I had a good conversation with an old friend yesterday, about loss and the future. For once, we weren't really talking about children at all. We were talking about being middle aged, facing increasing loss, and how to approach the next half of our lives. I've dealt with loss and grief, steadily, since I was about 10. For her, its all new.

Grief is not controllable and always a shock. After many losses I noticed a predictable pattern grief took in my body. Years later I began to practice acceptance about the whole situation which lessens the physical pain...somewhat. Perhaps it simply intellectualizes the pain. Because grief symptoms used to hit me in the middle of my chest. Now I get an instantaneous headache, small, behind my left eyebrow, very unlike sinus or migraine pain. Perhaps sort of like learning not to scratch chiggers, my body has learned to mostly ignore the initial blow-through explosion of grief? Except for this immediate pointed locus in my mind which warns: here come the weasels. I cry less and feel somewhat less seared, I can let go faster, yet I've become angrier.

It took me till recently to understand that grief, itself, does not require extended mourning. Neither does society. And you do not love less nor become a bad person if you let go of grief as fast as possible. When you can, when you are ready. (sigh...) It is okay to let go of grief. For some people, grief can become ritualized or can turn into hoarding, both of which conflate spirit with material things.

Who wants to roll into the second half of their life grasping, burdened, desperate for meaning, looking back more than forward, lonely, sad, or angry. Not me. Especially not the angry part. I want to be one of those happy expansive old people that seem large, somehow, and full of light. I want to spend the second half of my life engaged and willing, not in denial nor clutching.

Love does not reside in things. You can not shelter yourself from pain without becoming numb. And its good to have a plan for your failings. One of my failings is anger. If I'm not careful, anger could transform from a mere failing to a companion. Much in the same way denial can turn into a house full of objects that mainly serve to keep you from feeling fear or sadness. Anger and denial both serve their good purpose but make bad traveling companions.

Note to self: let go. Its alright. Practice love instead. Or art. Or both.

I gave a shot today. I had to gauge, angle, stab, and press. An action I've feared for years, I can't believe how easy it was. Though, as I turned to walk inside and throw the syringe into a safe trashcan, my hands shook a bit. The mortal shell is so flimsy. The shock of the thing was just how easily a needle slips in. Its nearly nothing.

Last night Dear Husband had to dispatch a chicken with an ax. It was an emergency situation performed in the dark quickly as an act of compassion. He is no hunter and hates killing things with axes. After, the head is always such a pretty thing in its grotesque and horribly wrong way. How can there be such a pretty wrong thing? A right thing in a wrong place, I suppose. You're left staring, a bit in shock. Though, not so shocked or as staring as the chicken.

I've been changing, losing my interests in roses and vegetables. I would like to fall-plant beets, carrots, and spinach to harvest overwinter this year. I will always plant basil, tomatoes, and cucumbers in the summer. But I felt nothing but bored harvesting green beans yesterday. There is about $50 worth of over ripe beans in a basket on my kitchen floor. And I don't care. I don't care about the unharvested chard. I don't care about vegetables so much anymore.

Turns out, I am a carnivore. "I NEED MEAT" to quote my Dear Girl when she was only two. Maybe the passion of our personalities burns through carbohydrate too fast? I used to think I wanted to grow most of my vegetables. And, knowing the fundamentally basic way both my husband and I don't want to kill anything, I planned to always buy meat. Now that I have experience growing vegetables and meat, I find I am FAR more particular how the animals are handled. Their lives and variables are long and matter a lot more. I can trust farmers to not spray their zuchinni. Beyond that--meh--who cares if they talk nice, hustle with an ax at the right moment, are attentive to the subtle details of vegetal existence? I find I don't. And no vegetable is richer in bio-available minerals than raw milk. Fresh eggs from free hens, a moral roast, meat for less than a hundred dollars a pound. Even though vegetables are beginning to rival meat in price. I suppose its time to step up a rung on the great ladder of farming wimpiness. 

Homeschooling: is it hard, is it easy? I think life is hard and homeschool is what you make of it. The burden of homeschool resides in the parent's psyche. If you want to stress over it, there are thousands of ways and I may have tried them all. But the simple truth is, on average, healthy children grow smarter naturally. There are a few things you can do to enrich the process: food, love, consistency, providing a rich environment, trying not to be an arse-hole. Beyond those things, parents and teachers are all flying blind.

Curriculum doesn't matter. In fact, if you spend a lot of time and trouble teaching, the children are most likely to learn lessons you didn't intend. Which shouldn't stop you from teaching if you feel moved to teach. But go gently and keep in mind, it doesn't really matter which things you try to put in them. In other words, all insects are beneficial.

Each child is mysterious, knowledge is infinite, and we have no idea how learning happens. The timeline of institutional education is arbitrary and unnecessary. No one knows the future. And success is a nebulous vague slippery concept at best. If happiness is the best measure of success, teach that. If you simply must teach, Happiness Through Kindness, may be your best shot at a curriculum. At least, its the topic I most need to study.

If a kid wants a formal class, wonderful, let them take it. If its enriching, all the better. If not, dump it. One of the few specific lessons I've taught my kids is to never suffer bad teaching. Hard teachers, yes. Bad teachers, no. Don't waste your time. Move on. Keep moving. There is plenty.

We all want to parent best. Usually, even those of us who are criminally wrong would prefer knowing how to do it right. Unfortunately, humans do not have access to that information. Unless the answer is teaching love. So relax. Let go. Do less. Teach kindness. And pay attention to your specific child without fear. They will show you what they need.

 Dear Boy: Rill is now a fundle, a fun bundle. 

 Wow, you wouldn't believe how that bass rings. Hopefully the start of something new and fun...

After all, every great old time low down back woods holler band has to have a hound dog. Good boy!

UNDERSTANDING THE BORDERLINE MOTHER by Christine Lawson
Buy it, read it, have your life changed for the better through understanding and awareness. The end.