Those Eternally Linked Lives 26August 27, 2017 Everything I do counts in the long tabulation of the centuries. “Be of good cheer,” sounds in my ears. Sun reigns. –Those Eternally Linked Lives 14 I heal. Again. Courage found and rewarded. I rise to my problems. One at a time I’ll overcome both my new and my old fears. We have cooler days and nights. I can work outside more often. Sun is less of a threat. My son calls to say he may be able to move here sooner rather than later. I rejoice. I am confident we can work out and through the minor problems, if he finds his way to returning home. I Already have good help, but the thought of his near presence comforts me in a new way. He has respect for my independence, but he wants to help. I stayed unbiased while he wrestled with it, but finally said, “If you can work it out, I’ll be glad.” The mysterious partner inside me is grateful. This counts, too, and helps me finish my work on earth.
Those Eternally Linked Lives 25August 20, 2017 Finally, a letter from Yuri–three typed pages, but my Russian is half-forgotten. I get out my big dictionary. When I wrote to him in late June, I’d been reading my diary pages from when I’d stayed with him and Vera twenty-two years ago. He congratulates me on my Jubilee–eighty years–most of them writing. How they nurtured me back then, and they’re still alive. We both lost Mikhail, whom he calls Misha, and sends me a note he wrote Misha a month before he died. They both longed for their childhood villages– gone now but never forgotten. Yuri remembers the yellow flowers under the cottage’s window. Mikhail remembers being put upon a horse and seeing a pink sky, then falling off the horse. A recurring theme everywhere I went: the lost village, the rodina, birth village, lost and never forgotten. A holy grail to those who remember. He kept taking me to see the village houses. Once I stayed in one. He took me into the taiga, the wild forest, where his village had been until lost because of the push for communal farms, and then the war when twenty-seven million died in battle or in prison camps. Some things the memory won’t let go of, as long as we breathe. We still love those who loved us, and to whom we opened our souls. It’s called: reaching the heart.
Judy with reluctant hen, early spring 2010, during chicken workshop *** Those Eternally Linked Lives 24August 13, 2017 We forget: things change all the time. People change their minds. Our weather changes. Chickens like their routines, but they change where they roost, sometimes hide their nests. On an old farm, despite neglect, things grow. A Rose of Sharon leans through the fence to say hello. Little blue flowers appear on the Wandering Jew. Figs ripen and some spoil from all the rain. After a slew of problems, a respite: a gift I’d given up on, forgotten. I got hurt, but I’ve been healing. I spoke some hard truth, and was invited to speak again. I’ll have students in September. My soul settled in for my older age. I have to consider my heart, my balance, and how easily I forget. The weeds feel impossible, but I know how to summon helping hands. Wag and I do our daily walk steadily. I work on manuscripts I’m determined to publish; plant a few more beans, find enough figs to sell. My life resumes its normal rhythms. Rain replaces the heat wave.
Judy with new books at book party May 21, 2017. Photo by Johnsie Tipton. *** Those Eternally Linked Lives 23August 6, 2017 Banishing fear has become a habit. Every time I outwit other people’s worries, I stand taller in my own view. All it takes is courage, helping those who let me, and taking in gratefully those loving hands that give me a reason to stay alive. –Those Eternally Linked Lives 18 I do keep staying alive. I could have died on Monday. Instead I fell as I raced across the road to avoid a speeding car. She wasn’t looking, she said. She stopped, pulled me off the road, called nine-one-one. Other cars stopped, including a sheriff’s deputy. Then the fire department and two ambulances. I recognized the voices of David and Jerry. Claudia came up. I asked her to put Wag behind the fence. Later she came back to pray with me. The phone kept ringing even during the prayer. I did hit my head. A scalp wound bled. John Bonitz called. Was I okay? He heard a car hit me. No, I fell, but she could have. I’m okay. Sheila called to say she and Rhonda were coming over. Then John and Wayne Cross stopped to check on me. Emails and phone calls. Rhonda checked my scalp: “It will heal.” Jeff took me to pick up my truck. Emma stopped by, having heard the rumor. Sally wrote from Alabama. Katie, from Asheville. Then Keely, Donna, and Terica brought me groceries. Maybe I couldn’t get to a store? Fruit and other things I never buy on my simple diet, but I’m enjoying them. Angelina says, “You could use this in a novel. I keep telling people the car didn’t hit you.” What did hit me was people’s care: I had to be all right. I am. Healing well; reminding my children I want to stay independent, follow my deep wisdom. Falling’s no fun, but once again I learned: people love me.
