Autumn Greetings

Because I was born and raised in the deep South, I experienced the change of seasons through images in magazines and on television: No colorful autumns, no snowy winters - just colder and drier weather, followed by spring and summer - and I was okay with that. Living in New England has made me appreciate the seasonal changes, but I'm still no fan of winter, or snow, and although I enjoy the colorful leaves, they always get blown off the trees and end up on the ground to turn brown and disappear before Halloween has arrived. Plentiful rain and sun, followed by chilly weather, can bring about a spectacular fall, and I know the snow and cold allows us to have a beautiful spring and summer, but I just wish it didn't last so long. 

Fallen leaves - 2016 - photo by TJB

But since I can't do anything about that, I hope I get to enjoy a beautiful autumn, a not-too-harsh winter and an early spring. I wish the same to all of you.

New England - 2016 - photo by TJB

Bittersweet - 2012 - photo by TJB

New England - 2015 - photo by TJB

Symbolism: Cobwebs

This morning, I decided to replace the bulb inside my Himalayan salt lamp that sits on the shelf above my computer, Taking down a few things in order to reach it, I realized I needed to take everything down and wipe away the ridiculous accumulation of dust and cobwebs, which also involved wiping off all the little tchotchkes (a Yiddish word for trinkets and collectibles) I had placed there for inspiration, followed by rearranging them all back up on the shelf. 

As I took the time to do this (and replace the bulb), I felt the desire to blog about it, so I looked up the word "cobweb", which means "a spider's web, especially when old and covered with dust." 

That's when I knew I also needed to do this in an effort to clear away the cobwebs in my mind and become a better writer, whether it's blogging or working diligently on my three current writing projects. 

Yes, there are three. I should probably pick just one to focus on, but I have invested my heart and soul into each one, so much so that I feel the need to divide my time between all of them. Is this realistic? I suppose not, but I feel so strongly about each one that I keep trying to justify working on whichever story beckons to me, in addition to working on an array of other creative pursuits. I'm a slave to my emotions.

Lots to do, never enough time...

Will You Still Need Me When I'm 64

Happy Birthday to me... In My Life (The Beatles)

There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better,
Some have gone, and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life, I love you more

Mother May I?

May is my favorite month, and it's usually a busy one... my birthday, new projects, and Mother's Day is coming. 

But this will be my first birthday and first Mother's Day with no mother. No cards or flowers to send, no phone calls, no gifts, nothing but my favorite memories of her. 

Me, Mom and Thisbe

Since she passed away last year, I've somehow made it through the holidays and her birthday (April) and now this. The pain of losing her is still fresh, and I can't stop the tears as I write this.

Mom and I singing our duet - Anchors Aweigh and WAVES of the Navy

She wanted the best for my brother and me, and believed in us even when we must have disappointed her. I guess that's what kids do, and I know it's what mothers do... 

Me, Mom and my little brother Joel

I still love her so much - always and forever - and I still want to make her proud of me. I hope to accomplish that some day.

Thank you, Mom, for being there for me...

Already April

Spring arrived late this year, as usual, and while March usually heralds a change of season, it isn't until April that things really start to happen here in New England. It was exciting to see the beautiful bursts of yellow, pink and white in manicured lawns and along the roadside. It was a signal to open the windows, welcome the rain and plant some pansies.

Happy Earth Day

Forsythia in bloom - photo: tjbg 2017

Easter came and went, with all its promises of things yet to come (and, sadly for me, reminders of people and things that have gone away), and we also marked the passing of what we like to call Earth Day (which, to me, is EVERY day) and are seeing slightly warmer temperatures, even though there is still a chill in the air. Now, well after the forsythia and flowering pear and rhododendron and daffodils have had their say, it is comforting to see that the trees are waking up and are very busy putting out their fresh green leaves at last. 

Nature is my religion. Nature is my muse. Even though my biological mother is no longer here in the physical world, I can still hear her voice in birdsong, in the wind and waves. She sent me a card once, that's how I know it's her. 

Happy Spring, Mom. I love you.

Finally, Spring?

Yesterday was the first day of Spring, according to the calendar, but I always remember Spring arriving on the twenty-first day of March. So I decided to look it up and found this, courtesy of The Farmers' Almanac web site:

Traditionally, we’ve celebrated the beginning of spring on March 21, but astronomers and calendar manufacturers alike now say that the spring season starts one day earlier, March 20, in all time zones in North America.

How could the first day of spring change from year to year?
There are a few reasons why seasonal dates can vary from year to year. The first is that a year is not an even number of days and neither are the seasons.

Another reason is that the earth’s elliptical orbit is changing its orientation (skew), which causes the earth’s axis to constantly point in a different direction, called precession. Since the seasons are defined as beginning at strict 90-degree intervals, these positional changes affect the time the earth reaches each 90-degree location in its orbit around the sun.

At least I found something that validates my memory. So today I celebrate the first day of Spring because I am really ready for a change, even though it's not going to be warm for a while yet; we could still see some snow events between now and Easter (which is rather late this year, April 16) but mostly we will (hopefully) see an abundance of rain. 

My mother would have been 96 in April, and I seem to recall that Easter was her favorite holiday, so I will continue to blossom and grow, and think of her.

Happy Spring!

Writing: A Labor of Love

My mother, Winnie

Having been a journalist at one point in my life, it seems that I am cursed with writing in a journalistic style - short, informative bursts reeking of research and bursting with non-biased data - but what I really want to do is to write from my heart and soul, which I have been able, on occasion, to do, expressing my personal thoughts and feelings to make them more readable.

But now, trying to write my mother's story, I find it almost impossible to tap into my emotions about someone I loved so dearly and capture them in words. I can feel my grief and my anger, but can't quite find the right way to write about them.

My mother, Winnie

Should I be writing a memoir? Or a novel? Or a combination of the two? Writing a memoir requires that I pull from my own life, and there are many memories that include my mother that I could write about. But I also want to tell her story, based upon her own words (journal entries and a few pages of her life story that she had been trying to write) and on my recollections of all the stories about herself that she shared with my brother and me.

My mother, Winnie, with my brother and me

Telling one's own story is risky, tedious, and liberating.
Telling someone else's story is a big responsibility, an honor, and a labor of love. I will keep trying to find my voice and, when that happens, I will try to do Mom's story justice.