Sunday Morning

Hi there!  It’s a good morning.  Good morning to you.

Today was the first time I was happy about my new lines.  I look in the mirror every morning and try to think how to reverse them.  I am trying many things.  And plan on having a women’s workshop about aging.

This morning I was excited about painting my lines with a solution I have been using the past few weeks.  I like working with lines on paper.  Line drawing.  I like filling things in.  Like the time I stayed up until one in the morning filling up the divots in my kitchen cork floor with wood putty.  Or the time I used Quickrete on the patio at our house in Ashland. I can become a little ocd about these kind of things.  There’s something so satisfying filling in the cracks and making things smooth again.

Now I use a tiny little brush to apply an essential oil blend, filling in the lines on my face.  I also found a great cover-up product from Neutrogena that has hyaluronic acid in it that I apply around my mouth to make things smooth again.

I am a fairly thin person so there is no extra plumpness to fill in the lines naturally.  Unlike my grandmother, who had such nice skin but also a lot of extra fat to keep everything plump.  It was nice firm fat.  Not saggy.  She looked great throughout her older years, living until the age of 92.

A younger friend told me the other day that I had a youthful face.  It’s interesting the stories we create about ourselves.  I have just been noticing how I am looking older and thinking it is really standing out to everyone else as well.  You know, like it’s making national headlines…..Breaking news!  “Mid-Missouri woman shows signs of aging!”  Trying to accept and love myself.  And not think people will love me less as my looks change.

Switching gears now…..It is bright outside and that makes me happy.  A smile came across my face when I awoke at 10:00 a.m. to see the outside blanketed in a beautiful white snow.  It’s so pretty as I sit looking out at it now while I write.  There is a lot on the agenda for this Sunday but I feel so relaxed and at peace.  I realize how much anxiety I had had before, now that it is gone.  I don’t think it was extreme, not like many people these days.  But it was there.  I was unaware of how much it was there until now that it is gone.  I think it is all tied up with fear.  For me it was fear that I wouldn’t get something done if I didn’t always have it on my mind.  Fear I would forget and miss something.  Some deadline, e-mail, or phone call I was supposed to make.  Things have gradually shifted.  It can come back on occasion but not so much.   Not too often.

This anxiety started after the separation/divorce.  I am not sure exactly when it started during the past four years but it creeped in little by little.  That unease.  That seeing a bill, or to-do list and having that eek feeling.  That internal micro-panic.  I need to take care of that.  I still haven’t done it yet.  I am worried I may forget it…if I don’t worry about it.  It’s so nice to be free of that worry.  I will try to help others release it as well through my Mindful Practices business.  I kind of want to call it Peaceful Practices but thinking of a marketing angle, Mindful is a better catch word for people.  A little more descriptive.  And something they can pronounce, unlike the former business name I loved, Qigong for Health.  Since no-one knows how to say Qigong, or what it even is, I figured it was past time to change it.  This will be a good year for my business.  For me as a person. A person with a mind and body that is more free and relaxed.

I sit with my cat at my shoulder on the bed behind me.  I took the bed off of the frame about a year ago.  What’s the point anyway?  That empty space under the bed just allows dust and mysterious items to gather and linger.  Marley often likes to get on my lap while I am writing or meditating.  Wanting my attention while I am trying to give my attention to other things.  Sometimes he will lie on the bed and put his paws on my shoulder.  Carley, my other cat, has been swimming in the sudsy water that I left in the kitchen sink.  Haha.  Yes, a cat that likes water.  So I shew her off of the bed again as she tries to snuggle up on top of my pillows with her wet paws.  Eww.

I have to go now.  Use the bathroom, and get ready to hike in the snow, then take soup to a sick friend.  Although I also need to get in a quick meditation as I have not gotten to that yet.

Adios amigos!

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Another Day

I bought a ring on Tuesday.  Something I had been thinking about doing for a while now.  It’s very pretty.  A simple band with many colors.  I can turn it to show different colors on different days.  It’s not a mood ring in the traditional sense.  But, my own version of a mood ring.

My ring is very important to me.  Significant.  I watch people shopping as I sit by the window.  I see a purple car driving by and think about my friends across the street at the vegetarian joint.  Sitting here sipping hot water and nibbling on a blueberry muffin at one of my favorite coffee shops I’m alone but not lonely.  I love seeing the people on the other side of the window.  A new friend rides by on his bike.  Bald head and olive green puffy coat.  He makes me smile.  I have added him to my grouping of adorable ones.  We make the world go round.  Petite woman in a white snowman sweater.  Rotund man in large orange vest.   Black leather jacket, tan pants  50 something thin man talks on phone listening through earbuds, walking slowly back and forth -smiling.  Two college student Asian guys pass by the window.  Sunshiny beautiful day.  Spooning up the last crumbs of my muffin. Tasting sweet.  Guy who works here leaves.  I like his nice posture and the way he carries himself confidently as he crosses the street, moving onto other things.

Last night I was crying.  Sobbing in the car on the way home from my yoga class.  After seeing a picture online, I had the realization that I never had anyone in my life who was really there for me.  A cheerleader and support for my emotional well-being. Not a parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, teacher.  I think my husband and I were there for each other for awhile.  But since I had never had anyone there for me in childhood, I didn’t feel it was safe to totally open my soul to him.  It was not safe to totally open my soul to anyone.  I’m ecstatic to say that has changed.  I’m ready for love.  For that real, healthy love that I now know through new friendships and a few old.  I hope I have given my sons what I never had.  I know my oldest hasn’t always felt accepted by me.  Our energies were so different that we often had trouble connecting.  And I had trouble being there for both of them emotionally and with in my presence for a period of time after the separation/divorce.  If I could change that I would.

Cute guy on a bicycle rides by.  He looks around my age. Bright yellow jacket, black cycling tights, yellow helmet.  He rides on by.  Darn.

I have gradually switched my energy.  I no longer experience the fear of abandonment.  One of the classic side effects of growing up in an alcoholic household.  If you listen to ACA dogma, they will tell you that you are destined to be stuck with this and many other side effects.  The organization helped jump start me in recreating my world, but I moved away from it as I was not interested in repeating the laundry list every week.  I was interested in rewiring my system, doing some very deep work, in order to replace the items on the list that no longer served me.  The beliefs, the feelings, the behaviors.  Now if someone doesn’t call me, or text me back, I don’t revert to that scared little girl.  It isn’t the default to think that that person no longer loves me, no longer wants to see me, thinks I am dumb, or the like.  I no longer feel hurt or lonely if a prospective love interest does not contact me.  I’m starting to accept that there are all kinds of people in the world. Some of them aren’t skilled in the social arena – realm.  I’m learning things like – it’s not always about me and don’t try to figure other people out.  I’m learning there are some really weird people out there, and some really wonderful ones.  I’m learning how to speak up and say what I feel and what I need without fear of rejection.  I had been conditioned to expect emotional rejection when I shared my wants, needs, and feelings.  Now I have a sense of the kind of people I want in my life.  The people who want honest open connections.

My ring feels good and right on my finger.  It’s a little loose today.  It will probably be a little tight in the summer.  Fine black man in a nice suit, white woman in a long wool coat with a fun, colorful scarf and black fedora.  I want to be them.  That couple.  My ring represents something.  The colors.  The band.  It represents the new me.  I had a ring on that finger for 23 years.  Twenty four I think.  I still had it on when I met Brian, almost a year to the date of my separation.  I imagine it felt awkward for him to hold the small hand of a stranger, feeling a recognizable stone pressing into his fingers.  I’m not exactly sure why I kept it on for so long.  I think it was a sense of security.  It is no wonder he finally confessed over one of our long distance phone calls that he was uncomfortable because my divorce was not yet final.  That connection did not last long.  Now I wonder what I am doing wrong sitting here still single.  I’ve done the work.  And continue to grow myself.  I’m looking for that soul mate.  Someone online told me, “He’s looking for you too.”  I had never though of that before that moment.  I tried to sit back and let him come to me.  I wonder where he is.  I’ve tried dating.  It has been a great learning experience but not something I particularly have enjoyed.  It takes a lot of energy.

My ring provides comfort.  Pride for all the work I have done.  It provides something concrete in place of the phantom feeling I’ve have for the past three years, since removing the ring after returning home from Boulder.  After seeing Brian for the last time.  Last week marked the fourth anniversary of moving out of the house my sons and I had shared with my husband, their father, and into our new home, and beginning our new life.  I think that is another reason for the sobbing last night.  It’s a big deal.  My heart breaks for my sons.  I don’t like it that I was the one who split up the family, even though it was necessary and the best for everyone.  Nobody wants to be the bad guy.

I think it is time to shift from watching people to engaging with people, as I watch a mother with her toddler son engaging with a homeless man.  That man was a baby once, with a mother.  I wonder where she is now.  If her heart is breaking.  Or if it was so broken when he was born that he ended up on the streets begging for money as a way to fill the void in his heart.  The hole in his soul.

This human experience and its complexities are way to much for my mind to comprehend.

I’ll go shopping now.  Try to offer some sort of reconciliation to my sons this Christmas.  And, oh yeah, hopefully find that car I’ve been searching for.

Namaste.

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Smoke Fills the Air ~ 2

Smoke follows beauty

That’s what you would say

as the Smoke filled my lungs and clouded my brain.

I was only a child wishing for fresh air to fill my days

instead of living in a Perpetual Haze.

I did not ask for the perks of your addiction.

I had no choice. I had no voice.

Other faces filled the spaces

We all choked on your preferred poison.

But, those are things of the past, No disrespect to the Dead.

Smoke follows Beauty is what you always said.

I was nearly 30, before I told you, how much I hated

every time you said it

But you still didn’t get it.

As the morphine dripped, body coiled with disease

Smoke follows Beauty, one more hit please.

Copyright Suzanne Norton 2017

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Taking a drink

Is this the same cup of Kool-Aid?

I don’t think I can do it.

He closed the garage door prematurely.

Growing up, the girls never knew their dad.

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Smoke Fills the Air

Smoke fills the air.  Filling my lungs. I am only a child.

A child wanting to breathe fresh air.

Yet living in a perpetual haze.

I didn’t want the perks of your addiction.

I had no choice.  I had no voice.

We all choked on you preferred poison.

No disrespect to the dead, but that was pretty fucked up.

“Smoke follows beauty” you would say with a smile.

I was thirty before I told you I always hated it when you said that.

But you still didn’t get it

as the morphine dripped

The final days

lying in bed

waiting for your next hit.

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Tuesday Morning/Poetry and Pie

Spinach mango smoothie

Sweet potato pie

Upbeat music

Perfect breakfast

Fine Tuesday morning

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Freedom

Follow my dreams.  Move to the music.  Feel his lips on mine.  Feel the sun caress my face.  Look up at the clouds.   These are the moments I cherish.  These are moments of freedom.  Existing.  Of ecstasy.  The beat.  The sun. His gentle touch.  Lying between her legs during class.    Leaving the want behind.  The coffee cup solid, round, and white. The people.  Coffee shop.  Now I remember.  I feel it.  I recognize how far away I have been.  Not allowing myself permission.  Holding on instead of letting go.  This is control.  This is that yardstick’s distance from love.  From passion.  From freedom.  A struggle in which I keep my soul chained up.  Telling the story, it is not safe to fully come out.  Maybe the sunlight will burn my heart instead of nourish it.  Best to stay guarded.  The voice says look outward.  You are not allowed to have what you want completely and fully.  It’s not humble to focus on yourself.   The music plays and I remember.  No need for an agenda. No need for an agenda.  No need for an agenda.  Seems there is always an agenda.  Always an agenda.  No need for an agenda.  Just open up the spigot and let if flow.  Let it flow.  Let it flow.  Trust your process, she says.  Okay.  Okay.  The music plays.  I type.  I feel the love that I have left behind.  I am sorry.  I am sorry I left you.  Again.  The sky waits for me just as you do.  I think you trust me.   Trust that I will always return.  I value your patience.  Your compassion.  You don’t have a timeline.  You don’t have an agenda.  Thank you.  Thank you for waiting for me.  Again.  And again.  Beautiful people walk by.  I settle my energy.  It was necessary before.  I had to do it all.  Push myself.  Taste it all.  I was on fire.  Now.  I’m here.  I’m here.  Sitting at the coffee shop.  Loving life.  Yesterday I questioned the meaning.  I have a strong desire to understand this species that I belong to.  A deep desire to learn.  To absorb.  To contribute.  To make a difference.  A change.

Does it feed your soul? she asks.  How quickly things change.  The man I thought may have noticed me is loud and gay when his friend arrives.   Not that there is anything wrong with that.  Haha.  I tell many stories.  I love to tell stories.  To allow my mind to be creative.  I need it.  I can have it.  Why won’t I take it?  I know I need structure.  Is it a writing coach/mentor I need instead?  Or maybe a friend.  I am learning what this means.  To have friend that is.  To be a friend.  I have a new friend.  I am learning.  I have a piece with him that says, maybe he won’t like me the more he gets to know me.  How about the other…..maybe he will like me more as he gets to know me.  I saw his bare muscular brown skin in the photo on the wall.  Holding Carina.  Her light skin a contrast from his.  Skin to skin, a very beautiful image.  I want to watch a doc with him.  Trying to hang back and let him step forward.  Although he did take that step last weekend, so I could step forward this time.  Developing a friendship.  He was willing to work on my car.  Pulling it up onto ramps in his driveway.  I was able to accept his friendship in this way, guilt-free.  Progress for me.  Then he fixed me lunch.  A fresh veggie scrambled omelet of sorts.  I was very good.  I didn’t tell him I was trying to go vegan.  The people by me, the loud gay man, and the older woman, are distracting.  Last week when they sat next to me I enjoyed listening to their dialogue very much.  They are both very self-centered it seems.  Today I want to stay in my loose bubble and not take on all of their dialogue.  Now that they have lowered their voices, it is enjoyable again.  Here talk is superficial.  His scope is much more broad, including fairy tales and the French class he instructs at a local university.  She tells stories about switching purses and waking up late.

I’m so happy to be back.  This is a common themes for me.  Deserting my writing then coming back.  I have given self a break for these past minutes writing stream of consciousness.  A break from thinking about the fact that we could be running around any day now with our faces melting off.  Just like we did to Japan.  The U.S. is always killing people.  As a government, as individuals.  Killing seems to be a common past time.  I want to understand.  I want to do my part to make it stop.  I don’t want to go through a nuclear war with North Korea.  On either end.  Why do men want to kill?

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