Grief's pain is emptiness.  Memories fill the hole.  What I first experienced as a jumbled overload of images quieted, the new calm bringing perceptible sensations to my memories.  Sparked by a sound, a taste, or perhaps a rustling of fabric, memories send me time-traveling.  In the minutiae of a typical day two wires touch and I am "unstuck in time."   And I enjoy the journey.

Sometimes I feel her.  Not spectral yet just as startling.  Not a dream yet just as intangible.  It's more like her essence.  Palpable.  It happened the other night.  Up late to read a book, I turned a page and there she was.  I gasped, "oh, Mom, you're here!"  What word, what thought triggered such a feeling?  I'll never know.  Just as quickly, she vanished.   

I incorporate her.  After I lifetime of hearing I favor my father what a surprise to find I resemble my mother.  After she died the face I saw looking at me in the mirror was hers.  Reaching for my morning coffee with two hands I noted, "that's just the way Mom held her cup."  Now even my language duplicates her as I integrate her old sayings into my speech.  It's a comfort to celebrate our similarities.

I honor her with family rituals.  Today, Memorial Day, is the day we pick mums from the front yard, put them in coffee cans and drive across town to the cemetery.  For as long as I can remember we cared for the family plot by trimming overgrown grass and leaving cut flowers at each grave.  I still see a vivid picture of my grandmother in her flowered dress and sun hat, kneeling in the grass, tidying headstones with a pair of scissors.  Years later, I took my sons along and cried with mother while we tended Grandmother's grave.  And today we care for Mom's place.

I see her in the margins.  Two Mother's Days, a birthday, the better part of two Memorial Days and an ocean of tears have passed.  Instead of fighting an aching loss I've welcomed her back.  Instead of grasping at distant memories I see her right here, every day.  In a hand-written envelope addressed to her grandchild.  In a Post-It Note with her trademark greeting:  "Hey Babe, I Love You!"  And in my favorite, a worn collection of cookbooks and recipe cards, Mom's notes penned in the margins.   My connection to the past that brings a smile to the present. 

A number of years ago when I was newly separated, I had no idea how to be alone.  After countless  miserable nights and days I finally made a list. My list was a poster written in crayon entitled:

On it were things like "listening to music," "expressing gratitude," "dogs" and more.  It hung over my desk for years as a daily reminder.  Secure in my contentment the list now hangs in the studio closet where I rarely see it.

This morning I encountered two triggers (an email and a Facebook post) which suggested "Happiness" is a goal.  A target.  "If only….then I'd be happy."  That really got me thinking.  I wondered if this hit a little too close to home.  I realized if I'm not happy until I've reached the destination then I had better switch paths.  Maybe it's time for me to redefine my happiness.  A personal mission statement if you will.

I came up with a draft--at the very least it's a new start.  My happiness:  provide sufficient self care that I will have the reserves to give to others when they are in need.

A few weeks ago a colleague and I were in the green room preparing for a concert.  "I don't think I could ever wear skinny, white jeans" she said, "they would show every bit of cellulite." This woman is tall and reed thin and makes clothes look fantastic.  I managed to mumble an agreement all the while thinking she would look stunning in skinny, white jeans.  My mind was racing, "I wear skinny, white jeans and I don't look anything like her.  Maybe I don't have any business wearing them."     

Oh dear.  It was a meeting of inner critics disguised as girl talk.  Actually, I think we have similar image issues.  We obsess over the imperfect details--our own details--and trust that's all anyone sees.  To have a positive impact on your body image I believe in a two-step process--accepting yourself and dressing the body you currently have.

In January when I noticed my extra pounds I took another look at myself and my routines.  My  fashion attitude had taken a turn towards comfy sweats.  It may sound trite but I had let things go.  During the holiday break I wore roomy sweaters and baggy jeans.  I skipped hairstyling and makeup.  It was time for a pick-me-up.  The internal shift towards acceptance is gradual--but it gets a boost from taking care of your outward appearance.

Feet hide from view in winter boots and cozy socks.  Why not do something just for me?  My first step-- a pedicure.  Even if I'm the only one who will see my pretty toes.  When Valentine's Day rolled around I wondered how to do something sweet for myself.  I made an afternoon date at the Nordstrom cosmetics department where I had a Bobbi Brown makeover and tried a new perfume--Grapefruit by Jo Malone.  In a few hours I looked and felt delicious and it didn't cost me a dime!

Next, the clothes.  For me, clothes are creative expression.  They reflect my mood, my sensibility, my whimsy.  Putting them together is a little art, a little technique and a little more disguise.  I'm a huge fan of makeover shows like "What Not to Wear" and I have been for years.  I love to see the positive and empowering transformations.  Their advice "dress the body you have,"  is repeated on every episode.   My current favorite resource to dress the body you have is the blog and so much more, YouLookFab.  On this excellent website you'll find body type guidelines, style advice and a welcoming, supportive forum.  Using YLF tools I went back through my closet to find the clothes that worked together and followed rules for my body type while making me feel my absolute best. 

Newly accepting and freshly adorned I'm back to myself again, inside and out.  And feeling confident allows me to support my gal pals too.  Next time I see my friend I'm going to tell her to go shopping--because she would rock a pair of white, skinny jeans!

I stood up and walked across the room.  "I sure do like to look at you,"  said my husband with a smile on his face.  Did I say thank you?  No.  I made a face.  "I look terrible,"  I protested.  No make-up.  No shower.  Still wearing filthy clothes for walking the dogs and working in the yard.  Not only did I reject the compliment, I felt irritated.  "Well, I still like to look at you."  Does he see something I don't?

My weight had been creeping up since January and I felt self-conscious.  I started the year off on the wrong foot as far as forgiveness goes. Proud of a minimal holiday weight gain, I had resolved to start right in on a diet and exercise plan January 2nd.  Well, my normally foolproof system didn't work this time around.  After a couple of weeks I was holding tight to a couple of pounds.  But I had let go of my resolve. 

I decided to let my weight be for a while and redirect my focus.  Since my unsuccessful diet attempt I had spent a few weeks in a serious funk.  I wanted to make a change--what about accepting myself the way I was?  Accepting that winter might add a few pounds.  Accepting that I may have to explore another way to shed weight.  Accepting that the timing wasn't right.  And so I turned to my morning pages.  I started every day by writing the words--accept yourself.  My mantra.  A persistent reminder to be gentle.

Well, that's easier said than done when your jeans are cutting into your waist.  March's gorgeous weather finally had me running again.  On the other hand, March's celebrations had me eating birthday cupcakes and an insidious deep fried Twinkie.  Two pounds grew to 6.  I stuck with my mantra through the sweets and the celebrations, the sweat and the pavement.  And by the time April rolled around I was absorbing the change.  Buoyed by physical exercise and positive reinforcement I finally felt ready to shed the weight.

A month later exercise is working.  A healthy diet is working.  Accepting myself?  I'm working on it.  Accepting compliments in spite of my perceived appearance could be a new mantra.   Yet...this is still a challenge for me.   I wonder how much more accepting I would feel if I saw myself through my husband's eyes?