Mary Etta Jones, click
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Blogs by Mary Etta Jones
it's me again 10/30/2009 4:41:05 AM
i guess you could call this an essay, an essay of the ramblings of an old woman always walking through memory lane. its just that my mind fills up sometimes with these memories and i need to put them down on paper and share, because a poem just isnt enough paper to fit all my ramblings. is that what happens to us when we try to get through the 60's and come to terms with suddenly being labled "old", "senior", "over the hill", are there more?
i feel age creeping up on me, behind my back, when i bend over to pick something up, my back rebels at the motion, if i kneel down, its harder to get back up. if i reach for something, my shoulder complains at the motion, trying to look behind me to see who is there, is denied, even my fingers trying to type put their two cents in. my body is sadly wearing out, yet this old mind of mine still thinks its 21, when life was just beginning for me, when my tall, dark, and handsome leutenant j g came waltzing into my life. now we creak around the corners, do a lot of dozing, fall asleep halfway through a movie, start yawning with every other word spoken. what happened to my j g???? worse yet what happened to me????
i'm afraid it's called old age creeping up. but even with old age lurking alongside my other dark moments in the recesses of my mind, my lighter side of mind is very active and, thank goodness, still sharp, sometimes it forgets, but again that's old age i'm told. oh well, cant stop that so i'll try another meandering.
while im sitting here typing my mind away, i'm also listening to my wolves in the background, visulizing i'm out in the woods by a babbling stream, my tent ready for me to retire, but till then, i'll sit here on my log, my small campfire saftely in front of me as i listen to the songs of the wolves, the occasional hoot of an owl, the crickets trying to keep up with everyone and then my other love, the loon sneaking its' mysterious call into the night. i revel at the serenity of my journey here, this journey of my mind, being one with the universe, the planet, the forest, the landscape and all the night creatures, now all i need to complete this picture is a real cabin in the woods away from the cities, away from people, away from the hurt and pain they cause, i wouldnt be lonely with all the creatures of the wild around. they would keep me company, id sit there watching them and they'd watch me from a distance wondering if this old woman was a threat to them, then after awhile they'd accept me as constant companion who just wants to enjoy their presence. i'm already there in my mind. i do have a very vivid imagination, guess that is why im a poet, but then we all have these imaginations, just some more than others, thats what makes us write i guess. we have to tell our stories that keep building up within our minds, mine never seem to shut down, i spend many nights just laying there not able to sleep as my mind wonders around inside my head, unaware that it's dark outside, that sometimes means sleep. i find that on those sleepless nights, i do most of my writing the next morning when things have finally sorted themselves out. does everyone else do that as well???? i wonder, but then i've always been different from others. even growning up i was different, looking into windows, watching the world go by, never participating, just observing and thinking, always thinking. they said i was shy, always withdrawn, but they could never see inside my head. the thoughts that were there, thoughts that were grown up, not a child's, always analyzing situations, seeing what others were too busy to see, feeling things they didnt understand or want to explain. so i just watched, and thought, and read my books, always hiding behind my books, they helped me get through the sleepless nights, no one understood that i was having problems sleeping, they just thought of me as a bookworm, but it was more, maybe they didnt want to know.
i spend a lot of time in my mind, thinking, sometime they are happy thoughts, othertimes they are sad thoughts, sometimes they are lonely thoughts, but they are my thoughts. and i do share them, wether they are wanted or not i still share them. writing helps me to unclog my mind so other thoughts can develop.
i have discovered that the more i open up to my writings the better i feel, my emotions are beginning to assert themselves, where they had hidden themselves while i was growing up, now alone i find myself becoming aware of them, course im not always alone, the love of my life shares my world with me, we are both somewhat of loners, kinda like wolves, hiding in the background, but within themselves they are very social animals and have thier own hiearcy, but they are loyal to each other, its only humans they avoid. i'm more like that than my love is, but we do like our solitude. even our sons are like that, social at times but loners. we have our special friends, but only a few and they are far away, at a distance, where i feel safe. yes, i think thats the whole problem there, feeling safe, i've had too many 'unsafe' situations in my life that has made me leary. my love, my sons, and some of my grandchildren make me feel safe, most people dont.
hmmm, i'm beginning to tread into uncharted territory here, this may be a good time to step down from my podium and retreat into my quiet world of thought, see what more trouble i can get into with my poems, there is, after all, one more night till halloween and then all the goblins come out of the closet, or is it the woodwork? no, i think it's the dark.....
