With roaring indifference to the frail and imperfect, 
wind flings dead branches and uproots bushes,
sending them sailing.
The trees and I moan under the weight of it all.
I toss aside a broken bough, pruning thoughts under clearing skies.

We survived Hurricane Henri and the remnants of Hurricane Ida. But a poem I wrote last year came to mind as I wandered the beach and then my yard, picking up branches and dead limbs. Those ruminating thoughts can be tossed, too.

A “cleaning of the clutter” periodically helps keep me sane and functioning. I listened to a Ten Percent Happier podcast the other day, a challenge based on the Ted Lasso show (which I love). Joseph Goldstein shared some “phrases for stress” I found helpful. One, “the thought of your mother is not your mother,” helps remind me that what I’m thinking isn’t real. It’s like a movie– no one is really being killed, no one is jumping off a cliff. In our lives, he says, thoughts can cause stress when we take the thought as reality. Some thoughts can trigger emotions.

Thoughts can exercise great power over our life, so remembering that they are only thoughts is helpful.

Our solar panels are installed! I remember a few years ago when I called myself a “reluctant recycler.” I did it. But I resented having to wash out glass jars, separate some plastic from others, and break down all that cardboard. Basically, I was lazy.

Finally, I had a realization that if I didn’t try to help the environment, who would I blame for the climate crisis? So now we use only glass containers, no more paper towels (old t-shirt sleeves do the trick), buy only organic food, and cook so we can eat leftovers for days, and take all old clothes and furniture to Goodwill, rather than throw things out in the landfill.

We haven’t figured out how to stop using kitty litter bags, but we do use the ones that disintegrate fairly easily.

These days I am no longer grumpy. We are doing our best.

Spending the first Christmas without Mom …. and I don’t know how to describe it. I remember feeling resentful last year. Angry that she didn’t have a memory of our lives. Frustrated that she wanted certain things I couldn’t give her. And tired of the time it took to care for her.

And yet, I miss her desperately. I miss her smile. Her love of Clemmie. Her care of the grandchildren, even if she couldn’t remember their names. I have photos of us cooking together and sharing a Christmas morning of gift giving and breakfast.

Once Dad died, she was a different person. She missed him so much. And I think she believed she would see him again. So in many ways, I am not sad. She lived a good life, and we will say her name often as we recount the memories of a life that mattered.

This pandemic has made me so much more aware of that. I do believe I am learning, finally, to appreciate what I have. So many trivial issues and affronts just don’t matter.