The simple acts of daily routines can sometimes help trigger buried thoughts or emotions. Sights such as the slant of sunlight through dappled leaves; the green expanse of a lawn bright with growth; English Ivy on a slope, tiny purple violets growing wild; trimming plants on the porch - those all trigger tiny little memories for me. Scents; dusty metal window screens on old wooden sills, the smell of coffee, of gingerbread - so many forgot tiny moments. This morning is not just one random moment in my life, and yet it really is. My senses this morning brought me memories of my maternal grandmother, my mother, my aunt. I do believe that we do the best we can at every given moment. I feel I have to believe this; that life brings good and bad and that each moment is where we are meant to be at any given time. Every moment, every breath - is it fate, luck of the draw, a pre-destined, big-picture moment in time? I don't have any answers, just a lot of questions. My grandmother, mom's mom, came to mind this morning. And really, even as I think of it, it pertains to my father's mom, too, but I did not come to know her as well; I was just 5 or so when she died and I have fewer memories of her. So my maternal grandmother came to mind this morning, triggered by minor morning routines. I think of her life, born in 1920, the same year women got the vote here in America and how she never knew otherwise. But, it also was not yet common for women to have a career or to have many interests outside the home. Her brilliant hand at painting, her desire to write poetry; her gorgeous hand at drawing; it just was not in the cards for her. She left her parents home to make her own with my grandfather. She had her first child at 22; my mom, and her second at 24. She was completely dependent on my grandfather; she never even learned how to drive. I do not know what she truly wanted out of life, but I do know her choices were limited. I do know she was not always happy, but back then women just did what needed doing and hopes, wishes, dreams did not really play into options or decisions. Her life was not bad or harsh, and raising children, keeping house those were and are important tasks.
My mom; slightly more independent, had dreams of becoming a writer; a journalist and a sophisticated career women. Instead, she left her parents house for her marriage to my dad, and gave birth to my sister just a few months after her 19th birthday, and then me just after her 20th. In the early 60's things were changing for women, but still, my mom lived the life she was fated to live. She never lived alone until she was in her 50s and her second marriage ended. He paid her alimony until she died, and she was never entirely dependent on herself. That is not judgement; just the way her life aligned.
All of this came to me this morning as I tended my plants while listening to Native American flute music, drinking coffee, writing in my journal. I've been thinking of relatives and of life in general, how we drift from moment to moment. How my ancestors lived so that I could be here in this moment right now. Is my life preordained, fate, or luck? Do we make our own fate or do we choose it through living life as we do? I am not sure any of that matters. We do the best we can at every given moment, even if others think we could do or be better. Each moment leads us to the next. I, for one, count my blessings and offer gratitude for those who came before me, and for this wonderful, messy, not always easy, but beautiful life I live.
