Finding Tracy

Snuggled deep within my comforter, I could feel the warmth of the morning sun lightly touching my face urging me to awake and embrace it’s lovely light. It’s honey tone hues were bouncing magically throughout my bedroom casting an ethereal glow all around me and I finally succumbed to its beckoning.

My better half had long since left for his Saturday shift at work, and my little pooch was sitting idly by the bed thumping his happy tail waiting for the moment his lazy mother would emerge to give him that much needed love that he craved each and every morning.

With a pitter patter of my feet on the cold hardwood floors, I wandered my way down to the living room and threw open the blinds to embrace the morning light. There in all its glory was life, simple and ample in my garden. From insects on their daily breakfast quest, to dragonflies swooping in and out of my bird bath, to hummingbirds diving at each other in a power struggle over the abundance of nectar that oozed from every corner of my flower filled yard.

I felt a peaceful solitude awash over me and in my never ending craziness of romanticizing every moment of my life, I slipped a pair of shoes on and wandered out amongst my garden and stood beneath the vibrancy of my purple locust trees and closed my eyes.

With my senses heightened, I let nature take over and for a mere moment, I felt the faint vibration and reverberation of a hummingbird’s wing not far from my face, I inhaled the sweet scent of the very last of my honeysuckle as it filled my senses with an inexplicable nostalgia whilst the perfumed cool air of the lingering lavender made me yawn uncontrollably out loud for all ears to hear.

I slowly opened my eyes and absorbed the beautiful brilliancy surrounding me, kicked off my shoes and sunk my feet into the cold wet earth and walked across the dew ridden grass and let out a long deep sigh. As I looked up into the vast blueness of the mid morning sky, I knew at that moment I was finally experiencing joy within my happiness. And for the first time in many many years, I realized that I had finally found Tracy.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

PASSION FOUND!

It’s hard to believe that a year ago I was wandering aimlessly around my neighbourhood screeching, calling, sobbing and searching for my Passion. I pleaded for her return and spent countless hours nailing up posters all around the town with a reward if found. The only things that contacted me were Self Dwelling, Self Indulgence and Self Serving whom happily offered to become a permanent part of my life, and all of which I luckily had turned down. Passion you see, had skipped town, and rightfully so. She had tired of me and my lacklustre shine and found another more worthy of her gifts.

I was at a loss and I had become lost. Without her, I was just a shell of a former girl I once knew as Tracy.

I had all but given up on Passion and found myself at a quandary and crossroads in life drinking my sorrows away with yet another whipped cream-filled hot chocolate, that was heavy on the whipped cream, light on the actual drink. I sat there one day sobbing over Passion when I came to the realization that I could continue to sit on my beaten up, dog smelling and man farting couch eating day old soggy-in-butter popcorn, or I could get off my lily white, cellulite stricken ass and do something about it! I have to tell you that I had a mere moment where sitting among fart smelling cushions at one point seemed like a viable option. Thankfully, I picked the latter.

It started in January with a simple art course, that I sucked at, followed by intense walking to get my legs in shape for Italy, followed by taking a zillion photos, followed by friends telling me to do something with them, followed by my mother kicking me and my rather large ass straight into being juried before a selection committee, and finally, being accepted into an art exhibition!

And here I am today, a year later, a year happier, a year of new experiences, a year more adventurous, and a few days away from putting myself and my photographs out there to be judged. And somewhere along the way, I have grown. I have finally accepted that I am much more than that Average Girl who started this blog two years and two months ago. My life isn’t average, it never was. It was just missing joy. And perhaps excitement. Definitely adventure and confidence. But mostly passion.

And you know what, it doesn’t really matter what Friday brings to me at the art exhibition. The only thing that matter is:

that thankfully, my beloved passion was found.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

In her honour....

This past Saturday marked my grandmother’s 97th birthday and also the day we laid her to rest.

I stood there under the grey overcast sky with my family in the drizzling rain watching as MY mother read her tribute to HER mother. Gazing off in the distance in attempt to hold off the tears, I flicked my eyes in time to witness my brother laying her and my grandfather’s joint urn in the lovely marbled niche that was surrounded by a pond and a rose garden.

My emotions were slightly eschewed. It had been four long years since my grandmother went to reside in what would be her last residence, a long term care facility. Angry and lashing out over her lack of independence, I would find my feelings wavering between empathy, sympathy and annoyance during this difficult period of her life.

Born in an era where a woman’s role was that of a homemaker, my grandmother was a standout above the rest. A tall blonde beauty with lanky legs that reached to the sky, she was a mixture of loyalty and jealousy and of athletic power and fragile undertones. She was a basketball star, a shuffle board champion and a bingo queen. She could camp, fish and drink with the best of them, and at the ripe old age of 96, she never left her room without her makeup on, her glorious golden hair coiffed, her body impeccably groomed to perfection and adorned by her love of sparkly jewelry. She was a force to be reckoned with, even then.

I would spend a large majority of my childhood resenting her obvious favouritism of my brother, and would later come to respect her as an adult when I realized that she was most definitely born in the wrong decade. She was a woman before her time.

As the years passed, and so did my grandfather, I watched my grandmother care for each of her ailing family members, until one by one they were gone and she too needed care that was beyond her own capabilities.

I would have moments where I would mourn for her as I watched her wings of independence be clipped and ravaged by father time. Other times, I would struggle with sadness as I observed her fighting to stave off waves of dementia. For me, it was like a horrible viewing of an independent animal being caged.

I would luckily make it home the day before she passed away. And on mother’s day of this year, I would have my last visit with her. She was in a deep, rhythmic slumber and I would stroke her face one more time and tell her that I loved her. She would pass away as I drove back home that night.

Sadly, we were at odds for most of my life, my grandmother and myself. And while we couldn’t be any more different, I did love her. I did admire her loyalty. I was awe struck by her feisty determination. But, mostly I loved it when she cussed me out. Those awesome words: “that damn kid messed up my hair”, will make me giggle till the day I die.

In the meantime, I went down to the jewelry store today, and I bought myself the biggest pair of sparkly earrings I could find. I did it for her you know. I did it for the strong, independent woman that was in my life for 44 years. Yes.. I most definitely did it for her. I did it in her honour.

Until Next Time.

Tracy