It is my birthday today.  I am 48 years old and i am finding it hard to integrate such truth.  For most of my life i have felt like a child. I was never told what a grown up should look like or behave like.  So today, as I reach 48, I still don´t know.  In the moments when mirror and I meet, I understand that the years are showing a child no more.  Beauty, as it is portrayed to us through the images of marketers, at 48, their definition is definitely not something that applies to me.  I regret my years of unconsciousness.  I wish i could go back and embrace the look of being and feeling young.  Are we ever aware of the good fortune of mobility, of strength, of muscle tone? I wonder.

Thank God there are other things in life other than the mirror.  I understand today that I must grieve beauty.  I need to learn to age more gracefully so I may continue to honor the body that carries my Soul.  Grief is not only about saying goodbye to the beauty of youth.  It is also about saying good bye to so many true treasures that came to me and I took for granted.  The lives of those who have departed before me, the things unsaid, the moments unlived, the times spent doing other things I thought were more valuable.

Today, at 48 I am aware not of beauty but of all things beautiful.  Beautiful soothes my soul.  Beautiful is what allows me to smile when the rest is lost.  I was granted the grand opportunity to live in the country of eternal spring.  Bursts of flowers shower me with color so intense that Crayola loses their desire to even attempt to name it.

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Little beings.  Those who unconditionally care and never cease to pay attention to every move I make, continuously bring me joy.   Maple, she makes me feel special and important.  She lets me know that I am wanted and needed, my presence is apparently all that she needs.  She returns the most beautiful of images that cracks my shell and makes me smile.  It is in those moments of sweet when I realize that those exact precious instances is what life is made of.  Yes, in that instant of beautiful, I lose the weight and the heaviness of pain, of grief, or of whatever worry I carry on my shoulders.IMG_2961

Repetition…ohhhhhh the blessing of the repetition of stitches that allows me to create something out of nothing.  Yarn of every color are a typical companion when vacation comes my way.  They are always patiently waiting to be picked for my new creation. This time it was a yarnbomb.  Although some consider this a waste of both time and yarn, it is a delightful task for me.  To sit with my niece and my sister on rocking chairs, to the sound of sweet music, in the perfect warmth of the tropical pacific coast, letting the sun set at its pace, and having no other place to be at than the place we are at, is one of the most nourishing experiences.  To enter the timelessness in conversation of nothing and everything.  Laughs about old times, and deep breaths about  the discovery of who we are at the moment.  The indescribable sensation of familiarity that brings that delightful sense of belonging so many kill for, is something that comes easy in the soft light of sunset. There is something about the peace, the tranquility and the calmness that comes forth when yarn, stitches and hooks come together. The repetition of those movements that have reached the level of automaticity creates a sense of relaxation that allows for the Spirit to manifest itself in the most unpretentious of manners.  The effect of it all is that of falling in love all over again with those newly discovered beings we thought we knew well.  In collaboration we reached our goal of four stripes of color for one of the columns of our beach house. The sense of awe that it brings and the smiles that arise inevitably from those who glance at it, are enough reasons to make the task worthwhile.  Another version of what I call beautiful.

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Grief hits hard trying to make himself be noticed  through the spell of color, repetition and connection.  He is strong and powerful so manages to settle in my heart again, making me aware of his heaviness.  A deep sense of loneliness and abandonment drags my heart to my depths as I long for the yesterdays that allowed for a rich sustenance.  A day of resurrection, the Christian world celebrates today, Easter Sunday.  Today nothing seems to be born in me.  As I try to collect my traditions in an attempt to fill the deepest of voids, grief robs my colors…yet not my desire to create.

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Life continues nevertheless, and time takes me to midnight as my sweet Mel prepares my birthday cake, and Anthony manages to shower us with his midnight intensity that comes in a mix of hyperactivity, pesty behavior and 500% charm.  As I write this blog they surprise me with their voices tuned to the first happy birthday in unison with the 12 bells of grandfather clock welcoming me into my special day. Life can’t get more beautiful than that.IMG_3090

So 48 it is.  April 5th.  Beauty at the mirror is gone, but more of the beautiful is what I will live for, and count on so I may carry on.

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