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Some things change a person. My world now, the one I currently wish to inhabit, has closed in a few degrees. An aperture akin to f/22, a tighter opening, a more focused vision on those things in my life that have greater meaning than the shallow, arbitrary, fleeting approval subject to the whims of, well, whatever and whoever is trending at the moment.

Doing, seeing, observing, walking, dancing, grooving, creating, laughing, reading, cooking, baking, savoring, contemplating.

Being.

These are the delights with which I wish to fill the hours of my days, not the eyestrain of a blinking, blinding computer screen.

Inspiration rather than exasperation. Exhilaration vs. mere existence. Living vs. dying.

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It’s difficult to imagine anything more beautiful, more invigorating, more uplifting than the glow of autumn-induced sunshine. Last week I walked through the woods at midday and was delighted with the dreamy, mellow light sifting through the trees and foliage. These benches here, haphazardly arranged in a small clearing, were soaking it all in. I was transfixed.

Today, during my lunch break, I took a short stroll around the neighborhood with a clear sky overhead and a mildly vigorous breeze. The air felt fantastic and the sun’s warming rays enveloped and caressed both my body and my mood. Truly, I did not want to go back inside. Oh, how retirement beckons!

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Sometimes I let the calendar guide me but normally the compulsion to switch out my closet is dictated by the change in the weather. Here in the Midwest we’ve experienced a warmer than usual summer with both heat and humidity appearing early on. From June through this past weekend, pleasant summer days have been few and far between. Of course, the calendar tells us that fall has officially arrived but you wouldn’t have known that with the muggy conditions here yesterday. All that has changed, however, and today’s weather felt noticeably more like fall.

And so, I began the process this afternoon of pulling out camisoles and sleeveless shells, capri pants and short-sleeved tops in pinks and lavendars, oranges, peaches, light blues, yellows and pale greens in addition to numerous white blouses and shirts used to accent the colorful pants and shorts worn during warmer, milder weather. I laid them all out carefully on the bed in the guest room, careful not wrinkle or crease items while I diverted my attention to the sweaters, fleece and quilted vests, long sleeve tee’s, jackets and wraps that have been patiently awaiting their moments to shine once again on glorious fall days, keeping me both warm and stylish as September yields to December and on into March.

With a practiced eye, I also used this time to cull the herd, removing items from my wardrobe and immediately placing them in an already formed pile in the back seat of the car, destination: Goodwill. Occasionally, I will grant a reprieve now and again and put something back in place with promises to myself that I really will wear this or that again this season, for a change. Sigh. We’ll see.

This time around my eyes drifted downward and I also viewed the assorted footwear taking up real estate in our closet and, after a few brave, no-looking-back decisions, I filled a bag with several pairs of boots and shoes and tossed them on the floor of the back seat alongside the clothing earmarked for recycling.

The ‘old’ season items are now all hung up in the guest room and put away and as I turned my attention to organizing my day-to-day closet, I carefully placed items by category – quilted vests and long-sleeve tops here, hooded sweatshirts there, fleece vests and jackets on the top, sweaters and heavier shirts on the bottom with footwear on the floor and shoe racks beneath it all. Later, I’ll attempt to organize clothing by color but I feel that’s enough for one day.

Progress was definitely made and I’m now ready for the new season, cooler temps, brisk fall weather and eventually, the wind and snow. Seasons change with spectacular regularity here in Iowa and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The ritual each fall and spring of moving wardrobes from one closet to the other is just part of the fun!

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“Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid?

It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen.” ~ Anne Lamott

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One of the photo groups I belong to on Facebook recently posted about an exhibit coming to the Des Moines Art Museum this fall called Finding Vivian Maier and a documentary of the same name on Netflix. After watching it – and being blown away! – I’m looking forward to the exhibit and have become motivated to explore street photography. Here are some B&W takes on just that in honor of my new photo inspiration. If you haven’t seen this film, do your Inner Muse a favor and check it out!

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One of my sisters, the second youngest of the six of us ‘girls’, has been living a mother’s nightmare for several years now. She and her elder daughter, on the cusp of her early twenties, are estranged. There is more than enough blame to go around on both sides. Mistakes were made. Tempers have flared. Things have gotten ugly. Matters are further hampered by her daughter’s father, my sister’s ex, who apparently delights in playing ‘good cop’ and who consistently fuels the fire in order to twist the knife in my sister’s back. This is not a good situation.

Nanette continues time and time again to reach out, only to be brutally rebuffed by Samantha who resorts to vile name-calling, kicking, shoving and other theatrics. My view, and that of many of us in the family, is that this is a ‘little girl’ who is callous, self-absorbed and mean-spirited in the extreme. She seems to revel in hurting – and disowning – her mother. It’s hard to watch the toll it’s taken on my sister who, as noted, has certainly contributed to the initial ill will between the two and who has acted in ways she wishes she could retract. I can relate as there are many things I wish I could do over in my relationship with my own son. It is, however, as they say, what it is.

The two went to counseling while Samantha was in high school (and had opted, in her early teens, to live with her father) but, obviously, to no avail.

Sam’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago. Nanette asked each of us girls, Samantha’s aunts, to call or text to wish her a happy birthday. She asked a local radio station to do so as well and dedicated a song to her. Today, my sister reported that the birthday card she sent to her daughter was returned, with postage due. It breaks my heart.

This post is out of the ordinary for me and I apologize in advance for the blatant plea for any kind of helpful recommendations that you, my readers, might be able to provide that I could pass along to help my sister deal with this.

For my part, I believe Nanette can feel good that she’s not given up and for trying to mend the rift but she can only do so much. If Sam doesn’t want to reciprocate, there is nothing my sister can do. I think it might be best for Nanette to accept – for now – that this is just the way it is and to hope that in time, her daughter will find her way back to her mother.