AN UPDATE AND SOME LOVELY MEMORIES
Well, I finally got to meet Barbara from Find Me Home/Money Follows the Person when she visited with me yesterday. We had spoken on the phone a few times. My intention is to finally leave here and live independently again. Our social worker brought her by and introduced her to me. She provided me with LOTS of information, which is a bit daunting at this point. And I have to wait for approval. As it turns out I only have one year to find housing, so all those places I had called for information, and who said they had a waiting list more than one year are not going to be within my search.
Am I nervous? Just a bit daunted? Well, of course. This is just one more new thing for me to do. I've certainly made so many changes in my life already, more than most people probably. So that means I'm versatile, and that's a good thing. I'm also persistent, or what my mom used to call "just plain stubborn". True. Like the famed Missouri Mule, I am stubborn. And kind of proud of it. Frankly I have been through so many difficult things in my life, including childhood sexual abuse,which meant years of therapy with many different therapists of various kinds. I've even done past life regression, for which some would think me rather odd.
But it was interesting and eye-opening. I worked with a true therapist, not some kooky fortune teller. He was a kind man, a respected man and knew the author of the book LIFE AFTER LIFE - Brian Weiss - a St. Louis native and a psychotherapist of good standing.
I also worked in a store years ago that employed clairvoyants. The owner was a very kind man, for whom I worked part time. So, yes, my background is varied and colorful. My life has not had all that many dull moments. Probably the "tamest" I've ever been is living the in the current nursing home. I work out in the gym, I draw and write and blog and spend time in prayer and meditation. I have made drawings for lots of the residents and for those who work here. They are not usual artwork, though I've done that as well, especially back in the nineties when I was a volunteer and drew for the horticulturists in the Japanese Garden of the Missouri Botanical Garden.
I haven't been there in years. Last winter a friend from church took me. The Christmas decorations were still up, and there were so many wonderful additions since I had last been there. It was fascinating and beautiful. The Gateway Center is totally overhauled with many more attractions within.
All those years before, the horticultural staff liked my work because it followed the pattern of Koichi Kawana, who was the original designer of the Japanese Garden back in the seventies when the Japanese Garden was originally created. I still have that portfolio with Sumi Ink drawings, and some in pencil and charcoal.
I used to spend much time there because it was close to the apartment I lived in, which had very little yard space. I became good friends with Greg, a horticulturist who helped take care of Teahouse Island. He allowed me to spend time there. Normally, it was off limits except for every August during The Japanese Festival. This was a very interesting eight years back in the eighties.
Greg was so handsome. I would have liked to have a relationship with him. That never developed, but we remained good friends. We spoke often about our spiritual beliefs and how that blended with the beauty and "sacredness " of the Japanese Garden. My mom visited one day when I was there drawing. Even she thought he was as handsome as Rock Hudson.
My mom was an amazing woman. We had had our issues in childhood, but as adults we were best friends. When she died the Sunday after Thanksgiving in 2005, I felt like I had lost my best friend. I remember everyone else had left and I remained behind to wait for the funeral home to come and pick up her body. The nurses came in. They were so kind to my mom and to me whenever I visited her. I remember them gently warning me that when they deflated the mattress she was lying on, it might look like she was still breathing. That really didn't alarm me. I sat next to her holding her still warm hnd until the gentleman from te funeral parlor came to pick up her body. Those extra, last moments with her meant everything to me.
My mom loved roses, which is probably where my love of roses comes from. Our long narrow backyard bloomed with rosebushes and lilacs ... lilacs all across the back yard, down the side yard and almost to the street. I used to watch her work in the garden and sit outside, and use twigs to build "houses" in the grass. It was so much fun. I even had a tent at one time, and a little playhouse my dad had built. The property had been an orchard many years before, so there were still peach trees and grape vines. The grapes were the sour kind used to make wine.
There was one unusual but amazing incident that happened in 1984 when I was dating a guy whose parents had this huge house in Kirkwood. I was sleeping in the downstairs bedroom. I had been sick all night after stopping at McDonald's to have a hamburger the night before, after one of his graduate classes at Maryville College. I was terribly ill that night. He was not. I couldn't go to work the next morning, so I stayed in bed. It was quiet down there in that little bedroom. At about 9 am I was dozing on and off, finally feeling better. Suddenly, though I had my eyes closed, I felt someone kiss my forehead and pull the covers up to my chin. I knew it was my mom, and I knew I was not dreaming or hallucinating. I'll never forget that beautiful moment for as long as I live.