Peace, Happiness and Love

So much of everything is the same. Today is the same as yesterday and tomorrow probably won't be very different. Last weekend and and again today I watched a couple episodes of a documentary about Rick Rubin and his place Shangri-La. His home, recording studio, paradise. I am not sure if it is perfection but it seems a simple life not an easy one or maybe it is? He has found a way to make it his own. The thing that interested me was that he is not a person whose music I would have been interested in but there are themes that I believe and after watching the first episode there is music he has made with people that I like. But he tells the musicians, if you are true to yourself you are successful. You may not have a top 10 gold record but you can walk away from your work and be proud of it. Today as I was watching he spoke of meditation and these musicians that come there find a inner peace that they didn't have. I don't feel like he tells them what to do but shows them. Asks questions, like do you like the way that feels? I am sure there are plenty of people that tell these artists what will sell and what won't but Rick wants you to be happy with your work. Try something you've never tried stick your neck out and at the same time look inside. On the episode I watched last week he said that is why there are one hit wonders. That passion they have when they are not making money isn't there when they try to repeat the magic. The influences are crazy and the fans that are let down when an artist can't duplicate it. They spends their whole life creating the first album but only have 2 years to get the next one out.

 As I watch I feel like he is a life coach I couldn't afford to go to. For someone to tell me Jeanne, you have to be happy. This isn't like asking do you like bacon with your eggs. This is saying what makes you truly happy and do it. Unfortunately I have not yet found a way to make money at the things I love but I have never stuck my neck out to do those things either. I do them in my spare time, at home alone, at 3am. Funny how my happiness and joy from writing or photography sometimes comes through hard times. Sometimes tears in my eyes before I even take the picture. That is how you know it is good. People don't understand that sometimes letting go of the things that make me worry bring tears to my eyes to but those aren't sad tears. Sometimes they are happy ones.

Sitting here today I thought I would listen to some music from the musicians I saw on this documentary today. I found at the end that one that I was going to look up has passed away since the filming.  Instead I turned on my XM radio and it was on Prime Country. Right out of the gate some Gatlin Brothers, All the Gold in California, then a Reba duet with Linda Davis Does He Loves You, then Love Me by Colin Raye if you don't know that song well the if you aren't crying listening to the words the last couple lines say "Between now and then, 'til I see you again. I'll be loving you, Love Me." When we were kids mom would leave us notes with what we needed to do around house before she got home and her signature was simply the word Love. I have always signed mine Love, Me.

Ironically this was not a word spoken in our house as kids. It was an understanding that we were loved. It was a given. We had food, clothes and lots of family. We never wanted for anything and as we grew up that is how we understood love. There weren't hugs exchanged or kisses it was the act of love that we were raised with. I didn't even know that it wasn't the way every one's family was until I got older and I remember a friend trying to hug me and I was kinda put off by this awkward showing of affection. Now as adults we have all learned how to show affection of this type but it still to me isn't all that love is. I still believe love is a verb. It is an action not a gift. Yes, a hug is an action but so spending time with a person, just visiting or talking. It is putting a roof over your head and feeding you. I know some are going to take that is being mean. It wasn't mean it was love. My favorite dad story is one from when I was very young walking down a sidewalk with my father and I tripped. He stood there and waited for me to get up. He didn't rush to grab me and wipe my knees. These two ladies were there and saw what happened and said to my dad, Aren't you going to pick her up. My dad said, She has to learn to get up on her own. I won't always be there to pick her up. I told that story in 7th grade for a project.  So to each their own but I know that story is love.

I know I always say I don't know what I am writing about when I start. This blog is a free form expression of the things in my head and at the time I stop to share them. As I spend this evening listening to the music that made me I think why in the world don't we have music like this and the answer is maybe love is given easily and everyone is owed something. No one wants to do anything the hard way anymore. People don't want to wait or put in the time. The last thing I want to share from this series was that people think that when they get their gold album they will be happy but that void can't be filled like that. This is why you have to be happy with what you do.

500 Words

Today I did something I have never done before. I submitted a story I wrote for a writing competition. It had to be a story never before published so I cannot share it until after the contest is over. I first heard of the contest back in December and I wasn't sure I could write something for it. The only real restrictions other than previously unpublished is that it had to be fiction and it had to be 500 words or less. I really wasn't sure how many words 500 was. So one night while I was staying overnight with mom I thought since their is nothing on TV at 3AM and I cannot sleep I will try to write something. So I started off with a piece of mom's paper and started. I wasn't sure what I would write about but I thought I just want to write a page and count the words and see what I have. That was how this started. The problem I didn't stop after the first page. I wrote 3 and a little more. The story tells the tale of person going to the beach and how both the beach and her are the same and they change. When I read back what I had written it made me cry. It was a metaphor for life. Mine maybe or maybe mom's. I wrote most in 3rd person as though I am watching someone else's life but then when I speak of the person at my age I used the word I. To some that means nothing to me it means that no matter I how try to separate my life from my mom's by growing up and moving out and even getting married we are still one in the same or are we?

I don't think I can say much more about the story but I was successful. It was just over 500 words. So as I typed it today to submit it. I typed as I originally wrote by hand and then edited just a few words and went from 512 to 500. So the whole thing seems like it was meant to be. I submitted it and now have to wait. It would be wonderful to be recognized for my ability to write but there are millions of people out there in the world waiting to be recognized for whatever they do that they enjoy. So I will only be disappointed for a minute because I know that when I read my work and when my best friend read it, there were tears in our eyes. I read it out loud today to Brian and he said he was crying before me. The important thing to learn was I can do anything I put my mind to. I am only limited by my own fears of failure.

Winning will not bring mom back so she cannot enjoy the fruits of my labor that evening. This piece however will always remind me of those days spent caring for mom. Sometimes that meant lifting her or helping her but sometimes it was just sitting with her. Talking to her. Listening to her stories. I have realized over the last few weeks I have been preparing for this year for a long time. Bits and pieces over my life then caring for our dog Kody for the 14 years we had him. Then in 2012 dealing with Brian's sister and her daughter and grand daughter's death and a few weeks later my cat of 21 years passed away and then a month later my grandmother. All those things taught me lots of things. How to take care of a sick dog is not the same as mom but it is not totally different. In the end I had spent 24 hours a day with him trying to get him to eat anything to get better. Going to Arizona to deal with Brian and his families tremendous loss taught me to express myself in ways other than panic. I learned to take the words in my head and put them to paper or write my blog. My grandmother's funeral preparations were very similar to mom's. Maybe they weren't as different as they thought they were.

Now I am left not alone but not the same. I do have times I want to call mom. I want to ask a question even though I may not have followed her advice at least I knew where she stood on the topic. I have just such issues now and I don't know what she would do. I don't know what I want to do. Part of me says nothing. Do nothing. Let things be the way they are and then there is the part that says that may not be fair to to everyone. Some may read this years or days from now and think they know the dilemma but I doubt they do. I am always looking out for the whole. In my book 5 will always =1.