Sonoma Sojourn

A tough week in Paradise.

Hormones? Stress? What the heck is going on with me?? I’m weepy and anxious; is it because my time in Sonoma is drawing nigh?

I come across a photo of my mother that’s been posted on FaceBook, and seeing her makes me cry. I wish I were a kid back in Brockton, washing windows and drying them with circular motions so they won’t streak. Ironing my father’s handkerchiefs: steam press all four outer edges first, glide the iron over the middle; fold and stack the white squares to await use. Hanging silvery icicles one by one from the stiff green branches of the Christmas tree. These are just some of the life-skills I learned at my mother’s hands.

This week, I’m tired of playing grown up and wish I could fall into my mother’s arms again and have her assure me that all will be well. I wish those hands would stroke my head and caress my face and tilt my chin so my eyes meet hers and she convinces me that things aren’t as bad as they seem.

This afternoon, I read today’s posting from gratefulness.org that arrived in this morning’s email:

Refuse to fall down. If you cannot refuse to fall down, refuse to stay down. If you cannot refuse to stay down, lift your heart toward heaven, and like a hungry beggar, ask that it be filled, and it will be filled. You may be pushed down. You may be kept from rising. But no one can keep you from lifting your heart toward heaven. – Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés

I’m thinking my mother changed her name to Clarissa once she got to heaven – I’m quite sure she’s the one who sent this message today.

Thanks, Mom.

Josephine Gilbode
1923 – 2001