me, mellow

that title makes me laugh.
if only you knew, i say, it’s all optical illusion.

i was going to title this “how to have a mellow morning” because that was what i was setting out to accomplish. my reasons being my own, of course, but there are always reasons packed into the nooks and crannies of our baggage, right? i carry my mother in that baggage. the good and the bad. and on a day like this one, friday the 13th, her superstitions held strong for me as i drove to the coast for yet another doctor’s appointment. i was curious as to what i had inherited from her in addition to high blood pressure. really? they asked if i was dizzy. or short of breath. they immediately told me to sit down. they asked me to come back again. and again. i was anything but mellow.

there’s something about facing the past in the future.
it either knocks you down or lights a fire of change.

on this particular day, weeks after that initial visit, i was ignited with positivity. (it certainly helps to have a juggling partner to help set the mood of children heading off to meet the school bus). and saying “mind over matter” is one thing, but really feeling it trusting it believing it, is another. he’s right when he reminds me i can choose my perspective. we choose what we invite into our heart. there is so much we cannot control in life and death, but we can control how we respond to what life tosses our way.

take care of your heart.
(this means self care
and finding your happy place
then visiting it again and again.)

there’s something about the drive i take that brings me there: maybe it’s the choice of music or the space to daydream or perhaps because i pass the town where she lived, where she went to college that helps me feel her presence. it’s a bittersweet drive, especially when there is sunshine in the window.

if i know myself well enough i know the best way to my heart is to put feet on sand. and here, in maine, i hear her story in my head. the one she would tell again and again on dementia’s repeat: her mother asked her to carry the lobster pot down to the sea. wade out past the surf to scoop up salt water with which to boil the lobsters (because every good mainer knows they taste better with a bit of the ocean). she’d carry it back, the big pot full of the cold atlantic, sloshing on her thin frame as she trudged home.

she was stronger than she knew.
and i carry her with me now.

it makes me giddy to be at the sea, especially the empty coast of winter in maine. the novelty of snow on sand conjures up good memories from childhood and good dreams of the future i see before us. i went on a bit of an iphoneography adventure. a winter photowalk was exactly what the doctor ordered.

i park and climb over the snowbanks. i feel like a kid here. and i love that. crunch crunch crunch my boots stomp and break through the icy top layer of snow. i’m laughing on the inside. seeking mom. finding me, mellow.

there is such pause with snow.
such intention with every step.
it leads me exactly where i need to be.
one foot infront of the other.

i have the beach to myself. where white snow meets wet sand. grey sky and white caps of rough rough seas. the cold wind takes my breath and simultaneously fills me. it’s beautiful.

i’m not always certain what i’m seeking, sometimes i just go looking. looking for peace or inspiration or something to catch my eye and act as the reminder that i’m on the right path. something to help me feel connected. to tie these threads of past and present and future.

it’s here.
and i’m here.
and that makes me unbelievably happy.

colors pop and come to life.

seagulls are too cold to cry.

it’s there that i find her. and myself.
and when i drive away i feel full.
come to find out, i did not inherit her high blood pressure.
what i got was her heart.
she always told me i’d love maine.

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