A Year of Less~ I hope

A couple of months ago I came across a book at Barnes&Noble, called The Year Of Less.  As I read the description on the dust jacket, it immediately struck a chord with me. The author had self-imposed a shopping ban on herself and then wrote about it on her blog.  Her blog eventually turned into a book.   I looked at the book couple of times before I actually bought it.  When I started reading it I couldn’t put it down.  29177450_10216074812609463_1469652574056390359_n

It helped me along with a goal I’d already been forming in my mind.  Needing to get control of my spending as well as my belongings and immediate surroundings, I had been slowly trying to organize and clean out things I no longer used, as well as get a handle on all the things I already owned so I would know for sure if there were any things I actually needed (this is especially applicable to clothing as many women know!).  As I  began to work through all of my stuff,  it created some anxiety in me as I realized how many things I had bought on impulse and for the wrong reasons.  I had indulged way too often in “retail therapy” and the results were not pretty.

Life has been stressful for a long time.  Life can be stressful for everybody at one time or another, but this major stress in my life has lasted over a decade now, with a lot of upheavals and dramatic incidents.  Very intense trials have sprung from my son’s autism and its accompanying medical issues and difficult, sometimes dangerous behaviors.  As anyone dealing with autism knows, these ongoing stresses can take a toll on your closest relationships.  It’s been that way with me.  Often feeling I had no one to turn to, I would take myself out for a break which usually involved spending money.  Sometimes I could afford to do this but many times I really couldn’t.   Most of the time when I’d shop it would be an attempt to cheer myself up, however temporarily.  And going out and getting something I wanted gave me a false sense of control and power over my life.  Even now that I am aware of this it is still a challenge not to fall back on this comfort-seeking behavior, behavior that does not serve me in the long run.  Old habits die hard.

There are so many reality shows on tv now about our material possessions, like Hoarders on the more extreme end of the spectrum, as well as others like Storage Wars about clutter control.  Seems no matter what people’s economic circumstances are, many of us are overwhelmed with things.  I am far from alone in my struggles with stuff.  But even though I know that it still bugs me that I have found so much false security in things.  And it bugs me even more that it can be so hard to break free of the anxiety that can cause us to feel a false need to accumulate, despite already being overwhelmed with too much stuff to manage.   I suppose all of the advertising we are constantly bombarded with through all types of media is partly to blame.  We have complete control over our choices but it’s hard to resist constant messages that tell us everybody has this or that, and how happy we will be if we have it too.

I have found that too often, happiness that is connected to something we just bought is very short-lived.  Most people are familiar with buyers’ remorse, the regret over having spent money on something (often an impulse buy) and then wishing we hadn’t.

This book is not something I regret buying for myself and in fact, I plan to read it again.  This is one purchase that actually has empowered me and given me hope that I am not alone in this struggle and yes there are ways to overcome it.  I recommend this book highly!  It applies to much more than shopping.  The author touches on her past struggles with drinking and indulging in unhealthy sexual relationships.  Shopping was just another type of addictive behavior.  You might find that if you zone in on one bad habit, another one can pop up and you feel like you are in a never-ending game of Whack-A-Mole!  That’s because so many bad habits we find ourselves trapped in often have the same root. Until you recognize that root, the behavior will pop up in another area of your life.

I hope to write again soon about the progress that I am making. Because I am actually making progress, slowly but surely.  For once I am working on a bad habit with some knowledge of why I have done it in the first place.  That’s a good place to start.   I don’t want to give up this time.  Even if progress is slow it still has value.  And I am already learning some things about myself, about materialism, about life, just from beginning this process of changing some habits.

There is a verse in the bible that says, “Do not despise the day of small beginnings.”  I remind myself of these words often since I have a tendency to get discouraged.  Every one of us can be assured of a harvest (of whatever we are trying to get to grow in our lives!) as long as we don’t give up.





If you’re weak…. carry it yourself

Things have been tough lately.  But I am learning something in all of this stress.

A month ago I injured my back, or rather re-injured it, reigniting a long standing problem.   I know it can be boring to listen to people complain about their ailments, but I am getting to a point here, honest!

I’ve been wearing a back brace on days I need it.  The doctor who prescribed it  cautioned me to wear it no longer than 4 hours a day.  I can see why,  now that I’ve had it for awhile.

When I first put it on, it feels great….my back is held up by something other than my own tired muscles.  I get a bit of a rest.

But when I take it off, I feel so weak.  And when I am wearing it I can’t really breathe.

This is why God does not carry things For us….if He did we would only get weaker.

He carries things With us.  He is under the weight of our crosses right beside us as We carry them.  And we gradually, almost imperceptibly get stronger.

A lyric from a song I like comes to mind….”these arms go weak, if they don’t push and pull and struggle.”  We humans often wish for a stress free life.  But as science has discovered, some stress is necessary for us to grow, to live.  The trick is not let it bury us, and for me the big learning curve is to face it without being afraid of it.  Fear dries up  energy and makes us timid.  But we are stronger than we think.  It’s okay to have a brace now and then, to give ourselves a rest.  But then we have to pick it up and go a little farther down the road.  One day at a time.

“He could hold out His hand and bring peace to the sea / He could even dry every tear from your eyes

But you know these arms go weak if they don’t push and pull and struggle, with the body with the mind and the soul

Maybe God’s plan to get this rock off my back/ Is to help me pull some brother, some brother from the hole”

Climb On Up~  Wayne Watson

Mother of Our Sorrows

There is a title given to Mary called Our Lady of Sorrows.  The image depicting this title is one of Mary with tears streaming down her face, her heart exposed and pierced by seven swords.  Each sword represents one of the more prominent sorrows she experienced as she lived out her most high calling of being the Mother of Christ.

She was the most blessed and gifted human being that has ever lived.  I say “was” but she still lives in heaven, interceding for people everywhere.   Yet despite being the most blessed one, she also suffered the most of any other created person.  And in this suffering she can identify completely with the pain and sorrow we go through as we each make our own journey through this world.  I have thought a lot about Mary’s sorrows lately.  She had a perfect union with her child, her Son.  The Son of God.  It doesn’t get any better than that.  But the better the blessing, the deeper the pain when it is lost.  She endured as Jesus endured His mock trial and crucifixion.  Her heart broke as any mother’s would.  She would have taken His place if she could have.    Most of us can identify with wishing we could take the pain that a loved one is suffering and carry it for them ourselves.

This past weekend, in the days right before Christmas, on my son’s birthday, I learned he has very likely been sexually abused.    During a physical check up my son’s behavior concerned our doctor very much.  He expressed concern that someone has been abusing him at the group home he’s been living at for the past several months.  As I have written about before on this blog, my boy has autism.  He had been placed in a group setting because of outbursts that have often been dangerous.  It is ironic that he was placed in that residence for safety….yet now his safety has been severely compromised by that same residence.

I had been struggling from the beginning to accept this new way of life for him and for me.  It is very hard to accept that you cannot be the primary caregiver of your own child.  I visited the home as often as I could, and had in fact registered some complaints very soon after my son moved in there.  I was disturbed by things I witnessed.   Meetings were held and staff were disciplined. But apparently it was not enough.  Nothing I had witnessed hinted at sexual abuse, but there were other concerning issues.  After several meetings I was assured by management that things were now in hand.   And when I visited my boy, the staff seemed to be carrying things out well and treating all of the house residents cheerfully.  Of course, even the manager told me he realized no one’s going to be slacking when either of us were around.

Many homes like this, too many, have very high turnover rates.  The work is demanding and the pay is low.  Because of this revolving door of workers  I know it could be difficult for us to determine who it was that molested my child.

A lot of residential facilities of all types have to hire per diem workers to fill in staffing gaps. The problem is no one really gets to know these temporary employees.   In the past I have worked at a nursing home and also an assisted living facility.  It disturbed me to see the sloppy care that residents often received.  As anyone in the nursing and caregiving professions can tell you, a big part of the problem is too many people are assigned to individual workers.  I myself usually had ten or more people to care for in each shift.  I was admonished for not being finished on time most nights, but I didn’t care.  I was going to stay late if that’s what it took for my residents to get cared for properly.

Many times a resident would complain to me that they had to wait too long to simply be put to bed at night.  I didn’t mind their complaints, I truly didn’t.  I heartily agreed with them, and always told them to let their family members know their complaints during their visits.  Considering the very high amounts people pay to be in these places, it is just obscene that they do not get what they have paid for.  Management companies rake in the bucks while paying low wages, often employing as few staff as possible  and the patients and residents suffer.

I don’t blame God for my child being molested.  None of us are robots and He does not control our behavior.  He’s given most of us common sense.  With the highly charged sexual climate that has enveloped this world, no one is surprised to hear stories like this.  I don’t blame God but what I do blame is greed.   What I do blame is lust.  I blame selfishness.  I  blame complacency.  What I do blame are agencies like the residence my son was living in for tolerating poor staff performance and dismissing parental concerns.  When I worked at the nursing facilities there were always certain families that some of the staff would complain about…you know, the families that actually showed up and cared and made noise when they saw their loved one was not being properly cared for.   But light is never welcomed by ones who’d rather keep things in the dark. For too many such facilities, the bottom line and the profits of the owners are the most important things.  I am not a cynical person by nature but this is becoming more and more obvious to me as time goes on.

Guess what……God, the one so many people want to blame when things go wrong….God is on our side.  Mary stands beside the victims.  Her Son was One.  He endured willingly for all the victims who have had no choice in their suffering.  He chose.  And Mary chose right alongside Him.  Their hearts were broken and they remember.  And they hear us.  In fact the very day I found out about my son’s situation, I can  honestly say I had felt a strong impression from God, telling me He was providing for my boy and that He would take care of us.  It was almost without words but the ‘message’ was clear.   It seemed to come from out of nowhere and I didn’t know what this meant.  But within an hour, I knew.  I had been upset that we had to go to the doctor that day, frustrated that we couldn’t seem to find out what was wrong. Since my boy has had many health issues I chalked up his outbursts to physical illness.  It took a more objective eye to see what was going on this time.  Thank God for that doctor visit.

Our Lady of Sorrows is the Mother of OUR sorrows.    She knows what it is to not be able to stop the suffering of her child.   And I am so thankful to God that my son’s pain has been discovered, and I am thankful to know He saw it all and is with us still.  He’s with you in your pain and He is on the side of those who fight for victims.  He is on our side.

Grateful for Confession

I went to Confession this afternoon.  It reminded me, as it always does, how very thankful I feel to be able to do this.  I’ve been a Catholic officially since 2006, but my journey started a few years before that.  As a protestant Christian I  was taught that confessing to a priest was not necessary and that it was an ’empty ritual.’  But I learned that this is truly a grace and gift from God to us.

The first time I ever went to confession was a Saturday afternoon, not long after I had received my first Communion.  To be honest I almost didn’t go through with it.  As I walked up the steps of the church that day I had a fight or flight moment when I almost turned around and went home!  I had some things to confess that I was particularly dreading.   Once I was in the confessional though the priest quickly put me at ease.  And since he was an older man, he assured me that he’d heard pretty much everything over the years, and that because of his advanced age he would forget what people told him.   I appreciated this reassurance.  So yes, I spilled my guts as best as I could.

I did feel lighter as I drove home that day.  I did not expect to feel or experience anything other than the gladness of knowing I was fully forgiven, and relief that it was over!  But after a few minutes I became aware of something occurring inside.  It came on gradually and then was very strong and clear.  I can honestly say that in my heart, my soul / spirit, from deep in the middle of my body I physically felt like a baby that was brand new. I don’t know how to put it into words other than to describe it this way….I felt like a newborn child.  This surprised me so much and brought me to tears of joy in the car.  I will never forget those moments.

This meant a lot to me because becoming a catholic had been a battle for me all the way.  And I guess God knew I needed some evidence of the truth that His Grace IS present in the Sacrament of Confession and it is available almost anytime.  Yes He forgives us when we recognize our sin and confess it to Him, but it is a blessing and help to us to hear the words telling us we are forgiven.  It is a help to us to overcome our own pride, having to humble ourselves before God by actually naming our sin out loud to another human being.

As Catholics we believe this was instituted during the Last Supper….Jesus established the New Covenant in His blood, and at the same time established the new priesthood which would replace and fulfill the priesthood of the Old Covenant.  I had never seen this until I began my journey to the church but it was right there in scripture all the time.  I had begun this journey after Jesus had given me faith in His Presence in the Eucharist.  Once I saw this truth I was eager to know what else I had been mistaken about.  That’s another story for another day…..

For now, for this night, with Christmas arriving soon and Advent well under way, I am thankful for the gift of being able to go to Confession and clear my conscience.  I do not usually feel anything particular afterwards, there are not usually any signs.   But a peaceful heart is sign enough.

For anyone interested in learning about confession and the theology behind it, I recommend these resources very highly!


Image result for scott hahn confession


She’s Leaving Home

This time of year always reminds me of when I first gained independence as a teenager. At the age of 18 I was still living with my Dad and stepmother. It was a bad situation. Though I didn’t fully realize it until I was away, my stepmother was an alcoholic.   She had issues that for whatever reason were taken out on me and I was abused by her frequently.  One of her main drives was a strange need to control what I ate, and I was so nervous around her that I could not eat much of anything.    After meals I often had to run to the bathroom, convulsively  throwing up anything I had eaten in her presence as she glared at me across the table.  She herself was very thin, and during this time I unintentionally lost a good deal of weight because of the constant stress that living with her was causing me.   Apparently this set her against me even more as I was turning from a child into a young woman.  In her mind I was her enemy, even though I loved her and wanted her approval so much.  Acceptance and approval that would never come.

Mealtimes were a nightmare. I would sit and repeat to myself one scripture I had learned somewhere along the way…”I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”  It was like a calming mantra to help myself as I sat trembling at the table.  The situation with my stepmother was just insane.  One memorable evening she literally tried to stuff a dessert cake in my mouth, saying “eat the whole f…ing thing.”  In that moment my anger overcame my fear of her. I grabbed her wrist and said “NO.”  As I think back on this now I think that was the beginning of the end. She could not handle her whipping boy (girl)actually getting a spine.

But even then I truly saw no way out.  My last year of living in my parents’ house I was in college. College had always been a huge deal to my family, especially my Dad.  The thought of telling him I wanted to quit seemed more than impossible to me.  I was so afraid all the time and felt I could not go against their plan for me.  And I had nowhere to go, though I daydreamed often of calling a taxi and disappearing.

I love Jesus so much now,  I have for years, but at that time I had no idea who He was.  In those days I saw Jesus as a block between me and God….I guess this was because of the people who were a block between me and my dad.  My stepmother most of all.  But I cried out to God often without words. One night in particular I remember lying in bed sobbing, and all I could do was reach up through the dark of my room, reach up to heaven and asked, “Please help me, please help me.”

He heard and He answered.  Within a couple of days, miracles occurred.  A friend I’d known from my first year at school called me to tell me she was going to be renting a place for the 2nd year, and would I like to live with her?  I was amazed!

Second miracle…my dad came to my room one night to talk with me. This was a rare event. He sat beside me on my bed, put his arm around me and told me, “If you want to leave school so you can get that apartment I understand.  It’s okay.”   Looking back I know my stepmother wanted me out of the house.  So this was an out for them too….a graceful way to get me out without literally kicking me out.  Kicking me out was one thing Dad would Not do, though he didn’t stand up to her otherwise.   The few times he tried he had paid for it. I have learned this is the way narcissists and abusers work.  They keep everyone around them under their thumb and you suffer the consequences if you try to resist their control.

I. Was. AMAZED by both of these events, these doors that were suddenly opening to my freedom.    I called my friend the next day and told her YES I would live with her in that wonderful apartment.   One additional miracle was that when I asked my employer if they could use me full time they told me yes they could!!  Immediately!!  This was a job I had applied for repeatedly…working at a veterinary clinic that I had always loved when I was growing up.  I did quit school which was a relief.  Because of my stress at home I was not sleeping and was often in a fog through my classes.  Though I liked my courses I was not in a place where I could take full advantage of them and I was failing several.

Moving day came and  I never had to lift a finger.  My parents were so eager to get rid of me that they moved me during the day while I was at work.  They gave me bunches of household items, furniture, dishes, etc. that had been sitting in the basement since being replaced after my family had moved to a brand new house.  That day stays in my memory.  I always felt like the Israelites who had escaped Egypt. In the biblical narrative, the Egyptians had literally thrown jewels and valuables at the Jews as they began their great Exodus.  Watching The Ten Commandments on tv every year had ingrained that scene in my mind and now I was living it.  To be fair I am sure my Dad was glad to be able to set me up with what I needed for my first apartment.  And my being gone would restore some measure of peace to his house, which had been a war zone through no fault of his own.

She’s Leaving Home by the Beatles was a running soundtrack in my mind during my last pain filled months in my parents’ house.  It was my secret wish though I didn’t dare let anyone know.  Looking out the window this morning at the November weather, grey morning skies, some sun peeking through the autumn leaves, the song came back to me. It always does this time of year.

Not long ago two of my children moved away, to live with their oldest sister across the country.  I wonder if they would relate to this song.  Their time growing up here was not without struggles and sadly there was often a lot of upheaval and upset.  One of them especially suffered.  I won’t share that here because it’s his story to tell.

She’s Leaving Home is a sad and melancholy song. But it brings back memories of true deliverance for me and reminds me of God’s watching over me.  It helps me honor the child I was and the young adult I was becoming…helps me to be more gentle on my weaknesses and fears, and helps me process the losses and grief of those years.  It even helps me to forgive more deeply.  I hope this post might help anyone who is enduring any form of abuse.  It does not last forever.  If you have no way out that you can see, call an abuse hotline. They can point you towards resources in your area.  I pray you will reach out.


Autism~Aids to Healing

I am the mother of a child with autism. If you find yourself in a similar situation, be open to the possibility that your child has physical illness contributing to what are commonly known as “autistic behaviors.”

My son first received a diagnosis of autism shortly after he turned four years old. Our pediatrician had recommended speech therapy since he was not talking much at all. Once he began receiving this therapy, it quickly became evident to the teachers that there was more going on with my boy than just speech delay. Further inquiry was made and we were given the diagnosis of autism.

He did not show many of the more problematic behaviors associated with autism until about 3 years later, which I have since learned is common. Autistic behavior problems often kick up when the child turns 7 or 8 years old. This was the case with us. (and they frequently go into overdrive at the onset of puberty. Hormone changes, etc are no different for autistic kids than they are for others. ) My boy became violent at times, especially when not feeling well. It took a long time for me to make the connection between his violent tantrums and what he had eaten. For example, I would give him spaghetti for lunch and he would begin a huge meltdown within minutes of finishing his meal. Literally screaming, crying and kicking on the floor. Needless to say this was very distressing. We tried going gluten free and found that after several weeks of stricly following a GF eating plan, his tantrums greatly diminished. When our doctor recommended having my son tested for allergies, we learned that even though he did not technically test as allergic to wheat, the gluten in the wheat drastically affected his brain chemistry. Our allergist and pediatrician supported our use of a strictly gluten free diet for him. It is essential for our son. Gluten is not found only in wheat but several other grains as well. And we were surprised to learn in all of our label reading at the grocery store, wheat is added into many foods you would never suspect, such as tomato soup! It was and continues to be a learning experience!

As time has gone on I have discovered several more physical, illness related problems that contribute to my son’s behavior issues. I share this to encourage any parents who are at a loss on how to help their child’s problem behaviors. Things that are considered “autism behaviors” are Not just an issue of developmental delays and brain issues.

Dr. Michael Greenberg is a UCLA physician who has written extensively about autism and other developmental delays. In his book The Myth Of Autism, he makes the observation that it is not possible to have an epidemic of something that is purely mental/ developmental. The only source of an epidemic has to be physical illness related. Why there is such a dramatic increase in the number of children diagnosed with autism and other developmental challenges is still being studied and debated. But the component of physical illness is getting more and more attention which is a very good thing.

Another great source for learning about the physical basis of brain/ developmental issues is the book I Know You’re In There by Marcia Hinds. As the parent of a son with autism, she shares her family’s journey during which she discovered “Autism is medical and treatable!” I am finding this statement to be true. Not every autism patient may find complete healing and resulting ‘normalcy’ , however quality of life can be greatly increased! Looking at possible illness and pain issues in autistic children and adults can be a lifesaver. It is so important to consider these factors, especially for those who are low or non verbal, as they cannot express their pains to those around them.

One example….if your child is engaging in head banging, frequently squinting or closing their eyes, crying, pulling their hair and otherwise acting out, consider…the child could have a headache, even a migraine. And this can be brought on from being dehydrated or constipated. More and more gastroenterologists are finding that their patients who have autism frequently have stomach/ digestive system disorders. This is extremely common in autistic people. More and more the medical community as a whole is coming to the conclusion that many children and adults diagnosed as autistic have physical illness and pains, and that when the source of the illnesses are dealt with, the common ‘autistic behaviors’ are greatly reduced. Thsi makes life much more bearable and even enjoyable for the person with autism as well as the family who cares for them and loves them. I am so thankful that the knowledge that autism is not just a brain problem but a whole body system problem is becoming more widespread. Physical illness in our kids must be considered just as it would be for any neurotypical child that is in distress. This gives hope for the huge and growing community that is affected by autism.


Not Neurotic….Just Never Giving Up

Torn between wanting to write, and binge watching Parenthood on Netflix….

My youngest son has autism.  To say this has been life changing would be an understatement.  When my daughter introduced me to the television series Parenthood, it was about to begin its fourth season.  It had been recommended to me by a few people before then, because of the storyline about Max Braverman, a character who has asperger’s syndrome.  This part was perfectly performed by a young actor named Max Burkholder. I am sure both Max-es have a permanent special place in the hearts of many thousands of families.

At the time my son was 9 years old, and for the previous 2 years his difficulties had been increasing.  He would become violent at times, and it culminated one morning with him jumping out of the car while I was on the highway with him.  This was not something I ever thought he would do!  It never occurred to me that he would try this.

On this particular, eventful morning, my son had begun attending a specialized autism school (after having been basically kicked out of our local public school because they could not deal with his behaviors…understandably so)  and was about to complete a 45 day evaluation period.  On the day of the final meeting for the evaluation results, I was driving on a city highway, on the way to an appointment with yet another doctor.  My boy had fallen asleep in the back seat, and I had gotten lost.  When he woke up he was not happy to find us still driving around after over an hour on the road and he became more and more agitated.

Thankfully the traffic was slow moving,  bumper to bumper and we were beside a grassy area when he decided to make a run for it and jumped out into the grass.  As Mrs. McCarthy would say, “You can thank the Holy Angels” that he jumped onto the shoulder instead of the other direction, into the traffic!!!   I threw the car into park and ran to try to catch him.  Someone passing by must have alerted the police because they arrived quickly. By that time I had him back in the car but he was venting his pent up rage and pain on me.  As I held him and tried to calm him down, I was crying as much as he was.
This led to him being admitted for the first time to a children’s psychiatric care hospital. I had never been separated from my boy until then.  Though he had been through several hospital stays, I had always been able to be with him until he’d be home again.  I will never forget how he looked at me when I had to hug him and walk away, knowing he would not be home for awhile.  I have no way to know how much he understood of what was happening.

During the days home alone, I began watching Parenthood.  I think I watched 3 seasons in about a week or so.   Over and over again I would have to hit the pause button so I could cry.  Most every episode had me sobbing.  I could relate so much to everything and I loved the characters.   Of course I identified with Kristina Braverman most of all.  As the mother of Max, she was an untiring warrior on behalf of her son.

It surprised me when I read an opinion of someone online, that described  Kristina as neurotic.  I had never looked at her that way.  Which made me also look at myself……was I neurotic?  I thought I was just careful and persistent and protective.  Since my boy is very low verbal, I have made it my job to explain him to the world.  To be his advocate and protector.   Now that he is older and his aggressive episodes still happen, he lives at school most of the time. What a huge adjustment this has been.  I am sure I drove the house staff a little crazy during those first couple of months.    Letting go and having to trust other people to look after my boy has been extremely painful and difficult at times.  One of my older children suggested we describe his situation as being like Harry Potter living at school during the year.  Since he likes HP this has worked pretty well.

All of this to say……I didn’t know Kristina was neurotic.  To me she is simply a Hero Mom.  Here’s to all of us Hero Moms and Dads and siblings and caregivers who really truly love these precious people with autism (or any other mental and physical challenge).  If someone ever said I was like Kristina I would take it as a great compliment!!!

download (2)Teaching Max to dance.

The View From Kembleford

So how does one begin a blog?  Is there need for long explanatory paragraphs to introduce yourself?  I think I’ll just begin.

I live in a small New England town. As fall is fast approaching I find myself really appreciating this place in a new way. I’ve been here for almost 3 decades now, the longest I’ve ever lived in one place. It feels like home.

Being a fan of Father Brown, I’ve begun to think of this little town as my own version of Kembleford.  We even have our own St. Mary’s!  🙂  And to be honest, our priest, though he is still a young man, reminds me very much of Father Brown which I think is high praise.

The stage of life I have recently entered ….. adult children moving away…has made me reassess my life on a lot of levels.  They all grew up in this town, and moving away has for them been great adventure.  I was the opposite…moved a lot as a child and teenager and did not really stay anywhere until my first child was born.  I appreciate so much the feeling at home-ness that staying put can bring.  And though the years here have been far from perfect, and there are a lot of painful memories, there are also many, many good ones.

For those of you who are fellow New-Englanders (and even if you’re not!) you will appreciate the artist and author Susan Branch, who lives on Martha’s Vineyard. I only discovered her 3 years ago or so, and I love her take on the beauty of daily life.  She was a transplant from California who bought a little house on the Vineyard….”by accident” as she describes in her book “Martha’s Vineyard~Isle of Dreams.”    Isle of Dreams

I am currently on my third reading of it and it never fails to inspire me.

One aspect of the book that really speaks to me at this time in my life, is Susan’s description of her alone-ness on the island as she built a new life for herself.  I spent the past 20 plus years surrounded by family, and now I am often alone.  Though my nest is not completely empty, which I am very thankful for….it frequently feels too empty and too quiet.  Many women find themselves thrilled by all of their new found free time but for me so far it’s been a challenge to say the least.  A lot of tears, but at the same time I am proud of all of my kids and thankful they are independent and hard working.  In my sad moments though I am especially glad to have discovered Susan Branch’s book and I find myself looking through it sometimes, just leafing through my favorite parts without even necessarily reading them.  There are lots of photos and illustrations, and it is hand written which is one of Branch’s trademarks.  It feels comforting and like a friend. I have read it here at home, in hospital rooms, carried it with me in my car….I just love it.

During this most recent read through, I find I am connecting with my house in a new and unexpected way.  I am almost imbuing it with a personality.   Every house has its own personality, any decorator or true homebody will tell you.   But what I mean is I am beginning to think of this house like a friend. I have never had this experience before.   I suppose it could be a new and different form of gratitude.   It makes me feel sorry for the many times I complained about this place over the years…being over 100 years old there have naturally been a lot of repairs needed, and we still have some renovations to do.  I had wondered if I’d even want to live here once my children had all moved out.  Now I know I do want to stay. There’s so much of my own personal history here in this little house and in this town I love.

All of this leads me back to the title of this post and the name of my blog…..The View From Kembleford.  I am thankful to live in New England, thankful to be in a little ‘house of my own, out of the wind’s and the rain’s way.’  Thankful to have a dog and a cat to care for, and to greet me when I come home from work or wherever.  Thankful for the woods and rivers nearby, church steeples and church bells and falling leaves.  Even though my life has changed in some huge ways, most of which I did not want or plan for, I still have so much to be honestly grateful for.  Thank You God.  🙂  I love my own little Kembleford.  I hope as I get older I’ll be as spunky as Mrs. McCarthy and as gracious as Lady Felicia.  And I’ll always be thankful for the real Father Browns of this world..