It’s a funny thing. No matter how long it’s been, since I’ve been here. I know that I can come back and find a neighborhood of loyal friends. The people in my life that are just there always supporting and showing up without an agenda, no matter what. The ones that don’t read me because I read their’s. They just are that unconditional handful of people that I can count on to be there. Though several have fallen off over the decade that I have been here. There is just this unspoken sense of unconditionalness (<<< I know, I know, that’s not a word!) But I can’t find anything else to describe it. And I just wanted to say that you guys are a gift! You pretty much know who YOU are. My peeps. My tribe. My friends. And I just wanted to say thank you.
Our blogs are a little like inviting people over. For a cup of coffee, a glass of ice tea or maybe a little Chardonnay, depending on the occasion. There is a familiar feeling of warmth when I pull up my page and begin to write. During this time, we have had so many interruptions poking into our lives that connecting here is like a lifeline. A soft place to fall, a safe place.
Maybe friendships are easier here because they are unconditional. Maybe because we are writers and readers and we have this uncanny connection that sets us apart. Or maybe even because we don’t hold each other accountable. I know that there are those that stopped reading my posts because I am not great at reading all the ones that I follow. I have tried to become more selective so that I can have more time to devote to supporting my fellow writers. But it is always fun to see someone pop back in, that I felt a deep kindred spirit with for a season, but for some reason, we lost touch. Those unconditional people that find you again. Those are the ones I call my tribe. You know the kind of friendships where you can come back to, months and even years later and start right back up where you left off, without missing a beat? Those are the ones I treasure the most! No guilt trips, just sliding back into the space you shared together. I love those kind of friends.
I think that especially during this time of sheltering and then watching the hate in the world slap us in the face, it is hard to not want to reach out and find that soft place to hold us tight. I find that place in my faith. But it’s also nice to have somewhere in the world that you belong. We are faceless friends, caring not about the color of our skin, or where we live, or our physical appearance, our wealth or lack of… We are all just souls bumping into each other and appreciating the words we write. Sometimes pouring from our hearts in such a way that leaves us naked. And at the same time, know we won’t be judged here. We are each other’s tribe. And I am so glad I have you ALL! Thank you for being there every time I write, I find you.
I am back! I feel as if I have been away on a long trip! Some of you have come along with me and faithfully stuck it out beside me the whole way and I am forever grateful!
For the others reading this…
I am Sorry that I took a powder for a while. I have been working on a project for my book. Some of you may have gone to my page and searched for Dear Journal Entry #1 and then followed as I have written a draft on here. Kindly offering to edit and read as I write. I have gained a wealth of knowledge from you all as you have offered different suggestions and even told me that you have cried in places! Which I know is the highest form of a compliment! A friend and published author http://dgkayewriter.com/ approached me last year with an idea. She suggested that I take some of the journals that I found and recreate them in my book in place of some of the chapters that I’d already written. Soooo I created another blog: http://kerisjournal.wordpress.com/
I am far from finished but… I’d love to hear your feedback!
There were times that I was signed on under Keri’s name and have wandered around your posts and comments and forgot where I was! I am not done and still have poetry to write on the other blog but for the most part I am back! And will try to get active here again! I have written here and there since I’ve been working on the other project and thank those of you who are still reading “here” but not as much as I would have liked. Anyway…. I Just wanted to explain!
This is my 100th post. The one I have talked about many times before. The one that is supposed to be the milestone that inspires me to finish my book I have had in waiting…. I thought that it would be the perfect post to…. honor somene who inspires me daily…
She was born March 3rd in 1934. My grandfather was a machinist and my grandma stayed at home, being a mom. My mom was the apple of her parent’s eye. Blonde and full of life.
When my mom was six years old, “polio” was a dreaded word, feared by all. There was an outbreak of it, right in their own neighborhood in Seattle. My grandma was especially careful trying to keep her little family far from any germs, staying away from public places and washing everything. One day her neighbor asked them to go on a picnic to the lake, explaining that they would stay far away from people. My grandma reluctantly agreed and as they were unpacking their lunch all the kids went exploring, and accidentally knocked down an old hornets nest. My mom was stung where ever her little sunsuit did not cover. They rushed her to the lake and placed mud all over her wounds. shortly after, she came down with polio. It could have been a number of things that led to her contracting the terrible disease. The stings, the mud, or the trip on the bus downtown a few days later when her resistance was low. Who knows. It doesn’t really matter now. (Though I will always be puzzled about why they went on a bus ride downtown, right smack in the middle of people~ with all those germs, but… Oh well…)
My mom on her way to school. (Her crutches are laying in the background)
The fact is that her life was changed forever. Her childhood was taken from her, the life she was meant to have was as well. And yet she learned to walk again where the doctors predicted a life of being paralized. She had horrendous surgeries, a bone taken from her leg, to straighten her back, a body cast for a year, and then later as she learned to walk again, cruel and clueless kids, stealing her crutches as she walked to school. And yet, she has fallen in love and been married twice in her lifetime.
I’ve always loved this one of my mom! She looks so happy as if her whole life was ahead of her!
She has been a successful artist and a wonderful mother. From an early age, she would sit me up on the counter and let me help… pouring in the ingredients and stirring it with a spoon, always remembering to let me smell the vanilla and stir up my own concoction of “something.” I am sure that is WHY I love to bake!… she has been a wonderful grandma and the best memory maker you could ever ask for!
One year my mom, found Winnie the Pooh (Always my favorite) blow up characters as party favors at my 8th birthday party! Every party she threw was more special than the year before. (She always out did herself!
She is in a lot of pain a lot of the time and I guess I never really understood much of it, until I got to an age when it was a little harder for me to get up in the morning and I began having the usual aches and pains that come with getting older. And I know, I only experience an inkling of a crumb of a speck of what she experiences daily and has for a long, long, time.
When I was younger, I hate to admit that I hated her polio stories. In fact, I’ve hated the number six all of my life because that was the age my mom got polio. I hated that she complained about her aches and pains and that she couldn’t do as much as I wanted her to. To attend my school functions and walk long distances. Funny, how selfish we are as kids. Now it is as if I have different glasses on, (I actually do! Recently having to finally give in to getting a REAL pair due to old age!) I can see more clearly. She is actually a hero for doing so much. She did art shows for years. With my dad’s help. And then ours, when I was able to drive. We all pitched in to help set her up and break down at her shows. My dad was so tickled as she obtained a following of faithful customers. She always made sure that we went to church every Sunday, even though my dad only would go on very special occassions… Easter mainly. Oh yeah and when I got baptized… smile.
Today, my mom has survived a lot. Polio was just the begining. My sister was in a horrific car accident and my mom would drive an hour a day to go see her. Sometimes twice. She did not give up when the doctors told her to not hold out too much hope. She prayed and talked to her, until she came out of her coma and worked with her until she was able to live a pretty normal life. A few years later, my dad died of a heart attack jogging around the block, she was the one who found him. When you add it all up, she has not had an easy life. And yet she has proven that she is who she is because of surviving it all. And she has survived.
The thing about my mom is she has always had faith. She always believed that God had a plan. She never gave up. After my dad died, she began reaching out to hurting people in way of cards that she wrote in the form of letters, adding different scripture verses that pertained to what each person was individually going through at the time. They say Elizabeth Barrett Browning is in our ancestory somewhere and I don’t doubt it~ and so we write. That’s just what we do. My mom does it, I do it, my daughter does it. It’s just in our blood!
A few years after my dad died, she reached out to an old childhood friend at my grandmother’s suggestion, with one of those letters right after his wife died. He ended up coming for a visit.
They have been happily married for almost three decades.
So you see, even though life handed her some big obstacles, she always rose above them and God blessed her for it. The lesson she has taught me and many others through out her life is that God is a God of MIRACLES and that nothing is too big for HIM. Not the opinion of a doctor or the diagnosis they may give, or the closing of a door. She has taught me that there is always a door to open somewhere, not too far down the road.
I don’t always tell her often enough but I am proud of her and she is one of my biggest heroes and best friends.
Stories about family, faith, friends and funnies. Pull up a chair. Grab a cup of coffee and laugh, cry, ponder and inspire about ordinary events of this wonderful, ever changing, bubbling pot that we call "every day life".