The leaves are off of the trees for the most part and I can see how the creek curves around to the north and east. There is also a pond to the east of the creek that I didn’t even know was there. I love fall leaves but our season of  color change was brief.

Thanksgiving is coming soon and I am looking forward to time with my family. My sister and I cook a turkey with all the extra stuff of a family tradition. We are already preparing or should I say she is already preparing ahead. She is putting up Christmas decorations today.  She absolutely loves all that there is to Christmas Season.

I on the other hand do not decorate. I take that back I did have live trees outside for many years with my partner. It was lovely, we fed the birds and the lights warmed them in the bitter cold of Minnesota. This is a cherished memory.

Well, I started with leaves off the tree to snow on a celebration tree. Memories come and go in random fashion since I lost my partner. Adjusting to the different climate is difficult. I love my sweat shirts and I want to wear one today. No such luck it is too warm. Oh well the journey down memory lane with each of you has is fun.

Peace, Annie

I spend a considerable part of my days writing, reading and commenting on blogs. I especially focus on the topic of bipolar illness. Some brave souls write about their ventures into the dark side or more specifically the dark side of a bipolar life. I am not nearly as brave and I only write brief remnants of dumpster diving into that which is my darker side. It seems the more I experience the polarities of this illness the less light there is to ponder the dark side.

It may only be an excuse for me to say I need more light. I have had plenty of times that I was encouraged and inspired to bring the darkness into the light, instead I ran from my fears.  In my younger days I took a few glimpses into the dark memories but I rarely paused long enough to learn from what I saw. The shear darkness of my bipolar experience has been so much in my face that I try to look away and pretend it is not me.

There is something about talking out loud to a trusted friend that helps open your eyes to the sight of the dark side. Then without tears there comes a snapshot of the darkness.  I shared with a friend some of the dark days  that have been mine within the last three years. I am afraid to write about the darkness. It is not the bipolar darkness but the me in the raw. It is darker than the absence of light.  It leaves me trembling in my shoes and I run away from it. Instead I write about my fears of facing life with the absence of light.

Spring comes again with colors popping through.  Peopledog Petey and I stroll the green acres of my home. My mind is quiet-reminiscent of childhood silence.

Sweet prairie grass flields beyond my backyard and home, Clouds floating, I was silent and melting into the earth.

The eye of her tears-my mother my friend, silenced and gone. Motherland, Mother Earth, calling in unison-harvest your mother’s tears! Sharing the illness, sharing the pain.    Where are the tears?

My Mother is gone.

There is a place where I have one foot in the manic and one foot in reality and it is delightful. This place is before I ride the highest wave and definitely before I crash and burn. This place keeps me from being an ordinary person, my biggest dread.

 I walk a fine line from falling into that place and never coming out. But then I remember what it is like to stay in that place and the pain it causes. I watch for the sneaky manic to go full force and steam roll me over.

In that place I am not aware of my actions and how far from delightful I am. That exact footstep is out of view so I only allow myself one foot in and one foot out. If there is a pull from the manic side I run like crazy as far as I can go. It is worth the risk of that one foot in to avoid the ordinary.

When I was a toddler my Daddy gave me the nickname of Pete. It was clear even then that I was a Tom Boy in need of an appropriate nickname. Since I whistled before I talked he tagged on Whistlin and  the nickname stuck until my teens. Several years ago I began to write childhood stories from the perspective of Whistlin Pete. I want to share one of them with you.

It was the bittersweet season of my grown-up years when I first began to ponder my childhood. My change of life issues clouded my memories except for those with my close companions. My Peopledog Tipi and a unique creature called a Horny Toad were my close companions all throughout childhood.  I began to tell the stories and the wisdom fire that burned inside my body far exceeded the heat of those blistering Okie days. The memory of tall grass and cherry popsicles helped me remember stories of sweetness and silence.

The World Book Encyclopedia describes Horny Toads as the Great Texas Horned Toad. She is a lizard shaped creature with protective horns covering her body.  Toad is a gift from the Creator that ventured north just far enough to find the red clay of Oklahoma.  On her journey she became a magical soul who would become the delight of children in the woods and prairies of her new homeland.

Texans would describe a monster of a toad with fierce dark eyes and treacherous horns that covered her gigantic torso.  They would tell the tale of children being carried away by the monster and to never be heard of again. Perhaps Horny Toad had grown weary of the responsibility of living up to a Texas size myth and needed a simpler life. I was blessed by these creatures that were plentiful in the 1950’s.

My Tipi was the first to see friend Horny Toad. All that was seen on that day was the swishing of tall grass and the howl of Tipi taking chase. It wasn’t long until I laid eyes on the creature. She was a light brown almost gray toad silently perched on the branch of a tree.  She closed her eyes and just like that became part of the tree. It took one look to see that this was a special kind of crawly four-legged creature. A closer look made out a body of horns taking on the shape of a suit of armor. The horns were from the tip of her nose to her tale and even toes. Somehow I knew from the first that she was not fearsome or treacherous.

Like most children I wasn’t content to stand and gaze at the creature. I pondered how to get closer and noticed that the horns on her tail were not so sharp. A closer look still was what seemed to be her rib bones and a soft underbelly.  Since Toad seemed to be fast asleep and Tipi was finally settled into a nap, it was my chance to make a move for the tail.  I slowly approached the tree and ever so gently placed my fingers on friend Toad’s tale. She didn’t startle or bolt but just sat there as if waiting for our encounter.  I was intrigued by the creature and felt a sense of connection unlike any other.  I picked up Toad and was drawn immediately to her under belly. It was soft, like the inside of Tipi’s ear. I loved the delicate softness and began to gently stroke Toad’s belly.

I watched as friend Horny Toad’s big brown eyes began to close.  The more I rubbed her tummy the more her eyes fluttered shut. Then they were completely closed and her body seemed lost in a trance.  Horny Toad was off in some dream deep inside.  I felt honored that Toad trusted me enough to relax in dream time. From that point on there was no better spring afternoon than to have Toad go to sleep on my tummy with her tiny feet skywards. I began to learn that creature spirits of various kinds were to be my life connection until I could learn to be with people.

My window of opportunity has continued for weeks now and I have been free from the darkness of depression. I have welcomed the bright light from the window and I have been writing stories from my childhood. A major theme of my stories has to do with what I call my old friend silence.

From as early as I can remember silence has been a friend. It has been a playful place inside my imagination where make believe is alive and well. Solitary play has been my favorite time of all. Even today I take some measure of enjoyment in being with my silence. I imagine other stories and dream of having the joy of many animals in my life.

But in my younger years I was awkward being with other children. In spite of the obstacles I remember wearing my Daddies floppy felt hat while playing in the back yard. There were huge trees and branches covering the back edge of the yard. There was a broken down out-house that made me feel creepy. I just knew that snakes and spiders lived inside and it represented unknown danger in my make believe stories. Most of my imagining involved whistling and musical stories. Occasionally there was the out-house to include in a creepy kind of story that made me run fast to the house.

Over time a voice inside was critical of me because I was silent and did not know how to play with other kids. When I was able to make the voice go away my lovely solitary play returned and there was fun, just me and the silence.

My first babysitter tarnished my friend silence in a punishing way .The following is a story about how my lyrical silence was threatened by interludes of sadness and shame.

Tommy’s Trains

Letha was my first babysitter and Tommy was her only child. He had more toys than I had ever seen. I was not use to toys; I enjoyed imaginative play and never really wanted many toys. Tommy’s room was filled with neatly organized toys of all kinds.

The best toy ever was a train that filled his floor. I timidly watched for a while as Tommy took control of the train. It zoomed along the tracks as smoke came out of the engine stack. After a while I sat closer to have a better look. I didn’t dare ask for the controls. Letha would occasionally come to the room and see how we were doing. She was stern and predictable and I was somewhat afraid of her.

One day Tommy was in the bathroom and I quietly took control of the train. It was so exciting until Tommy returned with Letha close behind. She made it clear that under no circumstances was I to play with Tommy’s toys. I was humiliated and readily accepted her limits. From that time on I sat in a chair and watched Tommy play with trains, cowboy outfits and games. I did not say a word but there were feelings and thoughts that went around and around in my mind. This kind of silence was not a welcome friend and I was sad.