Hair...........

Okay, not the best picture, my hair
looks a lot more grey due to the light
behind me, really I'm not that grey! 

This is a funny blog.....  well to me at least.  I just needed to record a milestone and this seems to be where I record those events. 

It has been a year now since I decided to allow my hair to grow out from the short easy cut I have worn since my children were small.  It was easy to have a wash and dry haircut when you live a very busy lifestyle. 

Then one day last August (2010)  I went to get another haircut and told my stylist that I wanted to grow my hair out, just shape it up for this change in length I would be going through.  I don't know what I was thinking, I just knew I wanted to grow my hair out.  When I announced this to my family, they all looked at me in disbelief, I have gotten used to that "look" from them.  This is not the first time I made an announcement they all thought was rather strange and out of character.  I share this with much laughter.

Now a year has passed.  Having only one little trim to even the sides to the back.  My hair is still thick and even a little wild, humidity does things to it that I have no control over.  It is now long enough to pull back, but I am having trouble with that look, I also think pigtails went out when I became a teenager..... I am also having trouble that there is so much grey in my once very dark hair. 

I wonder, what was I thinking, growing my hair out.  Now I look at pictures of myself with short hair and I don't know who that person is.  I have gotten used to seeing this longer hair.  I have this notion that I want it all one length, no bangs, no layers.  Now most of it is shoulder length, the sides are a little shorter.  A year of changes for me.

Funny things have happened in my evolution of dealing with my hair through the years.  When I was a small child, I remember having my hair tied up in "rags" when it was wet, when it dried and the ties were pulled out, I had Shirley Temple curls.  As a teen, I slept on rollers at night (the things we did to look beautiful).  In the 70's I had long hair until it was slowly trimmed shorter and shorter.  Electric rollers in the 80's and most recently the curling iron were my means of styling my hair. 

Now slowly I am going backwards in my styling, I have purchased rollers, I hate them.  I have new electric rollers and even the pink sponge rollers (almost like tying "rags" in my hair).  No one thing is making me happy, I again wonder when I will be finished with "this" stage of growing out, looking forward to much longer locks. 

I ponder the grey hair too, a sign of my maturity, a sign of wisdom (?), a sign of acceptance.........  I wish I knew.  As for coloring my grey........... I am afraid, what if it looks awful, do I really want to continue with coloring the grey roots?  There are always so many questions and no easy answers. 

I will tell you, I like having hair on my neck, it feels good to me.  I do like pulling it up on a hot day, I like it blowing in the breeze, even it it means getting messy and a little wild.  I do like knowing that it has been a year, I really survived a year of growing my hair out.  I think it is getting easier this growing out process.  I have no intention of going short after making it this far.
So, it is still growing.............  

Sunwatch, 2011

Sunwatch Flute and Art Festival 2011 is now one for the books.  I wanted to write about my work in the studio before the event, the projects that I felt needed to be finished before going to the gathering.  I wanted to share how much effort it is to go and set up a booth to do a three day show.  Trying to remember everything from chairs to ink pens. 

Linda, Leonard, and Cynthia 2011

Now it is over and all I can remember..... my friends who gathered at Sunwatch.  I am deep in the journey of a major withdrawal.  Three days of sharing space with other vendors who are my friends.  Three days of hearing the sweet sound of flute music drifting through the air.  Three days of shared hugs and smiles and stories and love.  Three days is not enough and yet I could do no more.  I am still trying to recover from all the emotional energy and spirit that was found in this little center of the world.

My heart longs to spend more time with our friend Leonard.  His journey with cancer has effected us all.  We came together this weekend to surround him with our love and support.  All the while he comforted us with his love and wise words.  Our hearts were one as we joined one another, we all felt it and we all want to have more and we all want give more. 

On Sunday we had to take down our booths, we had to go back to our lives and yet we are forever changed.  Our hearts have been expanded with love, we will never have these precious moments back.  I am so happy we were all there to share this moment in time and to share our hearts.  Sometimes the struggles are what pulls us together, making us stronger, giving us the hope and the faith we need to continue.

Our journeys will persevere, we have done our best, loved to the fullest and that is all we can do.  Until our paths cross again, I send my love to my flute friends who gathered at Sunwatch in 2011.

My Fathers Hands

Hands have been something that I've always found attractive about people, some people look at eyes, I look at hands.  Girls who have dainty pretty hands, with longs slender fingers and nicely shaped nails, they can wear pretty rings on both hands.  I always wanted hands that were pretty and girlish looking, it wasn't to be.

My hands are short, square and the knuckles are knobby.  They have been hard working hands, they've had callous from hanging on the monkey bars at school, blisters formed every new school year.  I was rather proud of those callouses on my palms.

There were other blisters acquired when helping move wire hay or straw bales in the hay mow each summer.  Or from hoeing weeds in my vegetable garden.  I am proud of my hands and the work they have done.  Dirty nails were not uncommon when digging around in the flower beds.  I never thought of them as pretty girls hands however.

My hands are softer now, maybe my spirit is too.  I don't have to prove my strength by the blisters on my palms.  My strength comes from other places now, more from my convictions in what is fair and just for all people.  My callouses are gone or maybe just unseen, those callouses are from learning life lessons the hard way.

My hands now take time to feel the cool stream water, to write a letter, to wipe away a tear or to even hold the hand of another, with love.  My hands enjoy picking up a paint brush or a carving tool for my next gourd project.  They are rarely blistered these days.  I wear rings of silver and turquoise on my short fingers and still admire people who can wear dainty little bands with pretty stones on both hands.

I often wondered where these hard working hands came from.  My Mothers hands are a different shape, though no less hard working.  Her fingers were longer and more tapered.  My sister has hands like our Mother.

Just recently I sat beside the hospital bed of my father.  I'd only just discovered this side of my family, I had not seen my father in over fifty years.  I sat while he was unconscious and on life support from his stroke, speaking to him, holding his hand and longing to know this stranger, to make some connection to tie us together as father and daughter.

Then before my very eyes, I noticed the hand I held and my heart nearly jumped out of my body!  My hands look just like my fathers hands!  I had my fathers hands!  It was an unexpected gift, a connection to this stranger, a connection to my father.  The question I had pondered all my life was answered that very moment. 

Later I sat with my brother Mike, I remarked about this little discovery.  Mike and I then compared our hands together, they too look the same, even our life lines are the same......   As we compared our hands, front and back, I found that I will no longer think of my hands as anything but beautiful, they are linked to my family, I am linked to my Dad and my brother and that is even more beautiful.

Ancestors

I love the forest trees high up on the ridge.
I'm in Hocking Hills, where the ancestors lived.

Hocking Hills

They surround me now, as I linger
Having my coffee, I try to remember.

Allowing myself to become a part of the sounds,
as I close my eyes and listen.

I hear the birds morning songs,
making known to the world they have risen.

Each leaf quietly moves with every gentle breath,
providing cover and shade for all to enjoy and become a guest.

The sun rises silently over the hill,
sending it's rays into secret places.

Can you see them hiding in the rocks and mosses,
the ancestors faces?

Cynthia McDonald   -    July 11, 2011

The Ancestors Gathered

So much has happened, keeping me away from the world of blogging.  My focus has been on family, the one that was never a part of my life.  I understand better now the reasons for this disconnect and know it is not my baggage, things happened long ago that really have nothing to do with me.  It is what it is and that is all.

Not knowing my birth Fathers family is loss to me and it can't be fixed.  I do know,  I would change nothing about my life.  My brother and I were in the care of a young and struggling mother, who provided the best possible care.  We grew up with an amazing step father, I looked at him as my Dad.  I honor them both, they are the reason I am who I am today.  I grew up learning to be responsible, independent, and strong, not so unlike my Mother and Dad who raised me, my brother and my sister. 

I look at my life as a wife and mother, I learned life skills well, I cooked, sewed for my family, I gardened, and love my family and to those around me.  As I journeyed through adulthood, running kids to school events, living on a farm with critters to care for and being involved in other outside activities, I didn't think often about the father I never knew, I was living my life.

I'm in my sixties now, the children grew up and are living their life with their children.  I know I have been blessed, our children are wonderful, they are also responsible, independent and strong.  They too are loving and caring, something I hope they learned before leaving home.  We have wonderful grandchildren that we see as often as every ones schedules will allow.  It is ALL good and amazing.

At this stage in my life, I began to wonder about my birth father and his family.  I didn't have much information, it seemed to be something "not talked about".  I feared asking, wanting not to hurt anyone, wanting not to show any disrespect.   I started doing a little searching.  It didn't take long, a door was opened and there was no way to close it, as information about my DeRemer ancestors tumbled out, the more I learned the more I wanted to know. 

Not only did I discover the ones who are no longer of this world.  I found the ones that are here now!  I spoke a couple times to my birth father by phone, it was not very rewarding, his hearing wasn't good and I am sure it was rather shocking to him to hear from me.  He had just turned 80 at the end of May.  I don't know exactly what I expected from this man that hadn't been in my life since I was small.  I do know that I longed for something, to be acknowledged, accepted and maybe even to know I was loved........  Doesn't everyone want that?

Maybe the greatest gift my father gave to me was the name and phone number of his oldest son from his second marriage.  I learned that I had a brother and I knew his name, calling him was another matter, my insecurities were showing.  How would he feel about me, did he know of me, what would he think?

My saving grace was contacting him on Facebook, no personal phone call, I could not handle that possible rejection, I could not think about how to talk to this stranger who was my brother........
Well, the rest is history, written about in an earlier blog, my heart has never been happier for meeting my brother Mike.

I know I am meandering a little and will now to get back to the Ancestors Gathering..... 

My brother Mike called me on July 16th to tell me our Dad, whom I haven't seen in more than 50 years, has had a stroke.  My logical brain said, "Okay, they are in Texas, I'm in Ohio, I may never get to hear my father speak to me, there is nothing I can do."  In a day my heart began to speak, even yelled at me, "You must go to Texas, now!".   Thankfully my brain listened to my heart and I called Mike to tell him I needed to come to Texas.  He ask me when I was coming....  I will be forever grateful for his response.

I was blessed to spend three days with my three Texas brothers, Mike, Mark and Mitch, at our Dad's bedside.  It was wonderful to see their tender loving way with our Dad.  I am so grateful by their acceptance and love they shared toward me.  The gifts of those three days cannot be measured, it changed my life, I will never be the same person I was before that trip to Texas. 

I left Texas with a heavy heart, I knew I had to come home.  My friend and I played flute prayers for my Ohio family and my Texas family the morning I left for Ohio.  With my eyes closed the tears streamed down my cheeks.  I saw the ancestors gathering, they were in a large group, looking toward my left, there was someone closer to the bottom of this "picture", I knew it to be the one helping our Dad make his journey into the spirit world.  Even though I did not "know" these people on earth, I knew my Aunt was helping and my Grandmother stood out in the crowd of ancestors, waiting to greet her son and our Dad with such joy.  Our Dad died on July 28, 2011.

Stephen Guy DeRemer  ~1931 - 2011~

Graveside services were held at Ft. Sam National Cemetery, in San Antonio, Texas on August 3, 2011.  Full military honors were performed that morning on August 3rd as the family gathered around. 


There is something about this little story, it is all about "Divine Timing".  Everything happened just as it was suppose to, everything came at the moment it was suppose to come, only to prepare the way for the next "moment".  It is only when it is over that we see all the connections, a big web, each strand important to last and the next.   My heart cries that it took so long and yet, I would have changed nothing.  The good and the bad of it all these events brings balance, acceptance and a heart filled with love.   I am grateful and blessed.

Empty Pasture

One by one they have left us,

     as they journey into the spirit land.

I hold in my hand, from your tail

     a braided strand. 

I long to see you again

     racing in the clouds.

Bucking, rolling, running

     head and tail held proud.

You've left my pasture of blooming clover

     for another place.
You have joined your trail buddies

     on the other side for yet another race.

I'm left behind with my pictures

     and many memories.

They will stir in my mind with

     the slightest of a breeze.

My horses grazed in their quiet pasture

     for years it seems.

They were contented here, in our barn

     and in the grasses green.

A time of rest, after years of work,

     they ambled along in the warm sun.

I loved to watch them scratch each others

     backs, kick and play and run.

They have left me now, Swift, Gypsy, Trudy, Feasty, Chance, Bones and Knipper,

     one by one.

As they journey to another place to

     have their eternal fun.

The pasture is empty now

     of my Equine friends.

Someday I'll find you and

     this pain in my heart will end.

I stand here now listening,

     in the distance I hear thunder.

Is it them joyfully running a race,

     I wonder........

                                                                        

I am waiting for something to happen

      with this braided strand of hair.

My pasture is empty of my best horse friends,

      I hope they know I still care.

                                                    Cynthia McDonald,       8-3-11

In memory of all my wonderful horses, who taught me life lessons along the way. 

Lessons in love, responsibility, freedom, travel and trust..............

Art Fair Mud

Rain has created paths of mud

     at the local Art and Garden Show.

The vendors put up their tents of white

     and hope people come in a steady flow.

The gates have opened and the people come,
     visitors with hats, umbrellas and raincoats in tow.

Cute little sandles adorn their feet

      as mud oozes between their toes.

Sundresses and tank tops, shorts and skimpy
      skirts too.
It is always the footwear that catches my eye, it's true
Getting real gooey as they slip and slide in the muddy glue.

Some shoes with sparkles and lovely colors,

     the flip flops are danty and cute.

Also seen are athletic shoes, clogs and even boots.

Painted toenails, ankle bracelets and toe rings,

     all adornments of beauty.

Tracking along the muddy path

     no matter how soupy.

Cynthia McDonald, my reflections after the rain at Lilyfest

July 9th, 2011