Tag: love

A Purposeful Gratitude Practice

Holiday, Personal

It used to be every night as I closed my eyes in bed, I would give thanks for the love in my life, the good home I have, and the beautiful area I live in. Thanks didn’t come because each day had been perfect or great – or even good. Thanks came because despite everything else, regardless of everything else, as I was falling asleep I still had so much to be grateful for. This wasn’t a “gratitude practice,” this was a habit. Many people talk about starting a gratitude practice. It’s often when it’s difficult to recognize the blessings in their lives because of the challenges they experience: the hardships, sorrows, and struggles. I grew up to be grateful for what I did have – often recognizing what I had despite great loss.

Celebrating the good things

I don’t know how my habit of gratitude was formed. I don’t know if it was something my mother instilled in me, or something I learned from my father, who tended to find the positive in things despite an often very painful life. It could have been from a grandparent, my church, or a book. But until recently, those words of gratitude did come no matter what else was going on.

A few months ago, I realized I was no longer doing this automatically. My head would hit the pillow, I’d close my eyes, and I’d experience racing thoughts. Though it wasn’t new for me to have racing thoughts, usually they’d still be joined by feelings of thanks. At some point, those racing thoughts or tired sighs became the habit. The words of gratitude despite the day’s difficulties were not immediately there as they had been. I don’t even know when it started happening, though I would guess it was probably around the time my dad died.

Pandemic and other crises

This signaled a big change for me. It wasn’t exactly surprising though. I’ve written about it all enough here, don’t need to rehash the details. But to summarize, my dad passed away after several strokes and several years of subsequent dementia. The year after he died I was diagnosed with a bunch of health issues that seemed to come out of the blue. And then following those diagnoses, as I was optimistic about moving forward with more energy this year, my mother-in-law got sick, and died in under two months. Also in the past year my husband and I have experienced a lot of housing insecurity, and we are still uncertain about our future. And finally, pandemic, and the year I could not see my dad in person, or meet regularly for family dinners with my kid and her partner. That was probably when I started to actually feel a bit defeated.

There is still so much to be grateful for. I mean that. But I can see why my mind stopped ending each day with a silent shout-out of thanks. The past few years (more like five or six, but who’s counting?) have sucked a lot of the time. Many, many days by the time I went to bed I was physically and emotionally exhausted. Some days I was in tears – as well as in pain. There were countless nights I slept on the couch so I wouldn’t wake up my husband due to tossing and turning, or I would wake in the middle of the night, and being unable to fall back asleep, would head downstairs to practice keyboard, make a cup of tea, or read.

Finding real gratitude again

Realizing I was no longer ending my days with a thank you for all the love and beauty still in my life, was kind of a soft punch in the gut. It made me realize maybe I did have a threshold, a breaking point, so to speak. Everything had finally become too much.

That’s how I decided to learn more about starting an actual gratitude practice. Will it be forcing it? Does that work? I don’t know. It’s not like the gratitude isn’t there, it is still there. It’s just not there all the time, or as automatically, and it’s harder to draw up when overshadowed by challenges, or when falling into bed feeling a bit trampled.

Thanksgiving – a natural time for gratitude

There seems to be no better time to start a gratitude practice than Thanksgiving time. This year will be quite different for me and my family as well, so it might be a challenge to start too!

Most years, we would gather at my mother-in-law’s for the holiday. Even my family, my dad and others, would come as well. Thanksgiving was of great importance to my mother-in-law. This year will be the first Thanksgiving without her. She used to have us all state what we were grateful for each Thanksgiving. As we sat at the Thanksgiving table in her apartment, the food all laid out before us, she would go around the table to each of us and have us state one thing we were thankful for. It sometimes felt corny, but there was value in that little family ritual. I think we each learned what we really valued in our lives by doing that, and we also learned what others valued – or what they feared to lose. I don’t expect we will carry on that tradition as we gather this year (who knows though, maybe?), but I can reflect on that myself. This can be the beginning of my so-called gratitude practice. I can start it with this one: I am grateful to have had my mother-in-law in my life, for who she was as a person, and for all that she taught me.

~ Nellie

p.s. If you are interested in beginning a gratitude practice, or are looking for ways to expand one, check out the mindful.org guide, How to Practice Gratitude, which has an abundance of insights and suggestions for an effective, fulfilling practice.

The Ghost House – beloved family home

Personal

This is just a little something for Halloween, about a beloved family home… and ghost house…

In the remote hills of Vermont

H.P. Lovecraft found inspiration in the remote hills of Vermont, in the same area where my great-grandparents bought over 100 acres of land and an old farmhouse in the 1950s. The farmhouse had been built in the 1800s, and at one time it had been a stage stop. It was a family house – many aunts, uncles, and cousins visited often, over many decades. I grew up knowing this farmhouse as my home away from home. I loved roaming the woods, dipping into the nearby rivers, and staring in wonder at the vast number of stars visible in the country sky. And the house itself, I loved deeply. I had great affection for its rustic qualities. This was despite its lack of hot running water.

Secret compartments and a spooky cellar

There were some spooky things about this beloved house. The stove was an old potbelly that had to be disassembled each time a visit ended. We hid the parts away in secret compartments in the stairs to the attic. This was because at one point, someone had broken in and stolen the previous stove. They removed it piece by piece, through a window. The idea of attic stairs that lifted up to reveal secret compartments seems pretty neat now, even practical. But back then it simply added an old-fashioned mystery to the house.

The cellar was short-ceilinged, with a dirt floor and giant stones for a foundation. Upon arriving for a visit, the electricity had to be turned on by going into that cellar and fiddling with antique glass fuses. It meant walking through the dark, shuttered, creaky house, finding one’s way down the old stairs, straight into the middle of the cellar. The tall house sat alone, looming over the dirt road that was not much older than the house itself.

A family get-together

Though I loved the house dearly, it did at times feel creepy. When several families of us cousins would visit together, filling the house, the energy was alive and cheerful. But when only a handful of people came to stay, it seemed pensive, at best. On one occasion, I and my boyfriend (who is now my husband), arrived at the house in the middle of winter. We had planned a visit with my brother and his girlfriend. They were to join us later. We cleared snow from the doorway, turned the electricity on, and got a good fire going in the woodstove. We settled our things and lay down for a quick rest.

Out like a light

The fire in the stove warmed the place nicely. We both fell asleep in cots set up in the living room, unexpectedly drowsy from the heat. We woke suddenly to the distinct and familiar sound of the key in the front door. Jumping up to greet my brother and his girlfriend, we were surprised when the door did not open, and around us was as silent as snow. My boyfriend reached for his glasses, which he had placed on the floor by his cot when he lay down, and could not find them. I joined him in the search, and finally found them clear across the room, past my cot. On the floor, but certainly out of anyone’s reach.

We both went to check the door. It was still locked, and it was clear there had been no one there. At that point we were getting a little spooked. The sound we had both heard was the exact, familiar – and distinct – sound of the key in the door. The glasses were inexplicably found fully across the room. The gentle silence of winter surrounding us was little comfort.

More unexplained noises

Shaking the feeling, we decided to start dinner and wait for their arrival. As my boyfriend stood at the stove, stirring, I sat by the still-shuttered window. We were just talking together easily, when we suddenly heard a loud, deep scraping sound. I jumped up, heart racing, he stopped stirring, and we looked at each other, trying to figure out what had caused the sound. Our first thought – trying to be rational, was that an animal had pulled on the outside shutter. Seemed unlikely, but a possible rational explanation. The shutters were closed whenever anyone left after a visit, and they were held tightly in place by strong hooks. My boyfriend went outside in the deep snow to take a look… no tracks, no sign of an animal anywhere around the side of the house.

Get out…?

Our second thought was perhaps a boulder had slipped loose in the cellar; it certainly would have made a loud scraping noise. It also seemed unlikely though. We both went to look and found nothing out of place there either. When we came back to the kitchen, we both felt our nerves growing on edge, and when we tried to get back to what we had been doing, we simply looked at each other and knew… I don’t remember which of us said it first, but we had both strongly felt the message, “Get out.” It was as if each event had been trying to tell us what suddenly formed as a message in both of our minds.

We started hurrying to clean up the uneaten dinner. As we did so, the feeling intensified and it wasn’t until we had driven away that we started to feel better. It was many years before the time of cell phones, and the town we were in had no pay phones, so we weren’t able to call my brother and his girlfriend until we checked into a motel many miles away. They had not been able to travel north, as something had come up, and of course, had no way of reaching us.

Unexplained activity

We’ll never know what had created those noises. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard noises in that house that were not easy to explain, and it wasn’t the first time I’d felt a little spooked there, but it was the first time the noises had been so precise, an object had been found somewhere it hadn’t been left, and such a negative energy had risen up. It was also the first time that more than one person had experienced the same things together. When describing it to my brother and his girlfriend, they both admitted having felt such unease there before, only when they were there alone as a couple, and had actually been unsure about making this visit.

Continued family visits, continued love

After that time, we had a few family visits there and all was fine (the house has since been sold and renovated). We never went back alone, and as far as I know, few people did. At one point we buried my father’s dog on the land there. My dad of course had a close kinship to the area, and his dog loved the woods there. In dreams, this house has appeared to me as “the ghost house,” where I have visited and conversed with family members who have passed away. I don’t know what the real nature of the house is… whether there really is something “other” about the place. But I am pretty sure it would have made a great setting in a Lovecraft story!

As an addendum – a cousin eventually purchased the house for his own immediate family and did some renovations. My husband and I visited a few years ago and spoke to him and his wife… He insisted, and this is an otherwise rational seeming guy, the house was haunted, and often spooked him.

More spooks…

If you enjoy spiritualism or all things haunted or ghostly, check out my post about Conjuring the Spirit World, a fantastic exhibition at the PEM in Salem, MA. And if you’re interested in the Lovecraft story set in the remote hills of Vermont, check out The Complete Fiction of H.P. Lovecraft at Amazon, which includes the tale, The Whisperer in Darkness.

~ Nellie

p.s. that is the beloved old house in the image above, dressed up a little for Halloween with some blurred edges 😉. It has since been renovated nicely and is quite beautiful. And I still have immense love for this place – if I could afford it, I would buy it myself 🙂

A Doll Collector

Personal

I am not a doll collector. My grandmother Josephine collected dolls. She bought dolls when she traveled to other countries, she sewed soft dolls and painted their molded faces with curling smiles and mischievous eyes, she repeatedly promised me she had an ever-growing doll collection for me that I would receive when I was “old enough.” I never was old enough, but after she passed away I did find a number of dolls in her attic. I wondered if they were the collection she had always promised me. Unfortunately, many were in bad shape from being poorly stored, and could not be salvaged, but I was able to hold onto a couple peg dolls she had bought in Poland.

My mother’s doll Tina

When I was very little my mother let me play with her childhood doll Tina. This was an intimidating doll, with moving parts. I was forever traumatizing myself with it because it seemed to break so easily. One time I ended up hiding in the closet, thinking I had broken Tina for good and fearing my mother would be furious. My dad found me, and after a quick laugh and a hug, reassured me I had not broken my mother’s doll. He showed me how her eyes were simply askew, and he fixed it right away. And my mother was not furious. Still, after that I pretty much avoided playing with her.

I have had Tina since my mother passed away though. Past her prime for playing, she’s a delicate seeming doll, so she has mostly been kept in storage. Recently I have been going through a lot of old family items. I took Tina out of her box and became inspired to clean her up, possibly try my hand at simple repairs or refurbishment, and honestly, it set me on a completely unexpected course (since I am not a doll collector).

A walking doll from the 1950s

Tina is apparently (and please excuse my newbishness here, for anyone reading who might actually have experience with old or vintage dolls), a Tina toddler walking doll, by IMPCO. Her hard plastic body is jointed, she has a sound box (though I don’t recall her ever “talking”), her mouth shows teeth and a tongue, and her eyes move. There are issues that clearly need repair of some sort. Her head is very loose (having lost some kind of internal S hook along the way), her eyes close if she is tilted just slightly, and her limbs are almost dangly.

Preliminary doll clean-up

After a short, gentle clean-up, but before doing the hair. The plastic bag was to protect the body from water while cleaning the hair (I hadn’t planned on blogging about the process!)

Following some online advice, I cleaned her gently and tried to wash and brush her hair. The hair seemed way too brittle, even using a small metal pet comb. After an initial dipping of the hair in warm water I just let it dry and I re-braided it. I hand washed her clothes, but had to throw out her shorts and socks. After getting her all dressed again, I sat her in the living room, temporarily. When my husband noticed her he said she looked really good and I had done a great job. She no longer looked matted and dusty, or afflicted by cataracts. I can’t believe I am going to say this, but she looked pretty and happy – which is probably exactly how she was supposed to look, to the little girls who had such dolls, like my mom.

Obviously, there is much more to be done; this was just preliminary. What I would really like to do is clean her more thoroughly and repair her. I need to repair her limbs so they do not seem like they are going to just flop around or fall off. I’d like to replace the S hook inside her head so it doesn’t continually tilt alarmingly – causing her eyes to close. I would also like to figure out if I can do something to clean her hair. Her clothing could use some repairing as well. Those sleeves need stitching to give them some gathers, and I should probably iron the dress as well.

What makes a doll collector?

After I set Tina aside and gathered the little dolls from Poland, I looked around and realized there are other dolls in my house, placed here and there.

I have small hand-carved kachinas from Arizona that although they are not playthings, might technically be considered dolls. They were given to me by a family friend who collects larger kachinas, when I was quite young. I also have two Strange Dolls, handmade by a local artisan, that I have displayed over my desk. They are my only modern dolls, which I actually bought for myself. There are also a couple Annalee dolls – both gifts, one from when I was a kid.

There is a ceramic figurine my grandmother Jo had made back in the 1950s that she and my aunts called a “doll.” She had loved doing ceramics using Holland Molds, and this figure was particularly unique. Not only did she cast it, paint it, and glaze it, she created a dress for it out of lace. That is another that will require careful handling and delicate repair. I currently have no idea how to clean it.

This quick, quiet perusal made me wonder just how many dolls one must own in order for it to be a collection… Or perhaps I should put it this way: how many dolls can one own before it is considered a collection? Because it is possible that I am a doll collector after all.

As always, please don’t hesitate to get in touch or leave a comment. I’d love to hear of any great resources for refurbishing dolls like Tina, so please feel free to suggest some. Thanks!

~ Nellie

Pandemic living

Personal

Looking out my door you would not know anything unusual was going on. I live on an old dirt road with few neighbors, surrounded by fields and with a view to the mountains. So far I’ve been fortunate… I haven’t lost income so I can still afford food and groceries, and so far no one close to me has shown any symptoms.

Inside, I’m pretty darn worried. Not about myself. I mean, I don’t want to get this, it sounds absolutely horrendous and there’s no guarantee that it wouldn’t have a serious outcome, but I’m actively worried about a few people very close to me, who are in high risk groups or live in high-risk places or hotspots.

Yesterday my husband and I got our first delivery from Misfits Market. This is a fantastic place that provides fresh organic veggies and fruits, that are often considered “ugly” – when I worked at a gourmet market in CT, veggies that were misshapen or somehow not deemed perfect were called “shrink,” and in the case of the store I worked at, were donated to a food shelf; many places simply throw them away. I’m perfectly happy – actually I’m thrilled – to have these veggies and fruits! We’re having most of our food delivered now, following the stay at home orders in the state and avoiding spreading whatever germs we might be walking around with (and avoiding picking up whatever germs might be walking around out there), and so far it has not been a problem at all. My biggest food-related concern was running out of almond (or some other plant-based) milk for coffee and tea, and it did start to get tough when the only fresh veggies we had left in the house were potatoes, carrots, garlic, and ginger. Misfits arrived just in time, and we were astonished by the quantity, and the quality. Everything beautiful (forget “imperfect!” they’re all wonderful), and everything we’ve tried so far has tasted great – it’s all organic.

This makes me feel wildly fortunate of course, and it’s a hard message to believe, that my staying home is somehow a great contribution to the wellness of our country. My inclination is to be out there, also on the frontlines, doing something other than residing in the safety of my home, with my favorite person.

But, it is what it is. For personal reasons I’m not putting myself at risk because it would potentially put my husband at risk, and having come incredibly close to losing him to a horrific illness once already, I am taking no chances now.

So, my biggest struggle through this is avoiding the constant stream of news on the TV and on my phone or inbox, and falling into some kind of melodramatic sense of despair. I regularly check the news for Vermont (where I am), and the tristate area (NY & CT mainly) where my dad and much of my family live. I practically count the days, knowing that as we get farther along it gets more and more likely I’ll see people I know and love among the numbers, and though that doesn’t wake or keep me up at night, it freaks me out at various random moments each day.

So anyway, above is a pic of my new veggies, which I was so excited about I felt like I was bringing home a puppy 😊 What are sort of hidden under the Rainbow Chard are lots of apples, tiny Shishito chile peppers, and a bunch of what turned out to be really delicious green radishes. I hope that whoever might be reading this, whatever you’re going through, it’s no harder a time than what I’m going through.

xoxo

~ Nellie

Celebration & Gratitude

Personal
my favorite gift: sweet new plants
and something I can never have enough of: olives!

The other night my daughter and her boyfriend had my husband and myself over to celebrate my upcoming birthday. It was a great evening, with wonderful food, fantastic music, awesome conversation, very fun tabletop gaming, and much love. In my typical weirdness, I felt then and still feel now that this was not deserved, the big, positive, warm attention.

My daughter knows me well, and her gifts to me (in addition to the above food, music, conversation, and gaming) were a jar of kalamata olives, and a beautiful little plant. I also received a cool-looking new game, Abomination: The Heir of Frankenstein, which I’d seen highly recommended in recent reviews. As we didn’t want to dive into an hour long read of the instructions for a new game, we played a long-time favorite, Betrayal at House on the Hill.

Betrayal at House on the Hill,
and Abomination: The Heir of Frankenstein

I’ve never spent this much time or energy contemplating any particular birthday or age. I am not sure why fifty is doing it, but I guess that is not so uncommon. But so far, this one has actually been one of the best.

I’ll know soon enough if fifty feels any different from any other age, but regardless, I’m letting go the worry, and just allowing the astounding gratitude I’m feeling for having made it this far, and with this much love in my life.

Thanks for reading,

~ Nellie