…..I am in deep, unable to sleep thoughts at large about the bounty of the everyday. Craving the simple of the everyday-and being ohsobored by it at the same time.  AND not so sure I am all that pleased with the unrest that lingers.  Usually, the unrest in my life is a sure sign that change is on the way(which I crave)-even if I don’t go out seeking the change-by gosh-when least expected- there change will be grabbing at my throat.   Currently I am in the mood for things I know should not even be on the radar-but there they are- clawing in a “hey that feels kinda good”  way.  An unexpected remedy to my deep itch-is to do nothing-but I don’t do nothing well.  Forward motion, movement-keep things from sticking.  Stir the pot. I am also in the mood to not deal with things I know I should be dealing with -because the other things in this particular chapter in my book of life are just too shitty….way too overpowering.  The other night I dreamed my mother knocked on my door and told me she was leaving.  “Not to worry: she said.  She would be leaving and it was really ok.  Hint:  leaving this world-not leaving the house.  She was very clear-she was very matter of fact.  She was OK.   And by the way, could I just, somehow, explain this all to my brothers-and tend to all the details that noone else will aknowledge?  In the dream , she lit another cigarette and faded out with the smoke.  That was it- she was gone.  No one tells you that in understanding the death of your mother-and watching her will that very fact into being-will be the exct time you learn more about your mother than you ever thought possible.  And not all of it will be good.

My mother.  More southern than I ever thought possible.  She is a marvel.  She is Marjory Morningstar, Pollyanna and Melanine (from Gone with the Wind), in a blender.  With her paticular brand of dementia (pleasant dementia-which somehow I am sure she willed as well) and her terminal diagnosis- she is blissfully in the moment.  Her ever present-however fleeting moments.