What Touches Your Heart
I am feeling open and vulnerable, I am feeling sad and lonely. My uncle died today.
My uncle dying is one of the things that touches my heart. Uncle Mickey was a generous, kind and gentle man. He would give of himself, his time, his money, his sweat, without thinking about it. How many people are that generous? Mickey was a pure and kind soul. He tried so hard and achieved much, but I know some of his faults and love him all the more for them.
The Man Was Not A Great Photographer
Uncle Mickey took pictures of my aunt's wedding back in 1962. He double exposed the film, and whenever we watched the wedding on the projector, we also saw baby ducklings running across the wedding party. That was Uncle Mickey, he must have forgotten to change the film from his last visit to the lake. I am a bit like him, for when I take photographs I often find I have a finger on my pictures. I am not the photographer in the family, that designation goes to my two sisters.
But He Was So Many Other Wonderful Things
I am thinking back to childhood days when my family would visit Uncle Mickey at his shore home. His boat was named for my cousin, my sister and for me, the 3 J's. He would take us out on the bay, and we felt as if we were flying over the water. It was like magic, and even though I know the magic isn't really gone, in this moment it feels like it is.
Like most families, as time passes and our individual families grow, we don't see each other as much as we used to. Uncle Mickey used to live in the same town as I do, but many years ago he moved about an hour away to a shore community. I didn't get to see him as much after that. He was retired, I was and still am working...it seems I am always busy, but not much gets accomplished...life is getting away from me and it seems everyone I know feels that way too. We rush and run and get no where for our efforts, and aren't sure how or why.
My mother died last year, she had been ill and bed-ridden for a year and a half. Uncle Mickey and his family came up to visit weekly during that time, God bless them. What joy that gave to my mother and what a break it gave to us, her caretakers.
The Hardest Christmas Ever
The Long Ride Home
I remember the winter and spring months when I was 11. My father had a new job and we had to relocate from our hometown in N.J. to Pennsylvania in June. My father died six months later on Christmas Day. We were over an hour away from my mother's family. In those days an hour away was like traveling from NY to North Carolina in today's terms. It wasn't a journey taken lightly or often. My mother wanted to be near her family, so most weekends we would travel by bus to stay with her family...my mother had never learned to drive a car. The brand new Impala sat in the Pennsylvania drive way while a neighbor kindly drove the widow and her brood to the bus station in town. My mother and four children would get on the bus and ride down that highway to home and family. That highway looked so much bigger then.
We would get off the bus at a pizza parlor in Hillside, N.J. on Route 22. Most weeks it was Uncle Mickey who was waiting to pick us up. I got to stay at his house during those weekend visits. I am sure I had more fun then my siblings who stayed with other relatives, and that was because he was there.
EEWWW What Are You Doing To That Egg
I remember Easter that year. I was staying with Uncle Mickey, and he showed me how he "blew" eggs and then worked his magic on them. He was so talented in the art of Pysanky...Ukrainian egg dying. His eggs were the most beautiful things I had ever seen with their intricate designs and vibrant colors. He performed magic with wax, dyes and a stylus. He made it look easy.
He was wounded in WW2, an old injury and thank goodness, not a life threatening one, but as he aged we heard more and more about it. I wonder if that's a sign of death coming, those stories that sound like ramblings from an older person. Perhaps they sense something we don't and want their story heard, those good old glory day stories.
I listened, absently, time and time again. But because my mind was in other places, rather than sitting and listening to him, I can't tell you what actually happened. I will be sure to ask my cousin when I see him at the funeral. I regret not having listened to that old war story when I had the chance.
How many times will that regret have to fall upon me in my life. If only, I should have, I could have...I know, I'm only human. I'm not beating myself up, just wishing I could change it and I know I can't. Hind sight is so perfectly clear...Damn it!
Now You Know
So now you know how I have come to write a lens called "What Touches Your Heart"...I did not realize this lens coming at all. I was actually surprised when this title wasn't taken already, as so many seemingly good ones are on Squidoo. This must be what automatic writing feels like, because like a fountain on full blast, words, like water, are just pouring out of me. I guess I write best when I'm feeling a bit broken.
What Touches Your Heart?
Here are some things that touch mine.
My grandson's smile touches my heart.
I think puppies smell like shredded wheat cereal and that smell touches my heart. And so does their softness.
Some white German Shepherd puppies who live in another state and are up for adoption on Echo Dogs touch my heart. They have a condition known as Megaesophogus. It's a life long condition and a serious one. I would like to adopt one of these pups, but cannot subject myself to a future of medical emergencies and expenses that will come along with owning one. My heart is still fragile from the loss of my white Shepherd who went over the Rainbow Bridge just a few weeks ago. I'm sure those still raw emotions are a big part of this lens, but I haven't been able to "go there" yet. He was my friend for over twelve years and I miss him dearly.
To move on with my list...
A new baby's cry touches my heart and the way they smell does. Baby's, like puppies, have a distinct aroma to them and it's so wonderfully comforting.
A beautiful moon touches my heart, like the blue one that visited us all the other night.
The Aurora Borealis touches my heart, and if I have a bucket list seeing those lights is absolutely on it. I love a picture I have of those lights. The Aurora is a vibrant shade of reds and I just happened to look at it earlier this evening. I had to look again and then once more. I thought it was moving even though it is a photograph. Tell me what you think, I've posted it here for you to see.
Does It Look As If It Moved When You Looked At It?
Tug, Tug, Tug
How Can You Be Sad And Joyous At The Same Time
A new lover, or an old one, both touch my heart. Even if the relationship ended badly, there is always something about love that doesn't leave and can't be destroyed.
There are other phrases for things that touch your heart. Some people call it a tug on my heart strings, and that's the only one I can think of right now, tho' I'm sure there are more. Help me out if you can, tell me the expressions you think of.
What ever else it's called, there's a joy there, even at the sad times. There's a joy there because My Heart Was Touched. It's the one feeling that makes us humans perfect. That special moment, that feeling, when all is warm and fuzzy and your heart is open to the universe and all that's good. Even when the smile is fleeting because there's a sadness behind it. Even when Uncle Mickey is gone, he will always have a home in my heart.
I didn't mention my aunt and cousins in this lens, but they were there all those times with my uncle. This lens, however, is for him and it's for me. So I'll talk about them some other time.