The Journal

thinking, writing, learning

Routine, Routine, Routine

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Spending a quiet evening on the beach has got to be my favorite thing to do this summer. We motor across the pond and walk the path to ocean …. the sun is starting to set and crowds have left. Glorious.

So far, I’ve felt good this summer– even though it’s been so hard maintaining a routine. As visitors come in and out, I seem to toss out the planning and go with the flow. And yet, except for missing my regular exercising, I’m doing ok.

I do my breathing at least twice a day, and journal if I start to feel my gut/nerves do the typical rolling around. Then I know I better get what’s in my head on paper!

We are still trying to limit our sugar and eat plenty of vegetables. It’s hard when the Quonnie Farm Stand with its delicious scones is right down the road. I LOVE bread but it’s not good for my gut….

Home Again

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  • Catching the rainbow
  • A walk around the pond
  • Too cold
  • An evening on the boat

We’ve had a busy first week back in Rhode Island, but that’s because I am doing all my favorite things. We also made it to Mystic Seaport and three restaurants with the first set of kids. The family will come in shifts, and I need to make sure I don’t eat as much as I did this week.

Still, I am not complaining. This place makes me feel settled, calm. It is familiar.

If You Can’t Say Something Nice

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I hate the word “nice.” It’s been used to describe me one too many times.

I suppose being nice is better than being a bitch, but nice, which rhymes with rice, another bland something, is the opposite of spice. Now spice–that has gumption.

Nice is another way of saying–no backbone, boring.Being nice started early in my life, when I heard my mother even when she wasn’t around, saying: “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Not a bad philosophy I suppose, but when being nice begins to shape who you are, then you’re in trouble.

Being nice translates into “don’t confront,” “don’t disagree,” don’t speak your mind.” All dangerous. These moments translate into stupid, dangerous, and careless moments. A drink too many, a lie allowed to grow, saying yes when I should have said no.

When I left a previous job, the editor said: “All the niceness has now left the office.” She meant it as a compliment, but I knew better.

Learning to Live With the Loss

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Anne Lamott said missing someone who has died is much like a broken leg that doesn’t heal well. You simply learn to live with the limp. Since my mom’s death on January 28, I’ve been learning to do that. Part of me doesn’t feel quite right, though the healing is happening. I still ask myself how she could have gone from being fairly healthy in this photo taken in December to dying at the end of January. But I am so grateful that if it was her time, she left us before this virus crisis.

She would not have understood why I couldn’t visit, why she would be restricted to her room to avoid contact with other residents, why I couldn’t be there to hold her hand. But I was there.

She wanted her ashes to be mixed with Dad’s, so I have the urn in my home. I can walk by and pat it, saying hello to them and staying close. Once we bury them together in Rhode Island this summer in a cemetery near their beloved river, I will miss them. I may grieve all over again. But I am preparing myself for what it will mean to no longer have them in my life.

Sabra Ely Carter, David Giles Carter

The Waiting

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I thought I would be ready for this.

After being with my father during his death, and the long grieving process I’ve gone through with my mother during her Alzheimer’s, I was sure I could handle this.

But losing a parent is never easy, regardless of circumstances or relationship.

We are keeping vigil, watching Mom slip away from us. She has wanted this for some time, so I am settled and accepting. Yet, there are moments when I kiss her forehead or squeeze her hand that I am fully aware it may be the last time.

“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.”
― E.A. Bucchianeri