"Too Much Happiness"

   Perhaps I will do something a little different this evening. As you may or may not have noticed, I have a list at the bottom of my blog of some of the books that presently grace my world. Some sit for longer than others, but they all get attention at some point or another. Last night I started to read "Too Much Happiness", by Alice Munro. It is a collection of short stories and any of the reviews I briefly perused were very glowing. A brief review from me then.

   The opening story is entitled "Dimensions". It is about a young mother that has lost all three of her children. It struck a note in me, as the main character falls into an abusive relationship after the death of her mother. She is at a vulnerable spot in her life, only being 16 and finds comfort in a questionable relationship. This man is manipulative and the young woman's world quickly revolves around him, his views and his lifestyle. I recently heard stories of another young woman's struggles to find herself in an over-powering relationship. I read the story with an eye to another woman's plight and tried to gain more insight. The main character asks for no pity and no help. She recognizes that her partner is not ideal and in this story not sane. He is all she has though. This is the crux of abusive relationships. This is what keeps them going. He may not be perfect, but he understands her and is there. The problem is that he changes the identity of the woman into someone with wrong opinions and actions. Words and deeds are squelched, as is life. I truly do not know how women can survive, but it is a sad reality that exists. In more places than in books. The beauty for me in the story is the epiphany at the end. Loss is a difficult thing for anyone to understand, accept and overcome. It takes many steps, but I thank Alice for giving her character that first step at the end. Sometimes we need hidden forces to give us a push in the right direction. We just have to open our eyes to the forces that be. That is what Alice asks of us the reader. I appreciate it.

   I look forward to pushing further into "Too Much Happiness". I might let you know how other stories unfold. Or not. You might have to get the book yourself if you are interested. Ask and I will let you know how it goes.

Snow

   The promise of snowfall has been broadcast on the radio. It has not begun yet, but a gray ceiling could tinkle with flakes any time. Yesterdays snow was no more than dust collected. Now that my Christmas tree is up I feel the spirit in the air and want some of the white stuff to catch up with the rest of the season. Soon enough it will come. Soon enough I am sure I will tire of it and wait impatiently for spring and the garden to peek back to life. I had anemones growing just last week for goodness sake! They thought it was spring already, but winter refuses to show. Last year the snow began in October with ice storms and coated the world all fall. By December, we had had snow for two months already! Thus far, we have had two snows that were both gone by the lunch hour. I think on G's posts on global warming, but just think this is another year that is living the way that it wants to. So while I would not mind a little snow to kick through, 18 inches might be a little more test to my back muscles than I am ready for. Sorry G. It will come in its own time and I can anticipate until then.

Snow fall

   It is snowing. I heard tell this morning that it was supposed to snow all week. As Christmas is approaching rapidly, this makes me happy.  I love the beginning of winter with its new white blanket that softens the world. It hides all the ugly bits as they lie dormant waiting for Spring and their transformation. I say ugly, but that doesn't feel quite right. The world has less obvious signs of life and light and it constricts our movements. We stay closer to home to hunker down in front of the fire. Cuddly blankets and beds call louder to our sleepy souls. I don fuzzy slippers and dream of frothy eggnog. I await my children and their zeal, so that we can trim our tree this aft. It is a lovely tree, that I know will shine forth love, excitement and promise before the day is through. Crisp smiles and laughter helped to find it yesterday. Perhaps that will be a memory that will follow the girls as they grow. My memory trees held hot chocolate and sleigh rides. This is a new tree though and new memories to be built.

   So let it snow and cover up the world and all that is in it. I am ready for my dormancy. I am ready for thoughts of transformation. I am ready for beauty and love. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...

tonight

   It sometimes makes me wonder why certain people come into our lives. As of late I seem to have found new audiences for my story. As I recount tales from my life they become large as life and I am back there again. A friend this evening asked if I had always been this way or if I felt it was a byproduct of my grief. An interesting question. I try not to cry or get too emotional, but I am a leaky soul. I believe I have always been, but am a little squishier now. Are my tears a byproduct of my grief? I had it suggested by grief counsellors that I probably suffered from post traumatic stress disorder after Brad died. The moments from the last few days of his life are ingrained on my brain. I can feel the raw emotions when I go back and examine those days, those hours. They are more real than the person sitting in front of me. I am more there in the past than with the person listening to my tale. It is not a tale. It is a reality that I survived. It was shocking and surreal and incredibly painful. What I am slowly trying to learn and feel is that that moment is past. I do not exist in that moment any more. I can only exist in today. Now is the only thing I have control over. Remembering crisis points sends me back and reeling though. It was really sad. It was scary. It was surreal. I did not ask or want that to be a part of my reality, but it happened anyway. I do not need to have my chest constrict or heart race, as I fall to the floor hearing of a new grief. I do not need to stand paralyzed watching as my husband screams in blinding pain as his brain is attacked by his cancerous body. Unable to do anything. That was then. It has become a living nightmare that I can replay at will. I don't need to. It happens on occasion, but I try not to. It hurts. Grief counsellors have suggested that at 2 years into my grief, it is still fresh. I wonder when the freshness of it will wear off. I am not hit with the raw edges as often any more and am looking towards today and a little of tomorrow.
   I have run out of words.
   Tonight they have all been said

Sameness

Sunshine stares over a street scene of sameness

Am I sameness today?

Wine mulled and sips supped

beside decadence in decades past.

Our stories streamed past ancient dreams that grew

and faltered and changed

of own accord.

reasons pondered by some, but not always many

Am I sameness today?

Heroes, figures and forgers

they live past, present and future

We pull them into own circus

Dance with and laugh at

Gasp in horror, not to look away.

this is us, this was me, this was you

was meant to be

destiny

good, bad, ugly

Trail my hand in God's dream

choice and fate meet

turn carelessly

free

A wise woman told me

let go of yesterday and tomorrow

they are beyond our control

Today is the only thing we truly hold

and Today I found a friend.