A Ramble for My Friends
by Elouise
The Vernon River, Savannah Georgia
Dear Friends,
I haven’t written much lately about my health, or what I’m doing these days. This post is about the big picture I now live with, especially aging and blogging.
As I see it, I’m turning a long, mostly slow corner. I call it acceptance. Not acceptance of any particular culprit, but a welcoming attitude about things that slow me down.
Physical challenges aren’t automatically my enemy. I’ve tried to ignore or fix them. It doesn’t always work. Instead, I’m learning to welcome some of them into my life, one day and one night at a time. Not for solution talk, but for acceptance rather than making my feet (for example) the enemy.
Of all that’s happened in my body the last ten years, top concerns are my kidneys, my heart, and my aching feet. Plus: whatever it takes to become a content and productive woman at this time in my life.
For the last several weeks I’ve been turning a corner. Suddenly I find myself ready to let go of many things I’ve collected over the years. Not just books and clothes I’ll never wear again, but files full of my academic and personal history. Not everything, mind you! Some of my documents remind me that I’ve had an unusual, difficult, and reasonably rewarding life as an academic in the classroom and as dean. I loved the challenge of working with women and men eager to learn and to teach.
And what about blogging? About a month ago I began working on a new poetry project. D gave me the idea, and at this point I’m all in. I’m doing it for our children and grandchildren. Basically, I’m making my way from my first published poem (2 January 2014), through other poems. Sometimes I let a poem stand alone; sometimes I include my comments. It reads as an informal family history–from my point of view.
In addition to this, I often pick out an older post someone visited and give it a good read. I’m stunned at how these almost-forgotten posts speak to me today. I’ve begun reposting some that have moved me to tears.
Then there’s always the fun stuff, like the post yesterday in ‘praise’ of Smudge! Plus occasional devotional pieces from my morning reading each day.
However….progress depends on how I feel from one day to the next. If I need a lazy day, I’m learning to grab it! Life is short, and I’m a latecomer to whatever it means to accept and honor myself as I was and still am.
Thanks so much for visiting, and reading this ramble!
Elouise♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 June 2022
Photo of the Vernon River found at ogeecheeriverkeeper.org
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💜💕
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🙏❤️ and (((HUGS))) to take each day as it comes…we so appreciate you here!
🙂
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Thank you, Carolyn. Sometimes it feels overwhelming, though I’m more at peace with myself when I forget my lists and do for myself whatever needs to be done. E. 🙂
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Although I am not faced with your health problems, I find my body is very good at telling me when it has had enough and I should just surrender to a lazy day. Naturally I fret about what I am not doing, but I wouldn’t be doing it very well anyway. So, what the heck!
I love the idea of your poetry collection. In another lifetime I would have made a business about recording people’s stories for their descendants. It’s a fantastic gift to leave something of yourself for them to revisit. How many times have you heard the lament, “I wished I’d asked my parents…”
One of the greatest compliments on my book came from a girl I started kindergarten with more than sixty years ago and had long since lost contact. When she read my book, and of course, it was set where she had grown up, she started to talk with her mum about “stuff” of that time. It really opened a door into deeper communication between them, and her mum shared insights she would have otherwise taken to her grave. My schoolfriend met me at a reunion and came running across the room to give me a big hug and thank you!
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What a wonderful experience! Not just for you, but for your schoolfriend. There’s so much we never talk about or disclose, especially to strangers.
I thought about doing a collection of selected blog poems/posts because my own mother never wanted to talk about her past. Especially (I’m quite certain) the parts that were especially painful or (to her) humiliating. When I was in my 50s, at my prodding, she finally started talking about some of her past, but never beyond age 11. Before she died, she sent each of daughters a manuscript — her first time ever writing about her childhood. Sadly, she never got beyond age 11 or so. Not because there wasn’t time, but because (from my perspective) whatever happened to her as a teenager and young adult was too painful. Especially since she had a reputation for being (as she was) a warm, loving, and fine Christian neighbor, friend, and pastor’s wife. In the end, it was easier for her to show love and concern for others than to talk frankly with her own four daughters. Especially about her experiences as a teenager and young woman.
I love your analysis in the first paragraph above! I have adopted your motto, based on “but I wouldn’t be doing it very well anyway” — So what the heck, indeed! 🙂
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