figure out our own answers. So...I'm just going to leave it to you to work all this out in whatever way is best for you. As for me...I'm going to have another glass of wine and watch a movie.

Happy meanderings.

Chapel Hill

Just got home from Chapel Hill, and like the old song about San Francisco, I think I left my heart in Chapel Hill. Well, at least at Trader Joe's in Chapel Hill and possibly at the little book shop next door to Foster's Market, and, of course, a little bit remains at the Hampton Inn...not so much a funky motel, but a motel all the same.

Let me tell you about Trader Joe's in CH. First of all, you walk in and the very first thing is you are surrounded by flowers...wonderfully beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes and smells. Ahhh..I love that! The next thing that encompasses you is the music...way cool old time rock and roll! Ohhhh yeah! The first ten minutes there, all I really wanted was to find someone who, like me, just wanted to dance. I would have danced with anyone...and the sad thing is...no one asked...and even sadder...I didn't ask anyone! How fun it would have been if I had the courage to find someone who looked like they were enjoying the music as much as I and just say...hey...do ya wanta dance? Just imagine dancing through the aisles as you shopped for exotic Indian sauces and delicious Trader Joe's soups, reasonably priced spices and chocolate covered cranberries. Next you shag on over to the wine section, but first a stop by the freebie station for a taste of the heavenly date bread and a tiny little piece of apple cured bacon..or something like that....whatever it was...it was super yum...I have to admit I went back for seconds when the demo lady was away from her table.

So, why didn't I ask someone to dance...or just tell the lady I really needed another taste of her delicious freebies which, because they weren't part of my regular diet, I couldn't purchase them, but they was so good I just had to have seconds. If I had done that, she may have offered me thirds! See what we do to ourselves when we're too timid to ask for what we really want! WTF??? I'm 67...shouldn't I know this by now?

The book shop...Flyleaf Books...isn't that a great name?...was amazing. They set it up in many different sections which made it really easy to find books you like without going through a bunch that you really don't like. Best of all were the numerous shelves of second hand books. Nirvana! I found two treasures...one about stories from the South, and the other ... workouts for the brain! I'll be sure and let you know how these workouts actually work. Essentially, I loved the energy of this Indy book shop...very much like our own Pomegranate Books, just a little bigger. I'm so glad there are a few Indies still alive and reasonably well. We all need to remember to give them as much business as we can because to lose them would be like losing a piece of our very own soul.

OK...the Hampton Inn. Yeah, it's not a funky motel, but it's a sweet little motel tucked in a quiet little section of Chapel Hill and surrounded by trees..many of which have the cutest little bird houses hanging from the branches. That's kinda funky, don't you think? And...one night I went out to get some ice and right there in a tree beside our room was this huge raccoon. This is the first raccoon I've ever seen live and in person. I startled him just about as much as he startled me and he went scampering back up the tree. I told Dave about it and he says...are you sure it wasn't a possum? Men! Even though I'm not exactly Mz. Nature Girl, I do know the difference between a raccoon and a possum. Possum's don't have striped tails, for crying out loud!

In the afternoon, and sometimes at night, they have chocolate chip cookies in the lobby and I love going in and picking up a couple cookies and getting some hot water and a tea bag...green tea, of course... and coming back to the room, fluffing up the pillows and laying back to watch Oprah while I sip my tea and munch on the cookies. Heaven!

I can't quite explain, even to myself, why I have this passion for motel rooms and that's probably a good thing. Sometimes we understand things in life all too well and sometimes, too much knowledge can be a real spoiler, you know?

Chapel Hill is full of fun and funk, beauty and grace, history and cutting edge...and nice, friendly people. There's an energy to it that makes me want to stand up a littler straighter and pay a little more attention to what's going on around me. If only, it had an ocean within hearing distance. Meanwhile, I'm sure we'll be back fairly soon. It is basketball season, you know!

It's two months and approximately 14 days since my last post..or pretty close to that, and please tell me, does it really matter?

Why did it take me so long to get back on track with my writing? A: Life, B: Laziness, C: Introspection, D: Fear, E: All of the above. Again, please tell me, does it really matter?

My plan was to come home and recap the trip before it all became a dream. I wanted to tell you all the little details, like...the food...the incredible thrift store finds...just a summation of the trip, as a whole. But now, it is becoming more and more, as my son warned, like a dream. What did we eat and where did we eat it? Lots of Mexican food...the dinner at the Afghanistan restaurant in San Francisco...the ribs in Memphis...the Arby's turkey sandwiches on whole wheat bread...the yogurt parfaits from...OMG...are you ready???..McDonalds!! So...looking back, what we ate and where we ate it...please tell me, does it really matter?

The thrift stores were incredible...big finds with labels like j.jill and Eileen Fisher and some that may come from other big name fashion folks, but how would I know? It's all about the fun of finding good prices...fun and funky clothes you just don't find around here. So...please tell me, does anything else really matter? Who cares what the label says or what the cost was...I liked them and they were cheap! End of story.

It's hard to know quite where to go from here. I'm home and things are back to normal and that's good, right? The part of me who loves home and hearth...well, we don't really have a hearth...but, does that really matter? We have a deck! So, it's very fine to be back to home and deck. It feels safe and secure and, here, I know I am loved by hubby and dog and despite the mosquitoes, I really do love it here....and oh how I do love them.

But...I have to admit that my spirit does not rest for long...it still meanders. My brother, Tim, from Charlotte, was visiting with us this week and a couple days ago we rode the ferry to Southport. I love that ferry ride...it's like a mini cruise..only better, because I don't get seasick.

We walked through the beautiful little town of Southport and had lunch at Trolly Stop....hot dog heaven...they even have veggie dogs. From there, we walked down to the river, sat down on one of the swings and just watched life rolling by. I felt like I could have sat in that swing and watched that river for the rest of my life. The longer I sat there, the more my meandering spirit took hold and I realized that this meandering Cape Fear River was singing my song. It was just going wherever it was meant to be and it was in no hurry to get there. A gypsy kind of river.

So, now, my brother is gone back to Charlotte and I'm right back here at home and deck. The Tarheel game is getting ready to come on...Dave's back there eating dinner on the TV tray and listening to the pre-game chatter...Sadie's chomping on her dinner treat and I'm drinking wine and chowing down on my veggie burger. And...somewhere out there...in this beautiful country of ours...is a quaint, little motel calling my name....