Yep, I’m an old woman and it’s okay.  I’ve accepted my fate, it’s not a choice made by me, there’s no explanation why I live into my seventies, while many others did not, as I did nothing to deserve these extra miles.  And so, with this time on my hands, I’d like to get to know you and I’d like for you to know me. Maybe I can share some stuff you’ll learn sooner or later, because living long, even if one does it with one eye closed, like I did most of my life, you pick-up a few things and if you’re open to it, I'm happy to pass on a few hard learned lessons save you some time, energy, and possibly struggle.

For instance, “Is it okay to say no?”, the answer is yes, why, because it’s okay not to want to do something, especially something you hadn’t planned and honestly, this includes saying no to family, friends and even yourself, it is absolutely, irrefutably, **** straight okay to say, “No can do “ and if you find it hard to say no, you can say, “Let me think about it”, then, if you decide to give it a go, you can, and if not, you can shoot a text, email or even call, “Sorry, not up for it, thanks.”

Back to getting to know me and me you, what I’ve found astonishing is how much in common we have, no matter what our age difference, remember, I was young once and what is really awesome is, when we let our guard down an awesome energy of curiosity is available, actually flows between us human beings, there’s so much to work with really, it’s astonishing how in our culture we’ve be taught to stay away from one another, like you could catch my “old germs”, or I could catch rebellious young germs from you, if only.

So, can we try it, can we start a club, like a “weareinthistogether” club, a way to share our stories, our concerns, our triumphs, plus; we could see how much in common we do have, like a hunger for connection, a desire to belong, a desire for personal value and meaning and we could finally admit we care and are concerned for each other and if we didn’t feel like talking, we could sit in silence, in nature, I could miss the morning news, if you could leave your cell phone in your pocket.

Of course, remember you can always say, “Let me think about it,” however if we do get together, I’m happy to share some of my hard-earned life lessons, the most important one, how to say, “I love you” to yourself.

This grief, it won’t leave, it chases me, grabs my ankles,
pulls me to my knees, stalks me during the day,
crawls into bed with me at night,
nudges me if I dare to doze off
quickly reminds me,
I’m alone.

And I reflect on the bazillions of dead humans since the beginning of time, the ancient dead, the war dead, the innocent dead, the dead killed for land, executed on gallows, exterminated in gas chambers, extinguished in death camps, do they await my grief, hide in my bones, live in my heart expectant my dormant grief will find its way to the surface, to respect the lives they once lived?

But I’m a twenty-first century dweller with my postmodern nonchalance intact, moving, using up, basking in the labors of the dead, a sleepwalker on stolen time, gravely in need of self-compassion, dodging the inborn sorrow cut into my heart, while the dead are forgone, they are not forgotten, they form a double square knot no one can help to untie, as their own knots tighten in witness of mine.

Now widowed, my despair dodger foundation shaken, a real life reality lands, no longer a *****, pills popping, *** smoking, TJ Maxx consumer, game plan to avoid sorrow like a plague, the cultural norm, “let the dead bury the dead,”  no, it’s not happening, why, because my grief never died, sure, it was buried, but it was buried alive, and now the chickens have come home to roost.

This morning, the moon, almost snow-white peeks in from the top of the window,  And with a slight scowl on its almost round face it mutters, “Get up.”

And I wonder why the moon cares whether or not I get up on this frigid Sunday morning with snow blowing like hell,

as the cat slurps from her water bowl,
as the heat crackles in the cold radiator,
and as if on cue,
the ringing in my ears begins,
my heart thumps its thumpity-thump-thump
and I get a clue it’s time to follow suit,
time to rise and shine,
to fall in line,
to be one with life
and . . .
with a full body stretch,
a slog to the toilet,
a glance in the mirror, oy vey, it’s a new day.

Mr. and Mrs. Divine Wonder,

Thanks for never lying down on the job, I swear today’s the day I put both of you in for a long overdue raise.

Amen

In dozens upon dozens of donut experiments igniting my joints on fire, a previously substantiated fact is known; sugar makes my body ache, but it matters not, because all evidence is easily cast aside when life happens.

Like when the guy cuts the long line at the grocery store then, slowly glances around innocent, wide-eyed as if to say, “Who me?” You know ‘em, the thirty something, collar turned up on one side of his ca-ca brown LL Bean jacket, hands dug down into his jean pockets, a real big shot or how about the infuriating beep-beep, a millisecond after the traffic light turns green and in your rearview, you see what looks like the same guy from the store but it’s not, it’s a woman in a Mercedes, with her leather-gloved, you know which finger, placed on the dashboard.

And believe me, I can go on about the stash of resentments available to me if there’s any down time in my immediate vicinity, I can count on these oldies but goodies to awaken my sugar monster, to rattle her cage and I wonder is anyone out there even remotely like me, anyone believe life could be, should be less trying and a bit kinder.  I mean how about a few break-evens, try if you will, to imagine making a RMV phone call answered by a pleasant RMV staffer who fixes your problem in five minutes flat.

Okay, you got the picture, which brings this question, why do I make my life such a hassle, it is me after all doing the **** complaining, comparing, judging, and believe me when I tell you, the buck starts here, I’m my own worst enemy, because all I send out into the universe, I test run on myself first, then after much self-punishment, tired, depleted, I finally stop, worn out, done in.

Then, as if by magic, a friend calls, asks if I’d like to take a walk, be together, enjoy the sun, and just out of my sight, a tender, bright green seed pushes itself slowly, painfully, through its skin-tight shell, while a squished up, sticky, butterfly flails, casts off its chrysalis, neither asking why life has to be so hard. . .

And slowly I remember what I forget time and time again, the substantiated fact that life is miraculous and we are its miracles.

Weird, huh?

What climate change you talkin' bout,
it's not a problem, we'll be all be fine,
in our lifetime, in our lifetime
but in your lifetime kiddo not so much,
for the times they are a-changin'.

It's not an issue, excuse me have ya got a tissue
my eyes they’re a-burning, my belly it’s a-churning
just drank some well water cost only a quarter
yep, still some to sell at the bottom of the well,
it's a little bit gritty as I write this ditty,
while coins they rock it in my back pocket
so here's to sockin' it to ya kiddo,
for the times they are a-changin'.

The permits they’re a-passin', no more a-sassin’
now excuse me please I’ve gots to sneeze,
or pass some gas or do a puke always happens
when I float in da Luke aka Penobscot Bay
but don't you worry ' bout us oldies we'll be just fine,
sorry for some water you’ll need to stand in line,
for the times they are a-changin'.

Now I'm a-thinkin,' maybe at Woodstock
we shoulda done less drinkin’ but hey,
we were busy havin’ our fun,
not like you young ‘n serious ones,
we set out to use it up, so keep on a fillin’ our cup,
remember dear children like we always said
they’ll be no more worries when we’re all dead,
for the times they are a’changin’.

Yesterday, again,
the pigeons gathered
on the tip of the barn roof,
kissing and cooing,
that’s right,
you heard it,
pigeons kiss,
quite well actually,
and without shame.

Perhaps this time
it was their annual
Christmas kiss,
a pigeon’s way
to show comfort,
to heal,
to forgive,
to remember
the meaning of Love.

Yes, pigeons,
on rooftops,
coo, whisper
“let’s kiss”
right now
in broad daylight,
and maybe,
just maybe,
someone will notice
and someone did.

~ PE Kaplan

At times I imagine knowing what’s going on but no, I never do,
not really, not from the inside where I endlessly sulk and feel rejected, no, I only pretend to get it to appear normal, and sadly, desperately to gain approval of others no matter what I may be feeling inside.

Let me say here, this life-long, well-practiced character charade
to “fake it ‘til I make it” might, and I do mean might, look fine to others, as I smile trying my best to look okay in some small way, but I confess deep in my gut, I feel pretty awful, I’d say I’m running beyond empty.

My “I'm fine, how about you”, daily pantomime performance is totally worn-out but it not only survives, it thrives, within a culture of external reward, while something deeper, something silent, waits patiently for my surrender, to rescue me from myself, to lift me out of my life of fear and my fear of life,

to crack open my shell and breathe Spirit into the dried old nut inside.