Dear Ones, Have you noticed how sometimes life is funny? Sometimes it is not. And sometimes it is hard to tell the difference. When I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, I just do both. There has been a lot of both as Winter gives way to Spring. Spring tends transition for me. The North Texas winds always stir up something that is best not stepped in.
So, I was remembering when Jubilee was little. When she was little EVERYTHING was family.
“Oh, a family of trees.”“Look a family of clouds.” “Yummy, a family of broccoli!” “Awe, cute, a family of rocks.” You name it, if there was more than one, it translated into family. This ability to transmogrify just about anything was likely the result of being the adored youngest of six siblings. 24/7 there was someone waiting in line to hold Jubilee and we did not set her down for six weeks after her arrival. Thus, she saw the world as family.
Humans love to personify everything. We give animals, particularly those closest to us: dogs and cats, personalities. While they DO have personalities, sometimes the motives we assign to their actions and expressions push reason
Does that cat truly hate me or is that just resting cat face?
Inanimate objects garner personhood. MY PHONE HATES ME! My car has it out for me. Heck, there are those in our government who deem corporations people, too!
Denial has been a HUGE part of my life.And you know what?I miss denial.I am not certain if I miss denial as a person or a place.Either way, I miss her.
OH! A person.
Lately, I have been considering, reconsidering, and restructuring my relationship with denial. Denial was a safe place to visit, but I planted stakes and built a home.
Ah HA!! A place.
Thinking I was doing myself and those I loved a favor, I camped out (place) with her (person) for far too long.The trouble with living in or with denial is that denial is not a real place nor is she a real friend.
Denial is a protective mechanism, but a false defense. Eventually, the edges fray and it all begins to unravel. (Wow, a thing!I wonder how many metaphors I can incorporate into this sordid tale?)
A recent Friday resulted in a complete unraveling of my delusion. No more pretending. It was interesting because I had already begun gathering my things from Camp Denial. The first draft of the break-up missive had been composed.I was steeling myself for a new reality when the phone rang. I usually cannot find my phone.T his particular Friday it was in dang my pocket.
While I am no longer living in denial, every now and again I remember something and I run back to collect it. The soundtrack of this breakup is Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence” which begins, “Hello darkness, my old friend…”Paul Simon said, “…we have people unable to touch other people, unable to love other people. This is a song about the inability to communicate.”
“Alexa, play The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel.” “Alexa, play it again.” “Alexa…”It reminds me that things are not hunky dory and that the reality of NOT hunky dory is still better than the delusion of denial.
Denial, person, place, or thing, is an inability to communicate clearly with one’s self. While I miss the pretense of safety and well-being of denial, denial crippled me, estranging me from myself and from people who love me and from people who might love me.
Processing what I miss, I am discovering that what I miss was only a vapor. I am enjoying discovering me. I don’t know how this me interacts with the world. I am nervous about how the after break up me, in a new location, will paint.Like so many artists, there is discovery in the process of painting.
Spring has sprung here in North Texas. The windows are open. The birds are singing. I just saw the largest coyote I have ever seen (my heart claims it was a wolf, but google searches say there are no longer wolves in North Texas). The family, my family, and a dear friend are meeting for a birthday picnic at the Fort Worth Botanic Gardens. Maybe I don’t miss denial after all. HAPPY SPRING, ALL Y’ALL! Much love, Gwen
You proofed and proofed EVER so careful and yet a typo slipped right past your brain.
It is too late … the next resume will be better. 
Critique groups and teenage boys are adept at finding artistic typos.
