A Moment in Time

2008-06-26T11:17:00.001-04:00

I miss my laugh. You know, the laugh that I always thought was too loud? The laugh that an acquaintance of mine made remarks about one day when we were both in a Wal-Mart store and she said, “I knew you were here, I could hear you laughing all the way on the other side of the store.” That’s the laugh I miss.

I didn’t realize until about 6 weeks ago when I suddenly woke up with a hoarse voice that continues to worsen and simply won’t improve because my right vocal cords are paralyzed, how much of my personality is reflected in my voice. What I say and the tone I say it in is an important part of how others deem who I am. How crazy is that!

For a few days I was put on total voice rest. I was still sitting at my desk, but it was as if I had become invisible. Since I couldn’t respond, people stopped talking to me. I don’t know when I ever felt so lonely -- well, except when I was married to my ex-husband. It was like I was trapped inside of myself. I still thought of all the snappy comebacks I would use if someone would only talk to me, but I couldn’t verbalize them. My ability to laugh at myself (out loud at least) lay paralyzed in my throat and as a result the desire to laugh was drowning in a deep pool of tears that were always just below the surface. Actually I wanted to scream. God, I couldn’t even cry out loud. Even the expression “for crying out loud” lost its significance to me.

And now - I have this weird little laugh - like someone stepping on a broken squeaky toy. It comes out in short uncontrollable bursts that disappear into breathless wheezes. My words evaporate into silent gasps for breath as I voice them. And sing -- forget it. I used to sing karaoke for hours at night much to the distress of my little Chihuahua. But that is who I am -- the old gal with the loud laugh and snappy comebacks that loves to sing. And I need my voice back so you will remember who I am also.

Yes, I really miss my laugh.

© 2008 Ilene Madrigal

Happy Mother's Day to All the Good Mothers In the World

2008-05-13T15:49:00.005-04:00

You know I used to think I was a “good” mother because I was different than my own mother. She was a hugger …an “I’ll do it for you” kind of a mother, and I was a “don’t touch me, I’ll do it myself” kind of daughter. I interpreted her actions as “smother love” and “you can’t do it right.” ….so when I became a mother, I decided I would be a polar opposite of my mother. I was determined to let my little family do it on their own, learn the hard way, and “heaven forbid” I give them (particularly the girls) any “hugs.”

In retrospect, I see that although I encouraged (they say I screamed) them to do things on their own, I was still directing their every action from my “distant don’t hug me” place in life, and it makes me question what it means to be a “good” mother. It must be an age-old question that mothers ask because I remember Mama when she was in her nineties pondering what it meant to be a “beloved” mother/grandmother.

Well, Mama, you were a beloved “Mother.” I miss you. I miss hearing your laugh. I miss teasing you about “worrying” so much. Gosh, I even miss dusting the woodwork - well maybe not that so much, but it is one of my special memories of you. I miss all the hours we sat at the table and you helped me with my homework. I miss meeting you at Bob’s Grill and eating noodles on Thursday. I miss taking roast beef sandwiches with lots of onions, slaw, and custard pie to the nursing home those last days of your life. …but most of all I miss your touch because now I understand that you weren’t trying to “smother” me you were just being a “good” mother in the only way you knew.

…and now that I am older, I hope my children -- all of you -- think of me as a “good” mother, not because I have done everything right or even anything right, not because I was a different than my own mother, but because no matter what the circumstances I have always loved you since the first moment I laid eyes on you.

And maybe, Mama, there isn’t any one particular defining moment that makes us “good” mothers; maybe it isn’t about being “good” at all. After all is said and done, we both loved and love our children in our own different ways and there just isn’t any “wrong” way to love.

© 2008 Ilene Madrigal

Christmas 2007

2007-12-25T22:31:00.000-05:00

Can you believe it? The Holiday Season has descended upon us once again – my third Christmas in North Carolina and I still love it here! As a matter of fact, I can’t imagine living anywhere else.

As usual this year has been a menagerie of endings and beginnings. I’ll just begin where I left off last year with my post script. Yvette and Bella had moved in with me, and Jesse and Jason were still with me so the house was bulging at the seams! In March, Jesse and Jason found a cute little place to live – well actually it is bigger than my house – about 5 miles from where I live. Jesse went to work for Time Warner in Raleigh but found the drive to be too expensive and is now with Alltel in Rocky Mount. Jason had a hip reconstruction surgery in October and will have the other hip done in April. He is doing very well. The whole family has pitched in and tried to make his life a little less boring while he is recovering. Jesse has gotten a clean bill of health from the doctor – lungs are doing great. He really is a miracle!

Yvette and Bella are still with me. We just celebrated Bella’s third birthday – can you believe that Jasmine turned 13 this year! Yuck, that must mean that I’m getting older! My pristine little home somehow now looks like a three year old lives there, but I’m so glad they had a place to come to, and it is a delight watching Bella grow. She seems to love her Nana – snuggles up with me in my chair at night – to delay having to go to bed! Jasmine is so busy – cheer leading, hanging out with friends – that it seems like I don’t get to see her very often, but it is nice to be nearby so that we can all be together for special occasions and on Holidays.

Amber and Raymond stay the same – working hard and enjoying their new home. I still tease Amber about forgetting that I live here when she fails to remember to tell me about things going on in their lives.

Mark is still in Kansas City – gone back to work and doing well. He makes a trip to Oklahoma occasionally to see his Dad and hopefully will get out this way one day soon. Milinda is on her own once again – both she and Yvette in the middle of divorces. I’m so proud of them – moving fearlessly on with their lives.

Now me – certainly a year of tying up some loose ends in Oklahoma and moving forward. Of course, I made my annual trip to Mississippi to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day at the Sweet Potato Queen Parade with Sherry and Mitzi. Oh yeah, we had a good time – Ron took care of us and kept us from getting into too much trouble! Then, I returned to Oklahoma in May and sold the farm (literally). While I was there, I visited and spent nights with my friends and resaid a lot of Good-byes. Mark drove down from Kansas City and we spent some time with Big Jesse – eating at all my favorite restaurants! It was a bittersweet letting go, but I realized that although my roots will always be in Oklahoma, my heart is in North Carolina and that I really wanted to be where my heart is.

And I do love North Carolina – all of it from the mountains to the ocean and back again. I met a very nice man in March, and since then we have traveled over every inch of North Carolina – with side trips into South Carolina, Virginia, and West Virginia with an upcoming trip to Tennessee. We take a lot of day trips and sometimes two days and just drive – come to a stop sign – take turns choosing which direction to go and just enjoy the trip. The destination is unimportant – the journey is what matters. He is a great photographer, and I’m not too bad myself – so we often make U-turns just to take that perfect shot of a bug crossing the road! We celebrated our birthdays (yes, he is an older man - one day older than me) at New River Gorge bridge in West Virginia – took in the fall foliage in the mountains, hiked at Chimney Rock and Pilot Mountain, took a boat ride on Lake Lure (where they filmed Dirty Dancing), have taken almost every ferry in the state of North Carolina, driven down the coast (Outer Banks,) climbed up light houses, fished (I let him catch the biggest one,) watched movies, and have just generally enjoyed life to the fullest.

Now then, my dear friends, Sister Nieces, and all my other relatives, when are you coming to North Carolina? I would love to see you all and
share the beauty of my new Home state. And my dear North Carolina friends, thank you so much for making my life in North Carolina some of the best days of my life. To you all -your friendship and love is the best Christmas gift of all.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to All,
And may all your days be Cheery and Bright!

Love and Hugs,
Ilene

Kisses can't Wait

2007-12-14T13:57:00.000-05:00

I was running late for work. It takes longer to get “pretty” when you’re sixty-four! I had finally made it to the car – ready to put it in gear, when the little face pressed against my front door. I waved and then stopped. I know how much my beautiful little granddaughter loves to hug me good-bye. So – I called to her impatiently – “Hurry up, run, quick, I have to go, I’m late! “Run Bella” – now this is the morning that she decides to take tiny baby steps toward the car. As I looked at her – I thought. Ok, I may be late for work - so fire me – kisses don’t wait. All too soon, she will grow up – go away – no sticky sweet kisses for me then. I gathered her up in my arms and gave her a special hug and kiss that morning. Ah, this is what life is really all about – seizing the moment – savoring that precious kiss that I could have missed. And guess what – I got to work on time because when we listen to our hearts, time stands still and waits for kisses that can’t wait.

A Day Late and A Dollar Short

2007-01-11T21:51:00.000-05:00

Finally I am getting around to posting my Annual Newsletter. Three weeks late and quite a bit more than three dollars short. Nevertheless, here goes!

Seasons Greetings 2006

Another year has passed already and here I am celebrating my second Christmas in North Carolina. The Season has descended upon us almost without warning it seems. One minute it was New Year’s Day and now it’s almost Christmas and time to reach out and touch all my family and friends – both old and new.

Gosh, where would I be without all of you? I am so thankful for those of you in Oklahoma and Kansas who stay in touch with me and make me feel a close connection to my roots. And I am equally thankful for new friends in North Carolina who are helping me establish new roots. Likewise my children and “sister” nieces and their families who are scattered all across the United States constantly remind me that family and friends are a condition of the heart – not a place in geography. What a gift from all of you.

Life is good. I am happy and content. Looking for a millionaire – as I am sure you are aware, it is as easy to love a millionaire as a pauper so I don’t plan to settle for less. In the meantime, I am working to keep a roof over my head and groceries on the table. The bank that I was worked for as a temp for 7 months finally decided in February that I wasn’t going anywhere so they gave me a full-time position. I enjoy the work even though I know I am supposed to be a Queen, be served tea and crumpets on a regular basis, and never have to work again – but that’s when I find the millionaire right?

I took several trips to the beach this summer. I met Yvette and Bella for our special weekend at Carolina Beach. Jesse and I went to Emerald Isle. Jasmine, her friend, and I went to Carolina Beach again. Amber and I went to Greensboro for a weekend. And one day when I was feeling lonely, I took myself to the Outer Banks and had a wonderful time. Nothing like enjoying your own company! (smile)

Jesse is doing wonderful. After a car wreck in February – ejected and air-lifted to a local hospital, he began to make life changes that are nothing short of a miracle. We continue to be good room mates and his partner, Jason, is also living with us. Quite a houseful in my little two bedroom home! Jesse is also working for the bank as a temp and has been promised full-time employment in January. The benefits are wonderful here at the bank and that is very important to us both.

Amber, Raymond, and Jasmine have settled into their new home just two miles from us and sometimes Amber actually remembers that I live in Wilson (smile). Yvette, Tim, and Bella-Dawn are still in South Carolina. Can you believe our little miracle baby is two years old already. Milinda and all her crew are way too far away, but always close in my heart, and Mark is still in Kansas City – we are coaxing him toward the East coast!

I hope the Holiday Season finds your spirits joyful and bright. May love fill your hearts and brighten all your days. And for all of you who are far away in miles, know that you are always in my heart, and that my door is always open. I would love to see you all.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year
Ilene
Update: Yvette and Bella have joined our little nest here in North Carolina. We are bulging at the seams, but it is wonderful to have them here, knowing they are safe. Bella has grown so much, talking up a storm, and cute as can be!

Canoeing trip

2006-11-12T20:22:00.000-05:00

The Reflection

2006-11-05T20:40:00.000-05:00

It was like looking into forever. The reflection of the trees dressed in their radiant crimson and gold fall colors looked up at me from the depth of the water as the canoe glided silently along above them – a breathtaking moment in time in my new home of North Carolina.

One instant I would find myself looking up toward the sky – the trees in all their splendor looking down on me - a tiny ripple in time, and the next instant I would find myself looking down into a reflection so picture perfect that I scarcely wanted to breathe for fear of disturbing the view. And the silence – I could feel it – it surrounded me – enveloped me with a warm feeling of safety that comes only in those moments when you know with certainty that you are in the presence and a part of something so awesome that you have no words to describe it. And although I understand that it was never meant to be described, the humanness in me wants to share it with others.

So where do I begin? It was my first canoe trip. It was unseasonably cold for November in North Carolina. I was with people I had only met that very day. What was I thinking? I was thinking of new experiences - new friends – new possibilities, and I was feeling a great sense of adventure. It was a date with the unknown.

My shipmate – also my blind date – was a wonderful guide and teacher and well seasoned in the art of canoeing. He patiently explained to me how to “board” the canoe without “rocking the boat” too much – gave me the front seat so that I could power the canoe with my paddle – while he steered from his seat behind me. Although I was a novice, it felt natural from the moment we slipped out onto the mirror perfect water. There was such a sense of effortlessness of the canoe making its way along. I have always marveled at the grace of ducks slipping silently along in the water and I wondered if this is how they feel – like silk on velvet – almost disconnected from everything yet totally connected to the whole.

There was no wind – the air was invigoratingly crisp – the silence was deafening –the beauty was all inspiring - the peace was all-encompassing – and the trees stood perfectly still stretching tall into the heavens and then reflecting their exact image into the depth of the water – from forever into forever.
And I wondered? Is this how God sees us - created in His own image – reflecting His Glory for all the world to see? And I looked out into forever and felt a silent, “Thank you” rise up from my heart -- because there really is no need for words.

©2006 Ilene Madrigal

The Early Bird

2006-07-21T15:08:00.000-04:00

Right off the bat, I’ll tell you that I am not a morning person. I loved my Dad more than life, but I’m still angry at him for getting me up early one morning to “hear the crack of dawn.” And I really don’t give a flying flip if the “early bird gets the worm.” However, I am a late night roamer which probably explains why I am not healthy, wealthy, or wise – you know…”early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” So you probably can ascertain that I have seen a lot more sunsets than sunrises in my lifetime.

However, circumstances of life (not wealthy) have brought me to the place where I must be an early riser in order to get to work at the time the bank has deemed appropriate. Forget “banker’s hours” – that is just a myth. And since the wellness plan people have decided that I have too much body fat (not healthy,) I have been rising even earlier in order to take a morning walk before work. Now if I had played it smart (not wise,) I would have found a job where I could …no I would have gotten a better settlement when I shed my 35 year marriage so that I could sleep late, loll around in bed gaining even more body fat (the queen was in the parlor eating bread and honey,) but I didn’t and such is life.

So, one morning last week, I struggled out the door, squinting through the sand in my eyes at the sun rising through the trees, just in time to see it happen – “the early bird getting the worm.” Now this expression that we have all heard time and again promoting the wisdom of being an early riser – that the lucky person is the one who gets there first suggesting that the late-comer is slovenly and lazy – suddenly took on new meaning for me. Who the heck was lucky here? Yeah, the bird. But, what about the worm? He was probably living by the old adage of “healthy, wealthy, and wise,” and in the process became breakfast for the bird. Not too healthy, wealthy, or wise for him I would say.

Therefore, I conclude that not all the expressions that we tend to take for the gospel truth can be worn as a “one size fits all.” That has never worked for me either – I find that “one size fits all “ only applies to people who are all the same size, (the ultimate goal of the people at the wellness center) but that is a subject for another time. What if I am the worm and not the bird? Wouldn’t it be wiser for me to ignore the alarming crow of the rooster, stay underground at least long enough for all the early birds, to sing up the sun, eat breakfast (shouldn’t they be vegetarians?) and fly off to do whatever they do with the rest of their day? Then in the evening after all the “chickens have flown up to roost,” I could emerge from the safety of my covers (much healthier than being breakfast for a bird,) and bask in the richness of a glorious sunset while counting my blessings that I wasn’t some early riser’s breakfast.

Oh by the way, (just a little aside) I noticed the neighborhood cat was stalking the bird. He must have heard the “early cat gets the bird” story! Not that a cat would take advice from anyone, though.

Oh yes, I love the birds and their songs about the “crack of dawn,” but just remember there is a place in the grand scheme of things for us “Night crawlers,” too.

©2006 Ilene Madrigal

The Neighborhood

2006-06-16T19:43:00.000-04:00

I love my neighborhood,

you know.

The view from my front porch of the perfectly manicured lawns, all the homes with identical tranquil faces, an occasional homeowner strolling leisurely toward the mail box, and a quietness that feeds the soul satisfies the longing for perfect order of my Virgo nature. Some days that picture is enough, but not always, because I have an Aquarius side to my nature that craves change and growth and constant motion that can never be satisfied with the man-made perfection of my front porch view.

Perhaps that is the reason I have a back patio that overlooks the hodgepodge of color that only nature can paint. From this place I am alone in the universe where things are in a constant state of progress and transformation. Birds singing as they flitter from tree-top to tree-top, the sound of deer stirring as they trample through the undergrowth, the gentle breeze whispering in the leaves and swaying the branches, butterflies nonchalantly sashaying about, clouds skimming across the sky, all remind me that the man-made order of the front porch view, although wonderful, pales in comparison to the God ordained order of my back patio backdrop.

But I love them both equally, the front porch view and the back patio view, as well as the Virgo and Aquarius sides of my nature, and for a moment sometimes I wonder what it would be like to sit on the roof-top side-by-side with God and marvel at the wonder of the panoramic view of my own little neighborhood –a compilation of God ordained and man-made order.

I love my neighborhood, you know.

©2006 Ilene Madrigal

For My Mother 1902 - 1999

2006-05-14T15:27:00.001-04:00

My Mother’s Hands

I saw them again tonight--my mother’s hands.
I have never thought that they were very pretty.
Not particularly ugly--just not pretty.
Projections at the end of her arms,
Stubby fingers, arthritic knots on the joints,
Big dark veins surrounded by loose skin
Darkened and spotted by the sun.

For some reason, I have always shrunk
From the touch of my Mother’s hands.
But, tonight when I saw her hands,
Stubby fingers, knotty joints,
Loose skin overlapping the big blue veins
Running through the sun spots,
Projections at the end of my own arms,
I missed her terribly.

And I let her touch my soul,
And it was beautiful.

Mother's Day 2006

2006-05-14T15:27:00.000-04:00

A Mother’s Day Tribute to My Children

What is a mother? And what makes her special to her children? Age old questions that only a child can answer. But today, from a mother’s perspective, I felt it was time to pay tribute to those who make motherhood possible. Mother’s Day seems like the perfect time to honor all those sons and daughters who make the term MOTHER a reality.

I have the greatest honor of being a Mother to five beautiful men and women. Some of you I carried under my heart for nine months before you were laid in my arms - precious packages of baby sweetness and love that no doubt had always been a part of my heart. Some of you came to me - trembling little children wondering who this woman was that had married your father - precious packages of delight and love who at that very instant found your own way into my heart as if I had always known you. But be assured, I have carried all of you in my heart everywhere I go since that first moment I laid eyes on you.

I had no training at being a Mother. Who has? There have been many parenting books written, but there just really isn’t any particular book that can prepare any woman for the awesome responsibility of being a Mother. It’s a kind of ‘do or die’ procedure and in my case God must have had a great sense of humor when He sent all you to be my children because I certainly would never have chosen myself to be a mother.

What a ride it has been. I remember when all of you thought I knew everything. I remember when all of you didn’t think I knew anything. I remember times when you didn’t want to let go of my hand. I remember times when you didn’t want to be seen in the same state with me. I remember times when you never wanted to leave my side. I remember times when I thought you would never come home again. I remember times when you would ask me for advice and it was OK when you didn’t listen. I remember times, very recently in fact, that you gave me advice and sometimes I don’t listen! I hope that is OK too. I remember times when I stood by your side while you made major life choices. I remember this past year when you stood by my side while I made life altering choices. How can anyone write a book that covers all that. Because each of you are different. Each child comes with his or her own unique personality and spirit. And that is what makes a mother - just stumbling through the process and loving every moment of it.

And that is the beauty of it all -- that there really isn’t any particular right way or wrong way to be a Mother -- as long as there is love. God in all his wisdom must have understood that “Love covers a multitude of sins.” So my dear children, I hope that whatever I lacked in experience has been covered by my love for you all.

You all gave me wonderful gifts for Mother’s Day. Books and cards that say just the right thing at the right time, flowers that remind me of your beauty, symbols of love to place in my garden, taking time out of your busy schedule to spend a day with me -- all precious memories that bear the fragrance of love. But your greatest gift of all, my dear sons and daughters, is the privilege of being your Mother. Without each and every one of you, I would never have understood what it means to be a Mother.

And so today, on Mother‘s Day, I want to pay tribute to you all, the wonderful men and women, my sons and daughters, some by birth and some by choice, who honor me by calling me their Mother.

I love you all.
Your Mama, Momma, Marmer, Mom

© 2006 Ilene Madrigal

The Tide

2006-04-15T17:07:00.001-04:00

She waits in quiet anticipation. She knows he will come soon. He always has. The sun has beamed on her relentlessly all day, and she intensely desires the refreshing feeling

that always comes with his presence.

Suddenly she feels his touch. It is like the brushing of hands and the quick withdrawal, each wondering if the other wishes for more. It is the same every evening, and the very familiarity of the touch makes it thrilling.

Another touch, this time with a little more urgency but still not demanding.

Again he withdraws. It isn't a tease. It is more like a promise.

There is no rushing in to claim her, just a slow and gentle movement.

Like a kiss, then wait; a caress, wait; an embrace, wait; until they both know total acceptance.

He stays with her all night, as he always has. He is conscious of her every move and protects her from the elements as he gently covers her with his presence. While he is there, she abandons herself to him completely. There is no fear that she will lose her identity. He is not asking her to become like him, nor does she expect him to become like her. It is the very difference in them that makes the relationship possible. He needs her warmth, a quiet resting place for the night; and she needs his comfort, a calm refreshing from the heat of the day.
She knows he will leave her in the morning, and she knows he will return in the evening,

so there is no fear in letting him go.

He knows she will be there when he returns, so there is no regret in leaving.

He leaves quietly and gently, just as he came.

His ebb and flow is like a kiss, a sweet good-by ...he returns for a quick caress, waves farewell

...returns again, lingering and savoring the moment, longing to stay but knowing he must leave.

He returns one last time and then like fingertip to fingertip leaves

...the last touch bearing the promise of return.

She is the same, yet a little different for his having been there.

It is impossible for her to have given herself so unconditionally without gaining something.

Once again she feels new, refreshed, and ready to face the world.

He had brought treasures for her to share ...tiny shells that represent his faithfulness.

His gifts to her will be her gift to those who visit the beach today.

She can give without reservation.

After all, he will return this evening just as he always has,

once again bringing treasures from the depth of the sea.

She has no reason to doubt.

He is as unfailing as the tide.

c 1992 Ilene Madrigal
All Rights Reserved

2006-04-15T17:07:00.000-04:00

http://homokaasu.org/gematriculator/rate.gas
Dykesdog - it seems that I didn't rate as well as you and I haven't been flagged. What can that mean???? That perhaps I should be flogged?

Bus Trip Through Life

2006-04-10T20:44:00.000-04:00

I awoke with a start from one of many naps, I had taken on my bus trip home from a wild-fun weekend celebrating St. Patrick's Day with my sister-nieces in Jackson, MS – an adventure in itself to say the least – the trip not the naps - and noticed that we were at mile marker #24. I suddenly realized I had no idea if we were 24 miles away from North Carolina or 24 miles away from South Carolina. And more importantly, I understood that it just didn’t make any difference. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do to change where I was. I just was where I was – at this moment in my journey - and it was ok.

I looked at the people sitting around me and wondered where they were on their particular journey in life. Here we were, 55 people within talking distance of each other, 24 miles from somewhere, each on our way to the same destination at this one moment in time. Yet, on the other hand, each of us were in a very different place in our individual lives, each on completely separate journeys to entirely different destinations – each in a place unbeknown to the other – light-years away from each other - with only the bus as our common link.

Wow! What a concept. Fifty-five people who had relinquished control of this moment in time to a bus driver who was really on his own separate journey in life. Most of us had boarded the bus at different stations along the route and would exit the bus at different stations, but for this one moment, frozen in the now, we shared the commonality of being 24 miles from the unknown.

I marveled at the complexity and yet the simplicity of it all. At the simplest point, we were just passengers on a bus somewhere in North or South Carolina. It didn’t matter when or where we had boarded the bus or when or where we would de-board – we were at the same place, at the same time, right now - just for this moment. Nothing very complicated about that. Right? As the bus rocketed along at 70 mph we continued in the now – oh yes, the mile markers changed but we didn’t, we were in the moment where nothing changes – everything is complete – free from the illusion of control.

All the while, however, we were each making decisions in the ‘now’ that would influence our final destination in life – complicating the simple. Through the medium of thought and the action we would take on those thoughts we were changing our destinies, and in the process, affecting the lives of others. What if I chose at that very moment to de-board in Charlotte, NC instead of Raleigh. That would start a chain reaction in the lives of many people. For example, my friend would be waiting at the station in Raleigh to pick me up and take me home. When I don’t show, his plans begin to change. My son, who is waiting at home for me, would call his sisters - certainly not in his plan when I passed mile marker #24. A few minutes before all of them would have been concerned with only their own thought processes, but now they would react to the action of his phone call – each action would spark a reaction – and that reaction would affect others in their immediate circle of family and friends – the result of one thought process of one person at a particular moment in time at mile marker #24.

Oh yeah, we believe that we are individuals, living our own lives, each on our own personal journey – pushing on toward our own specific destination, but in reality we are one common cosmic being – in a continuous movement of flux – forever changing – in a place where nothing remains the same; yet, also, always in the now where nothing ever changes – a place without beginning or end – where everything remains the same - frozen in a moment in time - 24 miles from somewhere – on the road to anywhere on the bus ride of life.

© 2006 Ilene Madrigal

...And Love Is All There Is

2006-03-10T18:45:00.000-05:00

I heard the bird again last night - calling out through the blackness that encompasses one in the middle of the night. No one answered him – not another single bird responded, and it was with mixed feelings that I listened to his call.

On one hand, it was a pleasure to hear the song in the night. It imparted a feeling that someone else was there. But, on the other hand, there was a touch of loneliness about it all – like maybe no one else was there after all, and that I was alone in the black void of the night …just the solitary bird and me. That is, until I looked beyond the tree top from where the doleful cry was shattering the stillness and saw them – the stars, friendly faces on the black background of forever, winking at me as if they knew what I was thinking - and the faint sliver of the moon - smiling down, watching me out of the corner of its eye as it communed with the bird - sharing the secrets of the universe that only nature can know. Then the loneliness vanished as quickly as it had arrived, flitting away on the wings of the song.

“What?” I wondered was all this about – these mixed emotions – where did I fit into all of this from my vantage point? …the stars and the moon from where I stood, rooted to my spot in the backyard, seemed to be unreachable …the realization that I am just a tiny particle of dust in the vastness of the universe …more than that – that the earth itself is just a speck in the black void of the night proffered a sensation of separateness. And yet somehow I understood that I am a part of something so vast – so expansive - that I can reach out and touch the stars and the moon, because everything and everyone is one all-encompassing whole.

In reality, I am the twinkle in the star. I am the silver sliver of the moon. I am the song of the solitary bird wafting through the darkness of the night. I am the dawn of the morning light peaking over the eastern horizon. I am the sigh of the universal whole because I am the love of God incarnate and love is all there is.

…and love is all there is.

©2006 Ilene Madrigal

Winter

2006-01-08T21:15:00.001-05:00

The trees are naked now. Oh, there are a few leaves hanging on, but on the whole the limbs are bare - the trunks and branches, appearing barren and lifeless to the observing human eye -stretching toward the sky . Lately, there has been more wind here in North Carolina - reminiscent of Oklahoma - shifting the branches back and forth without the protective covering of the leaves.

It makes me wonder - this plan of nature that is so different from human thinking. When winter arrives, humans shrivel up and pack on layers of clothing to protect themselves from the cold. Not nature, though, the trees seem to make the most of their nakedness - expanding - stretching - reaching toward the sky - almost an unawareness that their covering of leaves is as gone as the warm fall days. Human thinking would have placed the leaves on the trees in the winter for protection from the elements and stripped them naked in the summer - but not so nature.

So what is the meaning of all this? Why do humans only see the barrenness of the winter landscape - forgetting that nothing ever really dies - just changes form. In reality, the naked trucks and branches are in a constant state of readiness - their soul alive and ready to bear new life under the warmth of the spring sun. And like all humans, I long for that moment, when those first tiny buds begin to appear like goosebumps along the surface of the branches - reminding us that although naked, the branches have housed life all along - just waiting for the right moment to spring forth once again.

In the meantime, though, it is winter. And I think of friends of mine who are in the winter of their life -- some lying in bed, unable to support the weight of the leaves of their spring, summer, and fall any longer - yet beautiful as they reach toward the spring of a new life.

And I can choose how I see them -- like the trees. I can choose to see them as naked, nearly lifeless branches - exposed to the harsh elements of winter; or I can choose to see them naked, unashamed, releasing the dead leaves of the past, reaching beyond the harshness of the winter of this life, and stretching toward the spring of a new life. I can see the beauty of the life within them, the soul that lives again and again - though in different forms. And like the trees, who new leaves this spring will never be the same leaves that fell last fall, my friends will live again, springing forth in newness of life - in a new form --because the Tree of Life never dies - ever reaching - stretching - expanding (even in its nakedness) toward the warmth of the Sun of God.

“But just remember in the Winter
Far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the Sun’s Love
In the Spring becomes the Rose!”

“The Rose” sung by Bette Midler

We Remember Grandma

2006-01-08T21:15:00.000-05:00

We Remember Grandma
By Ilene Madrigal
'Grandma's rocker.' That is what they called me after Grandma's daughter salvaged me, dusty and neglected, from a dreary, dark corner of the local used furniture store and brought me home to live at Grandma's house.

Grandma was able to be up and around when I came to live at her house, yet I became her special chair, and I would wait patiently in the corner of her living room until she came to sit in me like a proud queen ruling from her throne. Even though the family would often glance disdainfully at me, Grandma and I ignored them and rocked contentedly in our corner, and after several years, I became Grandma's whole world. When Grandma could no longer walk, her daughter would bring her into the room in her fancy, new wheelchair, but she always begged to be lifted onto my seat where she spent her entire day. She kept busy arranging her trinkets on the table beside her, and sometimes, gazing through her mind's eye into the past, she would whistle in a low monotone and move me ever so slightly -- not really rocking -- just teetering backward and forward into her reflections.

As Grandma and I both aged, her condition worsened and so did mine. The family decided to add more stuffing to my seat and to cover it and my back with an ugly, red vinyl material. After all, it didn't matter what either of us wore. We weren't going anywhere, and not too many people came to see us. It wasn't that Grandma's family didn't love her. They were just busy and concerned with their own families and jobs. Oh, they came to visit, but I noticed that they never talked about anything really important. They would discuss the weather and ask about how she was feeling and what she had for dinner; but Grandma's time was quickly slipping away, and I longed for the family to ask questions that had depth and meaning. I wanted to shout, "Look at me! Listen to Grandma! I'm not just an old pine rocker. I have an untold history. I'm valuable. Grandma isn't just an old lady that needs to be humored. Grandma has an untold history. She is valuable." Of course, I couldn't communicate my worth to them, but Grandma could if they would only ask the right questions. Sometimes I would give a little louder creak or groan to attempt to get their attention, but that just resulted in some foolish questions like, "Are you OK, Grandma," or "I wonder if we should get rid of 'Grandma's rocker'?" That would make me cry out even louder -- not for myself, but for Grandma because I knew that if they didn't discover her true worth while she was living that it would die with her. They never did either! Sure, they asked her about her life in Mexico--stories that they promptly forgot-- but they never asked her about her feelings ...about the joy of being a young, active mother, whistling and rocking new babies in a new rocker ...about the fear she may have felt when she left her home in Mexico in the early 1900's to move to a strange, new country ...about how she dealt with the raw emotional anguish she must have felt when her baby and teenage child died ...about her faith in God. Most importantly, however, they never asked her how she coped with 'being old' -- sitting day after day in 'Grandma's rocker' with only the corner of the living room as her universe. They could have learned so much, but they didn't. Instead, as Grandma's breathing became more and more labored, they talked quietly among themselves about how she had been a good mother; and sometimes they did wonder what she was thinking as they watched her teetering in 'Grandma's rocker,' …but they never asked.

Grandma spent most of the last day of her life in bed, but in the afternoon she requested to sit in me one last time. Then a few minutes later, with her arms resting on my arms, she quietly died. Many arms had held her in the past ...her husband's in passionate embrace, her childrens' wrapped tightly around her neck while giving her wet kisses, her friends' in comfort during times of distress; but it was I who held her in my arms when she died.

The family came to pay their last respects, some crying, some reminiscing, and some simply anxious to get on with their own lives. I watched from my corner, silently grieving for my old friend and for those still living who had failed to recognize her true worth.
Then as people often do when someone dies, the family began to discuss what they should do with "Grandma's things." A granddaughter wanted her Bible; another requested her photo albums -- sentimental things of little value. Then their eyes fell on me, and someone asked, "What shall we do with 'Grandma's rocker?'" One daughter replied, "Well, I don't want it. It's just an old pine rocker." Another daughter said, "Well, I certainly don't want it. It gives me the creeps since Mother died in it." I rocked forward just a bit then and gave a little nod. I thought, "Oh Grandma, they don't recognize my value either." But then, one of Grandma's sons, who like me, had been observing the others from his place in the corner, softly said, "I'll take 'Grandma's rocker.'"

In a few days Grandma's son and his wife came to get me. I rocked happily in anticipation in the back of their pickup on the trip to their home. When we arrived, though, the son's wife said, "I certainly don't want that filthy old chair in my house," so the son stored me in a cold, dark shed. At that moment, I understood the sadness Grandma must have felt all those years as she sat alone in her corner. Our time of usefulness had passed unappreciated because the family had failed to look beyond our physical appearance for the inner beauty that we both possessed.
I sat in the darkness and waited and waited. Several years passed when one day the shed door creaked open, and the son peered in through the gloomy dimness. I heard him tell his wife that he was bringing 'Grandma's rocker' into the house. He was suddenly concerned that someone might steal a worthless old thing like me. But once again, I found myself pushed back into a corner. This time, however, the son's wife began to pay attention to me. I noticed her watching me, and sometimes she even gently touched my arms, tracing their scars with her fingertips. A short while later, I heard her talking to an old lady about me. When I saw the old lady, my memories of Grandma came flooding back, and for the first time since her death, I felt hope. I had a feeling that the old lady recognized my true value, and maybe, just maybe, I would have another chance to fill a place of usefulness. The old lady examined my arms, tenderly explored my back under the cracked red vinyl; and then delivered her verdict. "This is a wonderful old rocker," she said. And the son's wife said, "Well then, take 'Grandma's rocker' home with you and see what you can do with it."

It was several months before I returned home. My ugly, red vinyl covering and unsightly stuffing was gone, replaced by a beautiful, new, white cloth seat cushion. My cracked and peeling paint had been removed to reveal the natural beauty of the white mahogany wood on my arms and slatted back. The old lady sent a note with me about my impressive ancestry. In her investigation of old rocking chairs, she had discovered that I had probably been constructed during the late nineteenth century, that my background was an unusual mixture of Pennsylvania Dutch and Shaker furniture, and that I was valued at approximately $700.00. Grandma's son and his wife cried when they read the note, because they now understood that they had not only failed to recognize the true value of 'Grandma's rocker,' but more significantly, they had failed to recognize the true value of Grandma.

I now occupy an honored place in the corner of the formal living room at Grandma's son's house, and sometimes when she is home all alone, the son's wife comes into the room and like a queen ruling from her throne, sits in 'Grandma's rocker,' teeters forward a bit ...not really rocking, rests her arms on my arms, and whistles in a low monotone. Then ...we both remember Grandma.

Update:

As you can see this essay was written 12 years ago. 'Grandma's Rocker' made the trip with me to North Carolina this past summer and even though 'Grandma's Son" and I no longer occupy the same house, 'Grandma's Rocker' has an honored place in my living room and will someday move to her Granddaughter's home. I sit in the rocker often and feel Grandma's presence - still with us - and I always remember Grandma.

Seasons Greetings

2005-12-18T20:29:00.000-05:00

Seasons Greetings

I don’t think I have ever written an annual newsletter before. However, I do enjoy receiving them from everyone else …and because the last year has been one of the most eventful (to put it mildly) years of my life, I decided that it would be the best way to touch base with all of my friends and relatives.

This year has made me more aware than I have ever been in my entire life, how important friends and family are. Without all of your prayers, faith, and love, I am sure you know that the picture of “Lil Jesse and I at the top of this page would have never been taken. While Jesse was so ill and not expected to live …when I was so devastated by his illness that I didn’t know how to pray …all of you prayed, asked your friends to pray …believed in miracles …encouraged me every day with loving words, hugs, and gifts that made it possible for me to maintain my vigilance by his bedside for the 45 longest days of my life. I just want you to know what an important part you played in his recovery. Even the doctors who did everything humanly possible and used every possible means of modern medicine understood that without a Higher Power and the prayers of all of you, and as one doctor remarked, “a mother’s love” Jesse would not be here today. That, my dear friends and family, is the greatest gift I have ever received – your gift of love.

Also I am sure most of you are aware that Jesse Sr. and I divorced after 35 years together. Again, your support and love have encouraged me, given me strength, and made it possible for me to make decisions that have helped me to arrive at a place of great joy, peace, and happiness. None of you told me what I should do, but all of you stood by me, held my hand, and loved me while I made life altering decisions.

In June, ‘Lil Jesse and I moved to North Carolina and although I miss my Oklahoma friends, I am very happy here. I have a wonderful little 2 bedroom garden home bordering on the woods. It is in a quiet neighborhood – I am probably the noisiest one here with my Karaoke machine going full blast. I live on the end of the cul-de-sac so only the people who live here journey down our street. I feel very safe and secure. I love the trees and the town. It is wonderful being near Amber, Raymond, and Jasmine. Being able to attend Jasmine’s school events and have her spend the night occasionally is a joy I haven’t experienced before. We shop, go out to eat, and talk big-girl talk, and she thinks I am the coolest Nana in the world. ‘Lil Jesse and I are good roommates – he cooks, cleans, and is good company – yet we respect each other’s privacy. Yvette and our sweet little Bella-Dawn (a year old already) live about 3-4 hours down the road in South Carolina so I get to see them also. Bella started walking when she was 9 months old – I can’t keep up with her – she is busy, busy, busy. So precious.

Mark is in Kansas City and hopefully will move out this direction one day soon. Unfortunately, Milinda and my other grandkids live in Washington State – so far away. But love reaches all around the world and hopefully one of these days, I can visit them and get to smother them in kisses and hugs.

I have been working as a temp for BB&T – bank since July as an Administrative Assistant. It was supposed to be a 3 week job and has lasted 5 months for which I am very thankful. I learned last week that a lot of changes are being made and a position is opening up, and it seems like they are going to offer me permanent employment. That was a good Christmas gift because the unemployment rate is very high in Wilson County and I was concerned -- unfortunately I need to work!

I do some Reiki work in the evenings at Amber’s office. Hopefully that will continue to develop and someday I will be able to practice Reiki full time.

If any of you ever journey to the East Coast, please come see me. I would love to see each and every one of you. You are always welcome.

Remember, my dear friends and family, although miles may separate us physically, you are always in my heart and in my thoughts. May you always know that God’s love is ever present in your lives – I know it’s true because I felt that love manifested in your care and concern this past year.

Blessings,

Ilene

The Interoffice Envelope

2005-11-07T21:37:00.002-05:00

I never really gave them much thought before – the Interoffice Envelope. You know - the one that circulates around the office with the dire warning “Do Not Throw Away Until All Lines Have Been Used.” Sort of makes you wonder doesn’t it – what would happen if you really did throw it away before all the lines were used. Perhaps the same thing that happens to people who remove the “Do Not Remove under penalty of Law” tags from their pillows. Before I became such a rebel, I used to leave those ugly tags hanging there for years, just in case the pillow police was hanging out at the trash can checking for removed tags. Now-a-days I barely get in the door before I am removing them. Of course no matter how close you cut them, there is always that little bit of white stitched in to the seam reminding you that you have at the very least committed a misdemeanor. That just races my blood a little these days. But I digress, we were talking about Interoffice Envelopes weren’t we.

I probably still wouldn’t have thought much about the lowly envelope if it hadn’t been for my cubicle neighbor mentioning this morning about all the names written on the one I delivered to his desk. Now the very idea that we were discussing this is probably directly related to the time spent in cubicles without any direct sunlight – but that topic is for another day. Anyway, his statement made me wonder just what stories the envelope would tell about its journey around the office.

…so I just picked one up and held it for a few moments to see what it would tell me. The one I chose out of the stack was actually quite battered and worn. It had 51 lines - for those counting - and some of those lines had labels over them indicating that that particular line had been used more than once. I was wondering what it was thinking – there were only four lines left blank. Its lip was slightly torn and doubled back, the sides had several tears, and someone had taken the time to put a little tape on the bottom rip. The envelope was definitely nearing the end of its usefulness. I thought of all the documents it had carried and how it had traveled about without questioning why - strictly for the purpose of serving others; and I began to reflect on who might be the one that decided to “throw away” this particular envelope.

Now I am a Virgo. I like new things – pristine. In the past before this epiphany about envelopes, I have been known to pass up an envelope as battered and torn as this one in favor of a new one – especially if I thought the recipient was somebody important in the company. Now in reality, unless this recipient was a Virgo also, they probably didn’t give a flying flip about the envelope - they were just interested in the contents and didn’t even give the envelope a passing thought. It wasn’t about the envelope at all – but what the envelope could do for them.

Have any of us really thought about what would happen, if we came to work one morning and there were no Interoffice Envelopes. Think about all the documents that are circulated in one day throughout a large corporate office – many of them bearing the distinction of being CONFIDENTIAL – and on this particular day they lie naked and exposed to the elements and prying eyes all because there were no Interoffice Envelopes. Now doesn’t that just make you look at the importance of these lowly servants with new eyes?

Hummm. And what does this say about us as people going about life unaware of the value of our fellow human beings and perhaps our own value? Do we pick and choose our friends, employees, mates because of how others might view us? Do we pass by someone of great usefulness just because their edges are a bit frayed and their lines are almost used up? Do we use others for our own benefit without ever appreciating their importance? Do we toss them aside before their lines are all used up in favor of someone younger – more esthetically pleasing? Do we ever take time to explore the journey of our fellow humans – learn from their experiences – appreciate their worth. Or do we all need to wear a sign that begs, “Do Not Throw Me Away Until All My Lines Have Been Used” - just to remind each other how important our fellow human beings really are, and that although many of us may no longer be housed in that pristine new package, we all still have a few lines left.

Sort of makes you think doesn’t it – you know about what is important. In reality we are all just a bunch of Interoffice Envelopes – serving others – gradually running out of lines. Makes me want to be more appreciative of my fellow man – and yes, I agree, I need to get out my cubicle more often!
©2005 Ilene Madrigal

The Fall of Life

2005-11-07T21:37:00.001-05:00

It happened. I looked out my back door this morning and fall has officially arrived. The leaves, you know those green leaves that I have enjoyed so much all summer, have suddenly burst into a collage of yellows, reds, browns, and oranges against a gorgeous background of pine tree green. It is beautiful.

It was so sudden. I don’t know why I say that. The leaves have been whispering about it for weeks now. It’s not like it’s any big surprise, but then humans are just never really prepared for the end of things.

For some reason in the midst of savoring all the beauty around me, my mother popped into my head. It made me think about her growing older and how surprised I was when suddenly one day - it just happened. My mother lived to be 97½ years old and all of us know that is a long life span, but somewhere along the line, it happened. I woke up one day and her eyes didn’t look the same. I noticed they had that blurred look that comes with age. Now this is not a bad thing, but it seemed like it happened over night. I went to sleep and when I awoke, my mother was older. And like the leaves whose purpose has changed – no longer there to protect the branches – exhibiting one last expression of glory before they silently return to the earth - just as suddenly my mother had assumed a new role in my life. For awhile, I was almost angry with her. She was supposed to be strong – able to care for me – be my protector. It didn’t matter that I was a full grown adult; I was still her little girl.

The change will be rapid now with the leaves. Once they flame into color, it seems that in just moments one by one they flutter silently to the ground. In the blink of an eye their purpose will change from protecting the branches, sheltering the birds, and posing as a postcard picture of beauty, and they will lie uncomplaining on the ground gradually returning to the earth. The bare branches will tower over them watching them as they return to dust. Their mission for this lifetime accomplished.

And so it was with my mother. Suddenly our roles were reversed. No longer was she the strong one, my protector. I stood by her and watched as her purpose in life changed. And like the branches that will soon be bare and exposed to the elements, for a while I felt abandoned and unprotected - uncertain who this woman was reaching out toward me for my strength and protection.

I think about it all now – how unsure I felt in this new role of protector – how exposed to the elements without my mother to strengthen me. It was as if I had been thrust into this new place with no experience to fill it. I wonder if that is how she felt the first time she held me in her arms as a new parent realizing the great responsibility of caring for another life. Now it was my turn. The change had been sudden – not really - but it felt that way – almost more than I could wrap my mind around.

But gradually the roles reversed and when the time came, it was I who held her in my arms as she silently and gloriously completed her mission for this lifetime and made her transition to a new life. It was I, who was her strength and her protector as I held her in those final moments of her life - this woman who had given me life and had held me and protected me in the first moments of my life. Fall had officially arrived. And it was beautiful.

©2005 Ilene Madrigal

My Dilemma

2005-11-07T21:37:00.000-05:00

I have a dilemma. How do I portray myself to my children? In fact I am really confused. I suppose my confusion lies in the fact that I am unsure what they expect of me. I am a little hurt because I would never intentionally do anything that would upset my children; but I feel that I may have somehow crossed forbidden boundaries with them.

I guess I made the mistake of thinking that since they are adults, I should actually treat them like adults. I think about my own mother and how she always treated me like a child and I hated that. So perhaps I have overcompensated by trying not to behave like her in that respect - at least with my daughters. It is almost like when the girls were teenagers. One day I would wake up and I was supposed to treat them like adults and the next morning I would awake thinking I had it all figured out only to find a child in their bed. I just never really knew what day it was. We lived through those years and I guess until today I didn’t realize that some things never really change!

These two girls left home when they were eighteen. Now they are nearing forty. Who are they? Who am I? Where do we fit into each other’s lives? One day they are independent, middle aged women engaged in their own lives, mothering their own children, behaving like the adults they are, another day they are suddenly my best friend telling me their inmost secrets and fears, and then when I think I have it figured out and begin to express my secrets and fears to them, they back off like a scalded cat hissing that I am not behaving like a mother.

Perhaps they feel the same way, I don’t know? Maybe that is the way they see me also. Maybe I made a mistake thinking I could be their friend as well as their mother – on the same day. Maybe somehow they are time warped into 18 years olds and expect me to be where they left me those eons ago.

I know this has been a difficult year for all of us. Their Dad and I divorced after 35 years of marriage. Suddenly their Mom and Dad are individuals – no longer a couple. Mom and Dad have become independent social creatures living their own lives – dating (God forbid) – behaving badly sometimes – just generally sowing their wild oats and kicking up their respective (if not so respectable) heels. Probably this is just not acceptable behavior to eighteen year olds – these people are their parents – right there where they left them over 20 years ago.

But we aren’t in the same place and haven’t been for a long time. These girls moved away, dated, married, lived their lives, had children of their own and in the meantime back in Oklahoma their parents were also evolving - growing into themselves as individuals – becoming a man and woman no longer involved in child rearing.

Please never believe that I don’t enjoy being a mother and being there for my children. I am sure my son can assure you that when it comes down to the rub, I put my life on hold and dig in for the long haul. However, this hasn’t exactly been the easiest year of my life either. I love my children and my grandchildren more than life. But I do have a life. I am feeling my way back into another world and I am enjoying it. I am a mother, but I am also a woman. I want to share my passions with someone and I guess I thought for a moment that I could cross that line and pretend that my daughters wanted to be a part of that. But it “taint” so is it? My girls already have friends, but they only have one mother.

And so I search for the answer to my dilemma. I search for that person, a best friend, with whom I can share my inmost thoughts and those secrets that make the girls say “ick.” I need that – I deserve it as a woman. But, I won’t make the mistake again of blurring those boundaries between myself and my children. Because guess what? I am their MOTHER – and I love them more than life.

© 2005 Ilene Madrigal

The Message in the Trees

2005-11-02T21:41:00.000-05:00

I heard it before I saw it, and I couldn’t believe it – the sound of the trees swaying in the breeze this morning here in North Carolina.

Back in Oklahoma, when we lived on the farm, it was mostly wide open spaces, but we had a row of cottonwood trees near the pond, and I would listen for messages from the tops of those trees.

Sometimes it was more of a feeling before you even heard it. For example, a warning of an impending storm. It always occurred in the tops of the trees first -- that eerie change in the wind. And it was a change in wind in Oklahoma because unlike North Carolina, the wind always blows there. I loved that feeling and sound - no need for screeching tornado sirens to rattle your nerves out there in the country. There would be a sudden quietness like the universe was holding its breath, and then if you are an eavesdropper of any talent at all, you would hear a whispering beginning high above in the uppermost branches.

Now this is the order of it all. First you feel it - that shivery feeling running across your neck and shoulders; then you hear it – as the leaves rustle around adjusting to the change in the direction of the wind; and finally you see it – the dipping and bowing of the branches as they began to announce to all of nature that a change is in the air. There is a heightened awareness of your surroundings as you begin to scan the skies – a knowing of sorts that makes you want to gather your loved ones into your arms and seek a place of safety. And yet there isn’t any fear, because the universe itself has spoken, and you have listened and responded to the message in the trees.

Now I don’t want you to think that Okies are constantly scanning the skies for storms. That is just one of the wonders of nature they can observe. There are times, especially at harvest time, particularly just before dusk, when the wind had slowed to a gentle evening breeze, that there seems to be a special communication in nature. It is at this time – if you listen intently, you can hear the swaying of the leaves swishing softly in the tops of the trees and at the same time you can hear the rustling of the dry beards of that golden wheat rubbing together as the breeze touches them with its gentle movement. And in my mind’s eye I could picture the Indians out there on the plains honoring the Great Spirit for this beautiful earth and later the farmers, plowing up those plains, planting that wheat, and thanking God for a bountiful harvest and I would wonder …could it be that this soft swishing sound in the tops of those trees is the ‘Great Spirit of the Indians’ riding his painted pony, a gentle breeze, bareback high above the earth; and could it be that the rustling sound in the wheat field is the ‘God of the Farmers’ footsteps as He takes His evening walk through those ripened fields of golden grain? And then at that very moment ...in Oklahoma …at dusk …if you are very still -- you hear a whispering in the tops of the trees and a whispering from the ‘amber waves of grain’ in the field; and you will know in your heart that these two Great Beings (who are really one) are communing the secrets of the universe and you will understand that you are truly blessed for having been there.

Yes, I heard it before I saw it and I couldn’t believe it – the sound of the trees swaying in the breeze this morning here in North Carolina, and the message was the same as the one in Oklahoma …and that message is Love.

©2005 Ilene Madrigal

Online Dating

2005-10-31T19:41:00.000-05:00

You recognize them immediately if you are a people watcher like I am. They behave differently than people on a normal date. You know -- people who either have been friends forever, have been introduced to each other by mutual friends, or maybe just made eye contact somewhere, visited, and were attracted to each other. Not these people though – you can tell them a mile away – this is a Match.Com®, or whatever online dating service they happen to be using at the time, date.

For example, they usually arrive in separate cars, and it is often a lunch date. They look a little lost because they are searching for the person that looks like the online photograph they submitted, which was probably taken 10 years ago when they had hair, if is the man; or didn’t have a mustache, if it is a woman.

Now we will assume that both parties actually show up. That is one of the problems of online dating – the no-shows. This isn’t such a big deal for the man. What does he have to do to get ready for a date – slip into a clean shirt and jeans and show up. I am here to tell you, he doesn’t put 1/10 the effort into getting ready the woman does –- well unless he is gay and that is entirely a different story. But, for the woman, it is more complex. Now unless she is just drop dead gorgeous, and in that case she would be getting more dates that the law allows without going online, the woman had to spend a little time preparing. The dilemma – what should she wear? Something sexy – will he think she is a slut? - something conservative – will he think she is his mother? -- does it make her look fat – maybe he is into fat women! – should she dress up – go casual? By this time she is wondering if it is even worth it. Maybe she shouldn’t have used that Glamour shot picture of her daughter – what was she thinking? She puts on more make-up – feels like a French whore – washes some of it off – changes color of lipstick 5 times because she has changed clothes again. See what I mean, the woman has got a lot of time invested in this “lunch” date and then if he doesn’t show…

Speaking of the lunch date and separate cars …these are all recommendations of seasoned online daters. Always go in separate cars – never get into a car with a stranger and believe you me some of these people are strange. There are several reasons lunch is always recommended for that first date. For one, the excuse, you know just in case he/she is a real dud. The “I have to get back to work,” line is a tactful way to escape the guy/gal that hasn’t brushed his/her teeth in two years or is 20 years older than his/her profile picture. Or on the other hand, particularly for a woman (men have no problem with this) this guy may just be everything she has ever dreamed of (a good-lookin’, smooth-talking son of a gun with a butt to kill for and eyes she could drown in) -- it’s like they’ve known each other for ever and suddenly from only God knows where the hormones (you know the ones that have been dormant since she was a teenager) begin to rage, her toes curl, and she knows for certain that if this had been a dinner date all of her morals would have gone south and she’d be dragging this guy out the door by now. But you see a lunch date saves her from herself -- she HAS to go back to work and magically she walks away with her “I am a lady” status intact.

Now people watchers need to be strategically seated in the restaurant so they can watch the entire “online date” play itself out. The grand entry – the actual lunch – and then the grand finale. The ideal spot for the people watcher, of course, would be where they could both see and hear everything, but just watching is fine – people watchers have an active imagination. Now will this couple walk away like ‘strangers in the night’ – will they touch suggestively – will they move toward each other or flinch away from that touch – and most importantly who will pay? Now this is Ilene’s rule of thumb on who pays the tab. Being from the old school, Ilene believes that the man should pay – but also because she is a modern-day woman, Ilene believes she should at least offer to pay for her own lunch –but only if she likes the guy. If he is a dud – let him pay. It’s the least he can do for wasting her time, particularly if he spent more quality time with the waitress than he did her. Oh yeah, that one always gets the bill! In fact, her ex-husband is still getting the bill for that kind of behavior.

Finally, the best part for the people watcher is to be seated in a position of observation of the final moments of the date. This is that moment we have all waited for – the arrival of the departure. What happens in the parking lot completes the story. Do they shake hands? - ‘That---that ---that’s all Folks.’ That is the end of the line for this couple who never really were a couple. On the other hand, if they give each other a quick squeeze – you can be sure they will probably meet online later this evening – maybe even set up another date – it might even be a dinner date next time! But, if he walks her to her ‘separate car’ and gives her a gentle kiss on the lips, you can bet your bottom dollar, they are finalizing their plans for a hot date in the near future. However, if that kiss lingers and is repeated and repeated again – forget it - everything her mother ever taught her is going down the tube – forget separate cars – forget she just met this stranger an hour ago – forget work (didn’t she have some vacation time coming?) those raging hormones are running the show now. Oh yeah, they may leave in their separate cars, but in the vivid imagination of the people watcher the ‘Match.com® date’ has just begun.

©2005 Ilene Madrigal

My Red Carpet Cat

2005-10-14T22:31:00.000-04:00

Mi Gato was a gorgeous cat. His shiny black fur glistened against the red carpet background. I am sure he chose our house just because of that red carpet. He was just that kind of cat. You know, one that was used to having the red carpet rolled out for him.

First I have to tell you a little about the house. We had moved from a new home in the country into an Old Victorian fixer-upper. However, the former tenants had tried to modernize this lovely old home by lowering ceilings and installing the 60’s-70’s dull brown paneling which had only succeeded in making it a dark, dank, dreary habitat. I remember the first time I walked into the dining room with its ceilings nipping at the top of my head, the paneling closing in on me, and thinking, “My God, I’ve walked into a box.” At first I blamed it on the red carpet – there was red carpet everywhere. But once I had recovered from my claustrophobic episode, I began to realize that it was the low ceilings and dark walls that gave me that coffin-like sensation. And unlike Mi Gato who recognized immediately what I was slower to comprehend, this gorgeous red carpet had been installed unbeknowingly by the previous tenants for the arrival of the King. Well, and perhaps for the Queen also, because that is the way I felt as I strolled barefoot on its cushiony soft depth across those special cozy spots, that Mi Gato loved so much, where the sun filtered in and warmed both him and our spirits.

But I digress. Mi Gato wasn’t a package deal with the house. I had two or three years to enjoy the comforting presence of the red carpet before he arrived. There are several things, you have to understand about me at that particular time in my journey of life. I didn’t like cats; and I certainly didn’t like indoor pets of any type or description. So when this big black ball of fur arrived at my door on that cold, snowy January day, with the wind blowing like it can only blow in Oklahoma, acting as if he had always lived there; I certainly had no intention on inviting him in. But it wasn’t my decision. The King had arrived at his palace; and he strolled in on that red carpet like I was an intruder that he might let stay if it pleased him or if I served him with the proper reverence. And I did, you know. How could I help it. The King had come home. It had been a long journey, I am sure. He had waited patiently until the palace was ready; and he was sure that its new occupants were worthy of him. But I am positive that it wasn’t so much the house or his new servants that were the deciding factors in his decision to move in, so much as that red carpet – he looked so good lying there stretched out, purring contentedly, and basking in the warmth of the sun. It was like that carpet had been chosen by the universe – years ago - just for him.

He asked for us to call him Mi Gato – My Cat. He never really told us his name. It wasn’t necessary. He wouldn’t come if you called him anyway. He was the King. There was more that we didn’t know about him, then we ever really knew about him. He was the “illusive dream.” I think he had been a writer in a former life. I found 26 pens and pencils hidden under the couch one day. But you know it was during that time in my life that I realized my own potential as a writer and sitting there cross-legged with Mi Gato beside me, basking in the sun; the King and I began to write. I am sure he dictated and I just took the notes, but nevertheless, I wrote; and he let me take the credit for it all. He just laid there; his shiny black fur glistening against his red carpet background and watched me through those squinted green eyes and I never, ever knew what he thought …or maybe I did.
©2005 Ilene Madrigal

Rustling Leaves

2005-10-07T18:35:00.000-04:00

There is a different sound in the trees today - just a subtle change - a rustling. Have you noticed it? It is beautiful, you know, this change. The leaves are still gorgeously green, but a bit more brittle than last week; so the change is more evident to the ear than to the eye. There seems to be an anticipation among the leaves as they visit about the coming of Autumn.

Aren’t you curious about what they are saying? Are they like older humans nearing the end of their journey here on earth -- wondering what the next stage of life may be like or perhaps reminiscing about the spring and summer of their life? They speak louder now – the leaves. What has been whispered secretly among them when they were young and supple (that gentle swishing sound) is spoken now with more definition (this rustling sound) as they become more brittle with time and age.

Perhaps they speak about their happiness with their past endeavors; about what they have accomplished together that could never have been done as a single leaf; about their joy of living together in harmony furnishing a safe haven of shelter for the birds and squirrels while they provided a protective covering for the branches and shielded their human friends from the harsh rays of the summer sun, or about the magnitude of their contribution to the great ecological welfare of the earth. Is that what the rustling is all about?

But, whatever it is that leaves converse about as they prepare for the Autumn of their lives, the joy that they have brought me during their short life span can never be described with mere words. It is something felt deep within – that whispers to my soul – something that has afforded me countless hours of peace and joy as my eyes feasted upon their beauty; and for this I am eternally grateful.

So, as the leaves rustle about preparing to burst into the flaming colors of Fall, I, too, begin to anticipate the Autumn of my own life, and I murmur softly, “Thank you, my dear friends, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

©2005 Ilene Madrigal

Writer's Block

2005-10-04T23:18:00.000-04:00

Have you ever noticed that you can be having The Most wonderfully creative time in your life, then wake up one morning and suddenly can’t string two words together that make sense? Humans identify this phenomenon as writer’s block, but I suspect there is something much more sinister happening.
Now this is what bothers me. About the time I think, no I know, I could write a daily column or at the least a weekly column for a newspaper because I have so many ideas flowing so fast that I can barely get them on paper, bingo I wake up and nothing – nada -- no ideas, no flow, just a blank void. Now we all know those ideas are out there somewhere. Surely they aren’t sucked up through one of those black holes into outer space. Or maybe they are. Perhaps that is the answer to the age old question of black holes. Possibly black holes are just giant suction machines sucking ideas right out of our brains while we are sleeping.
…Or maybe we never really have an idea of our own in the first place. Perchance beyond the black hole is where all ideas are filed away for future reference, and those moments of clarity when creativity flows at warped speed are just blips in time when the universe siphons out a little creative juice to unsuspecting humans making them think they have been brilliantly inspired.
I can visualize it all now – the Head Librarian (excuse the pun) sitting at a desk in the dark, dank Universal Library beyond the Black Hole directing all the little Library assistants about with a casual wave of the hand. “Now let’s see – Oh Yes, there is Ilene. Why don’t you slip her some juicy ideas? See what she can do with them. Will she write them down? Will she share them with others?” Then they all watch with baited breath to see what happens. And Ilene, true to form, rushes around greedily sucking up everything they dribble into her brain, scrambling to put it into words that will feed the minds and hearts of her unsuspecting audience. Then just as she begins to think she has some potential as a writer, that great Librarian smugly issues the order. “Pull the plug!” And whap, those creative juices dry up quicker than one can blink an eye.
Can’t you just see it all from here – that great Librarian and all the sniveling little assistants rolling in the aisles, laughing hysterically at their great cosmic joke on Ilene or any other unsuspecting human that they have chosen to taunt that particular day.
Seriously though, I have always believed, along with the great King Solomon, that there is “nothing new under the sun.” That everything ever thought, let alone written, has already been thought or written. That there are only a certain number of universal ideas known throughout the ages and at one time or another, someone else has had the same exact thought or idea. The difference is that when we receive this information for ourselves, we utilize our own experiences and express the ideas from that viewpoint. Therefore, we believe, as do our readers, that we have a completely new thought, but in reality someone else at some other point in time has just expressed it from their own perspective. Another cosmic joke, I'm sure. Teachers call it “busy work.”
Nevertheless, sometimes those ideas just flow and sometimes they don’t. I really don’t know why or what one should do when a column is due and the creativity is all dried up and writer’s block has us in a choke hold -- except maybe ramble about the Universal Library of Ideas hidden beyond human reach and mystery of the great Black Holes and just wait until that ostentatious Head Librarian issues the order to once again whet our appetite with a few juicy tidbits of ideas and start our creative juices salivating once again.
©2005 Ilene Madrigal

New Kid On the Block

2005-10-03T17:42:00.000-04:00

I was just commenting to my son this morning about how sometimes it’s difficult to get your foot in the door when you’re the “new kid” on the block.

I came here from Oklahoma where everyone waves – sometimes for no reason at all. In fact, Okies can get quite offended if you don’t wave back. We lived on the main street of a very small town in Oklahoma – 250 people and 200 dogs -- so everyone “purty much” (how’s that for an Okie expression) knew everyone. I loved to sit on my upper deck and have breakfast, but so many people drove by and waved on their way to the Coop, that often the flies got more of my breakfast that I did because, of course, I had to wave back. Sometimes they would holler “Good Morning” (the people, not the flies) or even stop by and chat for a moment. So I guess what I am saying is Oklahoma is still a “tip your hat” “Morning Ilene” kind of place, and I didn’t feel that same familiarity here when I first arrived in North Carolina. I even felt that people here were a little “stand offish.” I would smile and speak and more often than not get no response. It was like they had to check me out first – the expression denoted the feeling – “Why are you smiling or speaking to me? -- I don’t know you!” That didn’t stop me though. I kept smiling at, speaking to, and occasionally waving at complete strangers.

So the day I started my new job in this foreign land of North Carolina, it was with a bit of trepidation. How would I be accepted? One thing I knew for certain though, I was going to be me. I was pleasantly surprised at how friendly people really were at the job site, but there was still an underlying feeling of being the “new kid on the block.” I was different. I don’t drink sweet tea. That is probably the number one thing that sets me apart from everyone here in North Carolina, but that is another story. So, I began to make a concerted effort to learn names and acknowledge everyone with a cheerful “Good Morning” as I passed by. I did refrain from waving for which I am sure they are thankful. And guess what – these North Carolinians began to welcome me to the block. A “Come play with us,” “Happy Birthday,” “Join us for dinner,” attitude began to develop. And so, little by little, the new kid on the block began to be accepted.

There remains, however, that familiarity among the locals that makes this new kid remember she was not born here -- which I wasn’t; and although I love it here and North Carolina feels like and is my home now, I am still an Okie, born and bred. So “ya’ll,” I want to thank you for accepting me for who I am and welcoming me, the new kid, to your block; but just know I will be still “tippin’ my hat and waving” when you invite me to your house to play.

©2005 Ilene Madrigal

More on Age, Time, and Numbers

2005-09-28T21:56:00.000-04:00

Well, I have had a few days to digest being 62 years old. It’s not so bad you know – sort of like my daughter says, “Better than being dead!” Anyway, I have decided that I really don’t have to tell anyone my age if I don’t want to. My new reply to anyone who asks (which they shouldn’t) will be, “How old do you want me to be?” And then I will be the age they suggest because I have already been that age and I know all about it. Of course, if they want me to be older, they will just have to look for someone who has already experienced that. I’m not going there (well yes, I am going there), but I’m not there yet.

This age thing is quite amusing anyway. Little kids can’t wait to get older. You ask them how old they are, and you will get a quick reply, “I am 6 and a half.” Somewhere along the line that changes –at what age do people become content to be just their age? Teenagers can’t wait to be 16 so they can drive, or 18 because that is legal drinking age in some places, and then 21 because suddenly they are adults. It’s like humans believe a number can magically transform a person into adulthood. I know people 70 years old who haven’t made it to adulthood yet – not mentioning any names here. Then by age 25, people are starting to say, “My God, I’ve lived a quarter of a century. But, you know you have made it the full circle when you start adding the half back in. I can remember that happening to my mother. People would ask her age and she would proudly reply, “I’m 96 and a half .” So it seems that it means you have to be really young or really old to be proud of your age. The child needs that half year to hurry life along, and older people need that half year to prove their longevity.

I personally stopped wearing a watch years ago when I realized that I only looked at it to see what time it wasn’t. You know – like I needed to be somewhere at 5:00 p.m., I would look and see it wasn’t 5:00 o’clock yet. Two minutes later I couldn’t have told you for my life what time it really was. All I knew it wasn’t 5:00 p.m. Anyway I have a pretty good intuitive idea of time -- close enough for me anyway, so I just stopped wearing a watch. After all, the rest of the world is wearing a watch; and if I need to know the time, I just ask them to see what time it isn’t. Maybe that would work with age, too. How old are you? Well, I’m not 100!

Another thing I noticed this past year is that time stands still in ICU. Even though I watched the clock for the moment that visiting hours would begin again, it was as though time was holding its breath -- time had no meaning. When people, like my son, are lingering closer to death than life, time doesn’t move – every moment is a gift. All days are the same. We arrived on January 22 and left on March 8, and time simply didn’t matter – winter had come and gone; and if it hadn’t been for the calendar that the nurses posted on the wall no one would have noticed. As for the one in the bed, he went to sleep one night so very sick, and when he awoke the seasons had changed. Time stood still for him, yet he lived without that measurement.

Now what would happen if suddenly there were no numbers? Would the world go stark raving mad? What if we woke up one day, and we just had the sun and moon as markers? My God, how would we know when our favorite TV show was coming on? How would we know what day it is? How would we calculate taxes for God’s sake? Well, not exactly for God’s sake more for the IRS’s sake. And more importantly, how would we know how old we are when we die so someone could record our age in the newspaper obituary for the whole damn world to see? Now what a tragedy that would be!

Enough of this for now before you begin to think I am obsessing over this subject. But one more thought before I go. What if we could only live life as if this moment is all we have, would we finally understand that this moment is all we have? Then age, numbers or time wouldn’t really matter at all, would they?

Today I Celebrate Life

2005-09-23T00:05:00.000-04:00

First I have to tell you that this hasn’t been one of my most honorable transitions into a new year. I had a major pity party about becoming 62 years old (there I said it out loud and in print.) I had a similar fit when I turned 31 and obviously it didn’t change a damn thing, so why I thought wasting valuable time on another fit would do any good, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a cycle thing – so all of you who plan to be here when I turn 93, watch out! I will be really good at this by then. But enough of that, like most of my pity parties, I’ve grown tired of the whining. I don’t tolerate whiners very well and most of all myself playing that role.

Today I celebrate being 62 and bring alone. It took another trip to the backyard and another visit with nature to get my head on straight and my thoughts in order with what my heart already knew. I had to put a stop to the constant chatter in my head –“You are 62 and you are alone,” so that I could hear my heart singing, “You are 62 and you are alone!”

For the first time in my life I am free. Free to just be me. I can sit on my patio alone -- breathe in the breath of life and commune with nature without fear of displeasing anyone. Now this is a place of joy -- not sadness and loneliness. It is a place where all the universe comes together – where I can celebrate the knowledge that I am at one with the universal whole – that in some way although I am an individual alone on my own human journey, in reality I am never alone. I, a small piece of humanity, am part of something so great and so whole that there are no words to explain it. Now what could be grander than that!

…But it wasn’t so much being alone that bothered me about this birthday --this turning 62. It was about turning 62 as a single, divorced woman. It was about other people’s perception of what the age 62 means. I have always believed that age is just a number that humans assign to have a marker for where they are. I have also always believed that I am every age that I have ever been – so I could just pick one of those ages and be that for the moment. So what was my problem? Why couldn’t I pick 52 and stay there until this crisis was over. I have always felt years younger than my age – still a girl in my heart. What changed with 62?

Another thing I have never been much concerned about is doing or being something or someone just because of what other people think or say. I have always been very much a woman in my own right. Why now? Why was I so concerned about how others perceive my age? Then this morning as I studied the trees in all their magnificence, I began to understand. It isn’t really about other people and their thoughts. It is about how I perceive myself. How I perceive myself will manifest in the thoughts of others. If I feel young, I will be young, and others will mirror that image back to me. Like the trees that will soon be changing their leaves from the green of youth to the splendor of fall colors and shortly after stand naked for all the world to observe, I, too, am only changing form. No, I no longer exude the youthful appearance of 31. I am 62 – in the glorious fall of my life. Standing alone and tall (well, maybe not tall) and magnificent in my own right. And when I am 93, I will stand naked before you all -- the beauty of my youth will have long since disappeared, the magnificence of my fall will have faded, but I will not be ashamed. Because like the tree whose bare truck is exposed to all the elements during the harsh winter weather – yet lives on to bloom again, my soul is ageless and priceless and I will live again and once more experience the bloom of youth – perhaps in another form – in another time where numbers have no meaning –at one with all things.

But for this moment, I celebrate the number 62, I celebrate my freedom, I celebrate being alone and independent, I celebrate life in all its forms, and I celebrate being at one with the Universal Whole.

Today, I Celebrate Life.

©2005 Ilene Madrigal

And the Chimes Hung Quietly Above me... Listening...

2005-09-17T10:10:00.000-04:00

What a lovely day it is. Are you all tired of hearing about how happy I am yet? But, I am, you know--so at peace. I just had the most wonderful communion with my trees this morning. They are teaming with life. They were so still this morning - the trees -- not the life within them -- their branches reaching for the beautiful, blue back drop above them - their tops inner twining their leaves with the fingers of the white wispy clouds above. So still - a gentle movement occasionally as a stray breeze slips through tousling their leaves gently. I sigh, remembering that touch -- hands caressing my hair - a sensual moment in time.

We began to listen and watch - me sitting on my back stoop and my chimes hanging there above so quietly. It was like we were both holding our breath - eavesdropping on nature - careful not to disturb the natural beauty and quietness. Listening for each individual sound and movement of life living in the shelter of those beautiful leaves. Some of the leaves are changing color now - falling - floating silently to the ground - no going out screaming and crying for them -- just a gentle letting go. A yellow butterfly fluttered by unaware of its own natural beauty. There was the squawk of the "watch bird" flying overhead with his/her silver tipped tail spread for all the world to see - if the world is watching -- but it doesn't matter - it soars on loudly calling out for anyone who cares to listen. And if you sit quietly long enough, you can see each individual bird moving about -resting momentarily on a branch -- brown - red -black - grey birds -- each one singing its own song. You can hear it, you know - when you are quiet - the individual tune of each bird as it all blends together into one lovely song. I don't know the names of these birds - their nationality -- they are just birds with a song of their own, but I absorb the blending of their message.

Ah, and the background singers to my left, the tree frogs sing bass with the tenor section on my right. A squirrel plays leap frog through the branches unaware that he is high above the ground with no safety net. A gorgeous movie of life playing right in front of my eyes, and the chimes hang quietly above my head.

God I love it! So yes, I am happy and I will say it again and again and again. It doesn't mean I will never shed another tear because I will you know, because tears cleanse the soul when it gets overburdened with its humanness.

And then when the time is right - the breeze will move the chimes and they will tinkle to the rhythm of the universe; and my heart will sing a song of delight, the birds will each have their individual tune, the angels will harmonize, and the tree frogs will play background. It will be a glorious sound - as we all sing together -- our individual songs-- and all Heaven and Earth will sway in Universal movement to the sound of one song -- and the song is JOY.

I struggled through the tears to the end of the rainbow and guess what? There was no pot of gold - just pure unadulterated joy! That's where I am now, and it is wonderful. (Ilene Madrigal 2005)

One of My Poems

2005-09-15T23:51:00.000-04:00

How to eat an Ice Cream Cone

Never, ever eat an ice cream cone in one big bite.
You could choke,
and even if you don’t, it won’t be any fun.
The only way to eat an ice cream cone
is one lick at a time,
~savoring every tantalizing taste,
~letting the sweetness linger on the back of your throat,
~catching a drip with the tip of your tongue just before it falls,
~relishing each mouth-watering bite ~one lick at a time
...until it is gone.

...And since Life is like an ice cream cone,
to “seize the day” is far too much to digest,
like eating an ice cream cone all in one bite.
You could choke,
and even if you don’t, it won’t be any fun.
Life should be lived one moment at a time,
~taking time to savor the sweetness of every second,
~letting every delectable sensation linger on the senses,
~catching the savory pleasures with the essence of your soul
before they disappear forever,
~relishing each delightful moment

~one second at a time
...until it is gone.

Life is an Ice Cream Cone ~ Savor the Moment.

I love this!

2005-09-11T11:58:00.000-04:00

I said to the man who stood at the Gate of the Year,
Give me a light that I might go safely out into the darkness.
And he replied, Go out into the darkness
and put your hand into the hand of God.
That shall be more to you than a light
and safer than a known way.

King George V Christmas Message to British People

"Ah, Sweet Victory of Life - at Last I've Found You"

2005-09-11T10:35:00.000-04:00

Well, now I have challenged my daughter to update her blog, I have to go first. I am having a wonderful week-end alone with me, myself, and I. All great company, I might add! Well, I haven't exactly been alone all the time. My daughter, the peacequeen; granddaughter, the real queen of the whole damn world;and my son-in-law, probably the only real decent man in the world, have visited several times. I love that, you know -- them dropping in. It is a new place in my life and one of joy.

Little update on my life now. I am still about the happiest person on the planet. Still loving my new home, life, and just being on my own. All is well that ends well they say (who ever they are), but I don't believe in endings just beginnings. Life is like a continuation of all things, all times -- never ending - eternity one moment at a time. I never understood the concept of having to die to get to eternity. I might change forms, but I will never die - now that is eternity and that is now. So now I am in a different place in eternity, and it is beautiful.

There is something about NC that I have noticed - the wind doesn't blow much. Remember I am Oklahoma born and bred - now folks I know about wind. When everyone in NC is hunkering down from the wind gusts, I am remembering a calm day in Oklahoma. One when the wind isn't blowing 40 mph. I wait breathlessly here for enough wind to ring my chimes. (smile) - and well maybe somebody to ring my chimes, too. It happened yesterday (not somebody - the wind) and I was delighted to hear the chimes tinkling in the breeze. But, I'm not complaining. I truly love it here.

OK, my sweet SC daughter, and my adorable NC son, I have updated my blog - now it is your turn. I will be watching with squinted eyes -- and you both know what that means! My peacequeen, you are a way ahead of me in this game, so no squinted eyes for you.

Much love to the whole "blogging" world.

Oh Yes,

2005-08-08T21:53:00.000-04:00

Have I told you lately how happy I am. I just realized what this feeling was the other day as I was driving down the street. For so long I have tried to fix everyone and everything and I just don't have to do that anymore. What freedom. The last 6 weeks have been incredible. At first I did a lot of crying - why I don't really know. Well, yes I do know. We all cry when someone dies. It is a healthy thing to do, and I was grieving the death on my marriage. But it is amazing how quickly I am recovering. And I'm happy. I love NC. I love my home. I love being near family and probably most importantly I love myself. I am healing nicely, thank you very much! Of course, I had one little relapse the other day when I watched "Under the Tuscan Sun." She was a writer, she paid for her house with her Mother's money, her husband cheated on her, she left everything behind - sound familiar???? Anyway I got that out of my system, and moved on. It is a wonderful movie, by the way.

I have a new job - temp as a Administrative Assistant (fancy title for GO FER) with BB&T a local bank. However, they called me today and phone interviewed me for a permanent position so keep your fingers crossed - maybe I will get a real job with benefits!

Well, what can I say. I am happy. For the first time in a long time I am alone, but I am not lonely. What more could I want.

"Happy Trails " to All of You who are old enough to remember that!
gim

A New Day Dawns

2005-07-23T18:57:00.000-04:00

Well, here I am in North Carolina. Pretty much settled into my new home. Just a few more pictures to hang! I love it here. The trees in my backyard are beautiful and the birds sing me a song of joy every morning.

I guess you all would like an update on my life. I divorced my husband of 35 years on June 10 and began the journey of my lifetime. On June 23, I tearfully drove away from Oklahoma - not because I hated leaving Oklahoma, but because I was grieving the death of a marriage. Me the so-call healer just couldn't fix this one. I had recited the Serenity Prayer many times over the past weeks "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." So off I went changing what I could. There were times when I thought my heart would break completely in two, but it didn't and here I am moving on and loving my life more every day.

I took the long way to NC - spent one night with my lifelong friend, Bonnie, one night with my sweet niece, Mitizi, and saw all the family in Dallas, then on to spend 3 nights with my twin - sister/niece, Sherry and her husband, Ron, in their new home in Mississippi. The next step of the journey took me to Columbus, SC where I met Yvette and precious little Bella and spent a couple of days just enjoying them. Then on to the last leg of my journey and arrived in Wilson on June29. Little Jesse and Mark had taken a shorter route and were there to greet me - already enjoying my new home for a week before I arrived. The dogs were already settled in and adjusting well to their new home.

What a joy it has been to have, Amber, Raymond, and Jasmine just popping in for breakfast, dinner or whatever -- having Jasmine spend the night - something I have never had the privilege of before. I think I have cooked more meals in the past month than I have in years - Amber is catching up on all the things I used to cook when she was home!

Mark stayed until July 11 and helped bunches. I am hoping he will move out this way soon. Yvette is just down the road so we can visit often and I am really going to get to watch Bella grow up. What fun. Attending school functions - plays - whatever it is that "Nanas" really do!
Now if I just had Milinda and her bunch in my back pocket, life would be complete. Washington State is just too far away! But love covers all the miles and love is all there really is anyway.

Anyway, I'm looking for a job - so everyone wish me luck. I have to laugh at my resume - when they ask the wages on my next to the last job and I have to say I made $400. a month - man that was good wages a hundred years ago.

Enough rambling for now. I have a life to live.

Strange Than Fiction

2005-04-10T14:33:00.000-04:00

Now isn't that odd. I just posted my Born Free post stating that I had lost my previous post and when I published it the old appeared also. Oh well, what the heck. Now you have them both.
Hugs to everyone I love and that includes you too if you are reading this.

Born Free.

2005-04-10T13:44:00.000-04:00

Well a couple of days ago I tried to post a poem I wrote for Jesse for our 35th Anniversary. In the process something happened to my computer and I lost the whole thing. I'll take that as a sign that I should move on and I mean that in many different ways. I know some people believe that when they have a lot of years tied up in a particular project and it just doesn't work for them any more that it means they have wasted those years. I thought that one time myself after spending 40 years in an uptight religious cult that kept me bound with ropes of fear. Once those ropes were broken, for a while I felt that I had wasted all those years. I thought about all the things I could have accomplished -- how unfair it had been to my children, my marriage, me. I called it my 40 years in the wilderness. But my husband, bless his soul, reminded me that I wouldn't be the person I am today if it hadn't been for that experience. Now....I am remembering that good advice when I think about moving on from my 35 years with him.

Sorry, My Love, it was good advice and still is. You have been a good provider and occasionally have been a good support system for me when I was afraid to branch out on my own. But all too often you have been less of a critic and more of a criticizer when I began to succeed or as you call it when I got my "ID." Now I need to take what I have learned from you about branching out on my own and run with it. I don't need to pack much. I will just take what I have learned from you.

1. You don't need a lot of money to start a new project.
2. Do your own research.
3. Don't depend on the ideas of others.
4. Solve your own problems.
5. Just because it hasn't been done doesn't mean it can't be done.
6. Make it fun.
7. Love what you do or don't do it.
8. Don't settle.
9. When it isn't fun any more move on to something new.
10. If it doesn't work blame it on someone else. (I'm leaving this one behind with you.)

I believe that #10 is excess baggage. I carried it for you all this time and I just realized that it is the weight that has kept me bogged down for 35 years. All I need to do to move on is set down #10 and run like a son of a gun. You'll just have to find someone else to blame or you can still blame me if you wish. I'm just not going to carry the blame for you any more.

I was born free and I can be free again. Free to flow with universal order using all the things I have learned along the way. So what if it has taken 35 or 40 years to pack. I'm packed and ready to go. Actually I am unpacked and ready to go. No excess baggage ...just the experience of a lifetime,

Born Free ...again.

My April Fool's Day Anniversary Poem

2005-04-07T10:23:00.000-04:00

What I said:
Happy 35th Anniversary/April Fools Day

After all these years
the one thing I know for sure
is that you love your children
more than you love yourself
and more than you love me.

This year as I watched you stand
by Jesse's bed and beg for him to live
and offer your life for his,
I understood in my heart
that when you love our children unconditionally
you really are loving a part of yourself and a part of me.

So no matter what the future holds for us,
My Love, always remember this,
our love for our children
is the One True Love
That binds our hearts together
...now and forever.

What I meant:
It isn't enough to be loved just because you love our children. I want to be first and for the children to the blessing, the beautiful bi-product of a loving marriage. But, because we both love our children there will always be a love that binds our hearts but not necessarily our lives together forever.

So tell me:
Did I get fooled for did he with this April Fool's marriage?

When Time Stands Still

2005-03-22T11:49:00.000-05:00

Since I believe that there is no such thing as time, how is it possible for it to stand still? But that is what it felt like recently when I spent 6 weeks by the bedside of my 32 year old son in ICU - a place where time takes on a whole new meaning and you begin to learn to really live one moment at a time. So I thought I might share some of the things I wrote after the fact!

Day 39 - March 2, 2005
I am sitting by Jesse's bed. He asked me to hold his hand as he went to sleep -- do you understand the significance of what I just wrote? He asked! He is off the ventilator and talking! They are going to remove the trac in the morning. He is alive. ALIVE - getting stronger, yet so very weak. I dare to think of the future. I wanted so much to journal this whole event - every day - but I couldn't. It was like I was frozen in time. My eyes couldn't leave the monitor for weeks. It was my proof that he was still here. I couldn't read. I couldn't write. I couldn't breathe -- just watch the monitor. I would like to say I had a great divine revelation, but it was like I was just an observer watching the faith of his friends as they wept over his beside. I listened in awe at the beautiful prayers uttered to God asking for his healing, yet I was unable to form words of my own. Just watching continually watching. Asking questions that kept me sane. What is his blood count - white - red count- does he have a temperature - how much -- inane little questions continually keeping me informed because for the first time I began to understand how powerless we really are. That we really - really have no control. So, I don't have a day by day journal, but I can tell you I have only allowed myself to breathe in the last 3 or 4 days. Sort of like the roller coaster coming back into the station. The scream that seemed to go on forever is over and one is so glad to be safe and alive. You see other people standing in line to take the ride and you wonder why, but for them it is a choice. For me I wasn't give a choice. What is that all about? No, maybe it was a choice long before we came here. I can see us standing in line on the other side waiting of the thrill of a "lifetime." Were we nuts or what? No, I understand that it was all a part of a grander plan, and it if means that Jesse needed this experience, then so be it. I would take the ride again, if it meant he would be healed.

I wonder why I felt so removed from my guide, the Ancient One, during all of this? It certainly wasn't because he moved. I know he is always with me, but again it was like I was the one who was paralyzed instead of Jesse -- frozen in time -- moving only in accordance with the monitor -- not knowing how to pray, what to ask for. It was like I was waiting for Jesse to decide what was best for him, and I dared not move or speak until that decision was made. I couldn't seem to perform Reiki on him or anything. I was simply immobile - frozen in the moment. Waiting outside the ICU unit until the magic hour of 8:30 am until the doors opened - questioning the nurse about the morning report - checking the monitor - always checking the monitor - checking the ventilator for changes - asking the respiratory technicians what they heard in his chest - how much stuff could they suction - what color was it - what was the doctor's plans for the day - standing by the bed for hours watching the machine move his chest up and down - wondering whether he was still in his body or traveling to another plane until 2:00 p.m. Then rushing to lunch - not too far away - returning phone calls - waiting outside the door at 4:30 p.m. for it to swing open so I could watch the monitor for 2 more hours. Telling friends who came to visit the news of the day - temperature up or down - watching for any little change. Out the door at 6:30 p.m. - crying over dinner because he is so sick - impatiently waiting outside the door until it opens at 8:30 p.m. - sitting or standing by the bed - watching the monitor - always watching the monitor until 10:00 p.m. Reminding the nurses - constantly reminding them to call me if there are any changes - sleeping an hour and back at 12:30 a.m. - watching the monitor and again reminding the nurses at 1:30 a.m. to call me if there is a change. Set the alarm for 6:30 a.m. - call the unit - are there any changes - what is his temperature - have the doctor call me. Shower, a quick breakfast and back at the door outside the unit at 8:30 a.m.. Life hung in the balance. I was on a roller coaster that never stopped - scared to death on the ride up and terrifed on the ride down - one long endless day - no day - no night - time frozen into one long scream.

I still can't get my mind wrapped around why I couldn't pray. I did I guess at moments in the early morning, but it sounded so futile, like I was repeating words over and over, trying to listen, but not hearing -- yet marveling at the beautiful prayers of others. Where were my words? The great wordsmith had no words - just waiting to see what he decided.

I tried to see him -- see where he was -- it was like a black void and I couldn't find him. I remember standing by his bed - the Monday when Dr. Cook said he was getting worse and he was losing hope for his recovery. I stood by the bed all day and just watched his face. He was so beautiful - so handsome. We often remarked about how anyone so sick could look so good. Sobs jerked silently out of my chest that day - rivers of tears silently streamed down my face -- silently so he wouldn't hear just in case he could hear. And I looked into that black void once more for him and I told God, I would never ask him to stay unless he could have peace. I wanted him so desperately for my own selfish reasons, but I wanted him to be where he had the most peace and if that meant giving him back to God, I was willing. He had been the most precious gift I had ever been given, but it was his choice and I just wanted him to have peace. He was so tired of his struggle -- then I saw him and he was free in the meadow with Streak (his childhood dog) dancing and so happy -- so happy just like he was when he was a little boy -- so free -- running and jumping - dancing - always dancing -- Streak right there with him and then he said "Mama, it is so glorious." I felt such peace. I didn't know then if he would be back, but I knew he had found true joy and peace and it was OK.

As a few days passed he began to slowly improve - "smidgens" Dr Cook called it. Dr. Preuss always more upbeat said, "I don't know about you, but I've decided to be encouraged." Then I began to understand that perhaps he has remembered that there was peace and joy on this plane also -- he could know that peace in this life and I began to believe he had chosen to stay. I waited to see -- just waited and watched the monitor and waited for him -- just in case he would come back -- I would be there holding his hand -- right there waiting -- just in case -- just in case...

Time in ICU is timeless time. Days mean nothing - anything outside the unit is meaningless. It is an experience I am still trying to comprehend and hope to write much more about later.

2005-03-19T18:02:00.000-05:00

Ilene - The Writer

A New Day

2005-03-19T17:31:00.000-05:00

Today, just another moment in time. I seem to be having problems figuring out how to Blog properly! For instance I have been wanting to add a post and I just stumbled into this area -- now will I ever find my way back is the big question. I am enjoying reading my daughters' posts. They are both very talented writers. Of course, they are my daughters! Enough for today, just live life to the fullest one moment at a time. I will share more of my poetry later -- that is if I find my way back here.

She Wished

2005-03-14T15:53:00.000-05:00

When she said, "I love you,"
He would say, "I love you, too,"
But he never said it first
Like she wished that he would do.

Always when she kissed him,
He would kiss her too,
But he never kissed her first
Like she wished he would do.

Then suddenly one day,
She drew her final breath.
Tears were streaming down his face
As he gazed at her in death.

He said, "I love you, Darling,"
Leaned down and kissed her, too.
Too late, at last, he said it first,
Like she wished that he would do.

Copywrite 1994 Ilene Madrigal