Messages From a Deep Past

Here's the deal. I ran across an old journal I haven't seen in years. I have no memory of this entry. This is what I read this morning, exactly as I journaled it so many years ago:

A visit from an old friend.

The following occurred as a dream in the early morning of June 18th, 1995.

I was walking down a street in a small town. Somehow I knew I was supposed to look for someone who would resemble my maternal Grandfather Hovaten both  in stature, and in his later years.

As I approached two elderly men it became clear that one of them held this resemblance. The other man stared at me for a moment, and then walked away.

I was then guided into a jewelry store.

The old man came forth from the back of the store and called me by my given name. He was small, slight of frame, with a wrinkled face and magical kind eyes, and a shock of white hair. I did not know him.

He said he was sent to me with messages. He said it was "his gig", laughing warmly. He said we had known each other many times in past lives. We have been reincarnated together.

I asked him what I should call him. Why didn't I ask him what his name was?

He thought for a long moment and then answered, "Stone".

A women came by and it was then that I knew his name was Allen, or Len, and also Miles. There was another name, too, but it is gone from my memory. The woman disappeared.

The old man, Stone, gave me a warm and loving hug. He then laughed again and said, "Well, at least this time they sent me in a size that fits." He was approximately my small size. I took that to me that he was often embodied as a very large person.

I remember he was still hugging me and I reached up and touched his sagging face. I was crying. Happy tears. His eyes were all knowing.

He produced a tray with dozens of pins on it. Not fine jewelry, but rather the kind you might find at a 'dimestore'. They were all small. Some, colorful. Some, religious. He told me to pick one I liked. I began looking through them, amused by some. They disappeared.

Here my dream is sketchy. I am certain he told me something, but I don't remember what it was.

He led me into a dark place and I am certain it was death, but I knew I was safe with him. Soon, and for several minutes, I was being cradled and rocked, even though I am my adult size.

The next and final event I remember clearly. Stone tells me he has one more important message for me. I hear his voice clear and strong, but he is no longer visible to me. He tells me, "Your mother is dying of loneliness."

I ask him what I am supposed to do, and he answers, "You are her daughter, she is your mother. You are her mother and she is your daughter."

That is it. He is gone without a goodbye.

I awake from the dream and my pillow is soaked with tears.


BACK TO TODAY'S POST:

I don't remember any of this, but I do believe that my subconscious did remember.
In 2001 my mother moved in with us. We had seven years before her passing in 2008. We believe that we provided her a safer, happier new lease on life.

Stone, I will wait for you. I'm sorry I forgot.

Ahemmm... what does this have to do with this blog on aging gracefully? I have no idea. Funny, though, that old Stone's skin used to fit.

A Journal for the Fifty-Plus that Didn't See it Coming!

A Fit Tip:

[Throw a fit or use my tip!]

Ripe avocado and yogurt is a fantastic moisturizing home facial masque, as verified by Beverly Hills plastic surgeon Andrew Ordon.  Mix it to a creamy consistency. Slather it on your face, neck and décolletage. Leave on for about 20-30 minutes.

If you’ve stumbled upon this blog, well, frankly, I’m not sure why. This is a personal diary for the fifty-plus.  I’ve had this blog reserved for over six months. I stole the name. From my mother. It was always going to be the title of her book.

Mom had the wit and humor of an Erma Bombeck. Rarely was her humor at the expense of others. Mostly, Mom just had a way of seeing the absurdity in life situations and the antics of us as the reactionary human beings we are.

My dad says if you wake up in the morning it beats the alternative, and if you beat the alternative you either ripe or you rot. I’m still wondering if I’m going to grow old gracefully or if I’ll be fighting it, kicking and screaming all the way.

What I do know is that I wouldn’t trade my 50+ years for any thirty year old. No way. My life is duplicitous, perhaps. It is now the giving up of ego while blazing a name for myself. A living and walking dichotomy.  While it is true my skin used to fit, I’m comfortable in my own skin.

I can’t think of a better time to launch. New year.  New cheer. And I had my Folgers Coffee Christmas moment, for Mom’s grandson, my son—moved down to live with us here in the Sonoran Desert.

I’m going with the idea that the 50+ is the new 30.  That’s a good start! And if you still need some inspiration, check out the 101 year old woman who gets up, dresses up, & shows up to work every day! http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/26184891/vp/40851943#40851943