It's mid-morning and hot outside ... ice water and cold inside air push comfort in to me. OMG ... I hug myself and rock forward and back slowly, gently ... Letting go of a dream is careful work.

It is tempting to turn the music up loud and dance to another place ... and I might be foolish enough to do so if I knew where that might be. I didn't enjoy the women's clubs or even socialized working out ... "organizing" and "volunteering" ... I've done quite a lot of that over the years. Small town PTA ... check. My husband really does not want me to get a job for the sake of having a job. Every home needs a wife ... Not saying that in a bitchy way, it's just true ... just from where I am sitting right this minute, I can see my touch everywhere, and it is good ... good for me and good for my family. At the end of every summer with four or five kids in and out with their friends, wet towels, carelessly spilt sodas and words ... Well, even Sammy is looking in from the back porch like "I'll just wait out here 'till they go back.". Mid August is the most compressed time of the year for me. Church is an obvious choice. I'm thinking about that ... How that can become more central. Idk. There is an old woman dying ... She lost her husband last year. I bet they were married for sixty, maybe seventy, years. I could help her I think. I know from personal experience, that just one person slowing down enough to connect can make a huge difference in a life ... A little bit of love gently poured into that crack. ... I did enjoy working with adult literacy ... maybe they could use another helper.

I know I am feeling a little bit sorry for myself here. I also know that the incidental Learning ... Healing ... Growing .... Rebooting ... with in the dream inside a dream ... pandora/flying ... I can see that work is complete. I am excited to see what comes next. Just feel unsure. Unfocused. It's a fuzzy place between here and there. I like clarity ... or at least the illusion of clarity.

This is what I am afraid of: I'm afraid of wasting the time that I have left. I am afraid of becoming my mother. Kids raised ... absent husband (my daddy died and momma didn't re-marry ... ) ... Photos of faces and places she doesn't remember stored in the drawers of her coffee table. My mother is only 25 years older then I, and I know what 25 years looks like ... I held him in my arms seems like just yesterday. I am afraid that I won't spend my time on moments that I will remember. That is super scary to me. I don't like hanging out doing something that may actually be worthwhile with a bunch of ladies of leisure like me, trash talking whoever is not there and fretting about the lipstick they might have smeared when they dabbed at their mouths afterwards. Ummm ... I already know I can be super bitch ... See, I'm doing it right now. I want moments that mean something. I want a lot of them. I don't need to log them or photograph them, I want to lay down at night with them smiling my heart. I want to wake up with them challenging me to live larger ... Feel more deeply ... Look higher.

Interesting times. I ssshhh myself. Don't waste this transition whining I tell myself. Ssshhh. Everything is okay.