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Resting in Winter

This morning is a cold one and usually I might complain. But this year I am reminding myself, again, that the coming winter and its colder temperatures with less daylight serve a vital purpose for nature and for me. One purpose is the same, it is a time to rest and rebuild.

Every year about this time a group of black birds settle in South Bend for a week or so, although some days it seems longer because of all of their cawing and screeching. I remember the first time that I noticed the ravens. I was sitting on the couch in my living room, talking to a friend on the phone. A landline, albeit cordless. I looked outside and saw dozens of birds settled in the intersection outside my window, in the street, and pecking at the ground. It was a bit terrifying because there were so many of them, and it reminded me of the scenes from the Hitchcock movie The Birds, where they descended on a town and started attacking people. However, maybe this area is just part of their migration path because they don’t stay long. For them, passing through town, likely led by the winding St. Joe River, is innate and part of an annual ritual.

For years I would bemoan the approach of winter, fretting over the cold and lack of sunshine, and I almost felt forced to stay inside. Two things helped me to change my mindset. The first was my growing love for gardening. Once I saw the winter as a respite for nature and an opportunity for the world above ground to be silent while my perennials preserved energy, I accepted that winter’s cold was part of the process and I could relish what was quietly happening underneath the frozen soil. I would look at the bare trees and think, “just resting, they will be back.”

Another purpose of this season was revealed at a winter retreat I went on in early 2018. I was going through a hard time, kind of low, and the gloomy days did not help. What I did was counterintuitive – instead of heading to a tropical beach, I went to the Berkshires for a week of winter hikes, workshops, and rest. I learned how to identify the tracks of animals moving about in the snow and realized that I did not have to shut myself in because it was cold, I just need to dress for it.

Our home is nearly decorated for Christmas, with lots of reds and greens, Nativity scenes, trees of varying sizes, Grinch decorations, and lights, so many lights and candles. This year has been such a busy one and it is time for me to slow down and enjoy this season. There will be some holiday gatherings, but I am also leaving time to write, sew (now that I finally got a new machine) and learn how to sit still without cooking up the next project. One of my brothers once teased that me and another brother are “always looking for something to do.” That quality has served me well but in this season, I am going to hush the small voice that tells me I could get one more thing done, that the goal is constant productivity and doing. It is not always easy, but I am learning. 

In a few weeks I will share some of my favorite reads of this year, but here is one that might help others who struggle with winter. The book is How to Winter by Kari Leibowitz. In the meantime, I hope you can enjoy some of the stillness that comes with this time of year.

Peace,

Ramona

Having Space Finding Freedom

I don’t believe in writer’s block but I do understand what it feels like to be stuck, looking for the right words when maybe any words will do. I shared over a year ago that I have been working on longer pieces that don’t lend themselves as readily to this newsletter, which was part of the reason I had not been sending as much out or with the same frequency that I used to. 

However, there is more to it than that. I started this year off with the concept of wanting more space in my life. After many years of working hard, six and sometimes seven days a week, I wanted to schedule less, reflect and rest more. But that did not happen, or at least I could not stick with that plan. In June, I wrote about learning to be present with my father as he was beginning the process of transitioning. Two days after my post, he passed on. I was with him that morning and when I got the call a few hours later, I rushed back, quickly going into the responsible mode that is familiar and second nature for me. In the hours, days, and weeks that followed, we all had a lot to take care of, and I cannot completely remember who I spoke to and when. His homegoing was a celebration of his life and I am blessed to have had such a wonderful father. I take comfort that he is at rest, and that he can be reunited with my mother—he missed her so much over these last seven years.

Where does this leave me? In some ways with more space than I have had in a long time. Some of that space is free time, and some is the hole that is there from missing my father and mother. I have wonderful memories, stories, and great family and friends, which helps a lot. And I don’t have many regrets about how I have used my time. 

These days I am trying to develop a new rhythm and routines, and resume old ones that were cast aside because of work, caregiving, fatigue, and other commitments. A last-minute train ride to Chicago with my husband. Pilates classes with different instructors. Coffees with friends who haven’t seen me as much over the last few years. Homemade soups. Reading – on my own or when I can, with an online community that talks about what is going on in our lives as much as it discusses the actual books. And rest, even though sometimes the sleep doesn’t come as quickly as I’d like. I relish my rest. 

Which brings me to my writing. Writing has always been a comfort to me, and usually comes easily. I think I worry too much about getting it right when what is most important is that I get the words down. The bigger project is going to take time, will require revision, and I will get it done, in time. But what I like about this format is its immediacy—if I have things I want to share (and write them down before I forget and get caught up in another task), getting my thoughts out in the world is not hard. I want to thank those of you who have stuck with me and I especially appreciate those who prod me when it has been too long since they have heard from me and ask about my writing. I am learning how to navigate a life that still requires structure and routine, and enjoy the space I have to create a life that works for who I am now.

Finding Comfort in Presence

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My father is not doing well, he’s over 90 years old and his body is slowing down. He doesn’t talk as much, eat as much, or move around like he used to. Some of this was expected—I have seen the changes over the years, but his age and health are also factors. There are days when I miss the extended conversations of months and years ago, the ones that you don’t always consider might come to an end…until they do.

My father used to tell me a story about his relationship with his mother, and how it differed from the ones she had with her other children. My grandmother passed shortly after I was born, so I know her mostly through stories and photos; the stories were always happy ones. She used to worry a bit about my father because he was more likely to handle problems on his own, and she wondered if he would tell her about issues she could help him with. She knew her son well enough, and their relationship was close so they knew what was most important to them.

It was presence, the simple act of sitting together in the room, joined in spirit and ready to talk or listen should the occasion present itself. He told me, “For us, it was presence. We could be in the same room and didn’t have to say much.”

I think of those words more these days as I spend time with my father. Our visits are quieter now, sitting outside when the temperatures rise into the 70s, or inside, where he wraps himself in a blanket even as I sit there and wish for a lower temp on the air conditioner. He takes longer pauses when he speaks, and sometimes he gently closes his eyes, still listening, taking it all in, but resting. A week or so ago, I found myself remembering longer conversations and big laughs. It is a funny feeling when you realize that an experience to which you have become accustomed might not occur as frequently, or will completely stop one day.

That’s when I remembered the words he had shared with me, the idea of presence being enough. I thought how for my father, words weren’t always the most important thing, sometimes it was the presence, the silent connection that two people could share.

Now I am looking at these quieter times with my father differently. It’s not that we don’t talk, even when the laughter is not as full as before, the twinkle in his eyes and a soft chuckle let me know he is still amused by something I’m saying. I have decided to lean into his presence, the fact that we can still be in the same room and communicate with each other. It might be different, but for me, it is enough. Okay, maybe it does not always feel like quite enough, but it is as if he is gently guiding me to a new future, towards acceptance of what is coming. I believe his presence, his spirit, will remain after everything else has changed. My father and I will be connected, as he is to his mother, now long deceased, and the ancestors that came before us all. We share a spirit, they are present.

Let’s Start with Lotion

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Know this about Black women—we are going to take care of our skin, moisturize, soothe, and protect it. This may be accomplished with a number of products, but from the time we are first in our loved ones’ arms, they are going to tend to any semblance of dry, flaky skin. What we use to accomplish this can vary, from Vaseline, jojoba oil, cocoa butter, to drugstore lotion. As we get older, or have more disposable income, the brand names might change and the price may go up, but the point is, we will find a way to nourish our skin—it is taught from childhood. And to be honest, the men are not that different. Even my husband tells of how his mother would tell her three boys to go put on some lotion because they looked like they had been picking potatoes. My youngest brother is a devoted user of Jergens lotion, with its cherry almond scent that reminds me of the years when my father worked in the lab at The Andrew Jergens Company.

The last few years have been a strain on nearly everyone I know. We went into the COVID pandemic already stressed out because of the general disruption in the country, largely due to differences in values, politics, and policy. And the fact that these disagreements often tumbled into our work lives meant that issues which might have been reserved for at-home conversation and dissection were often factors on our jobs, in our schools, and in places of worship. So, the stress was already there. 

Many of us felt rushed in our days. Trying to get a bit more sleep, which we needed because we were already working what seemed like around the clock, meant that in the morning we hit snooze or lingered in bed, already feeling the pressure of what needed to be done that day within minutes of opening our eyes. Hurrying to the shower, or to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast for one or many. Hurrying out the door, to school, to work, to daycare drop-off, to care give, to volunteer. Always in a hurry, rushing, racing. Lunch eaten not at a table with friends or coworkers, at least not most of time. Lunch grabbed and gobbled down, ultra-processed (who has time to cook anymore?), and way too often, at a desk, in a cubicle, or maybe in a cafeteria/restaurant. Not savored or enjoyed, it was eating to fill the belly, to sooth the stress, not always nutritious, then back to work, chores, obligations.

I remember many days when I looked up and it was 3 pm and I had not eaten since morning, if I had even eaten anything that morning, since I have never liked what constitutes the traditional American breakfast. No to coffee, pancakes, waffles, French toast, eggs, and bacon. No to donuts and most pastries, at least not in the morning because sweets in the morning make me queasy. Only when I started getting headaches did I realize that I was not doing myself any good by ignoring the need to eat something in the morning to give my body and brain the fuel it needed to run properly. 

Meals were not the only thing I rushed through so I could get to the more urgent matters of the day. I like to work out, but that takes time, and time was something that I primarily allocated to work. So, I might start a workout, like rowing, but feel like I needed to cut it short because after all, I had work to do. The hour-long Pilates sessions came to halt, and so did my flexibility and strength. But I persisted. 

COVID only seemed to amplify the need to keep things moving. Life momentarily slowed down in the first weeks of shutdown, at least outside of our homes. The ongoing hum of cars, the buzz of life inside stores, coffee shops, and restaurants—that slowed. With no place to go, at least in the beginning, we were forced to stay home, not a bad idea since we did not fully understand the consequences of mixing and mingling. Inside our homes, unless you lived alone, it became a bit more crowded, sometimes chaotic, if people did not have the space they needed to get work done with others around. And since commerce and education had to continue, companies found ways to work and communicate online, stressing the bandwidth of not just employees and students, but of our peace. 

The worst of that period is over, but I think it highlighted what we have been feeling for years. We are not just doing the most, we might be doing too much. Perhaps that is why many used the time to reflect on what they wanted their lives to look and feel like. Perhaps that is why some office employees continue to resist the return to the office. Once they learned how to work from home, and organized their spaces to accommodate the shift, they wanted to keep it that way. And if your job can be done anywhere, why leave home when you can work from home, a coffee shop, or across the country? Does it really matter for most of us if you take a chunk of time midday to go for a walk, paint, or nap, as long as you get the work done?

Not everyone had that option, of choosing when and where to work. And technology has not freed us from potentially working around the clock, not when a computer is tethered to most adults, whether it is in your back pocket, purse, or on your wrist. We really can be reached at any time, and I don’t think most of us want that, unless it is reserved for family and some friends.

In an effort to make the most of time, or I mean the same 24 hours a day we all have to live life, I rushed through some tasks, usually the ones most needed for my health, so that I could get to the ones that felt more urgent, like work. I had a conversation about how it was easy to let the demands of life get in the way of taking time to do things for myself that were important, such as self-care. I do not mean self-care as in a taking a bath. That works for some but let’s face it, I am going to take a shower or bathe regardless of my mood, so that never felt like pampering. Maybe you have to allow more time for it to feel like a luxury, but that wasn’t my thing. 

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but I was rushing around so much that I barely took time to put lotion on,” I said. I was a little embarrassed to admit this, but I was in a safe conversation with a Black woman who would understand what I was trying to say.

“I know, I get it,” she said.

“I’m not saying that I completely stopped, but just that it was more rushed, kind of hit and miss.” 

I added this so that I would not sound like I was completely neglectful, walking around dry and flaky, even ashy, under my pants or tights.

She had experienced the same feelings, that it was more important to get to the next task rather than taking time for herself. I felt completely understood. When you don’t have time to apply lotion, you need to take a hard look at what is going on.

It might seem like an insignificant step, but that is when I realized I could start with one simple thing to slow down as an act of self-care. I splurged on moisturizer, also keeping the oils and cream I grew up on. These days, after my shower or before bed, where I used to rush, I intentionally slow down. The ritual does not take an hour, it is surprisingly quicker than I thought, yet satisfying. I dip my fingers into the pot of whatever potion I want to use that day, rub it between my hands, and tell myself that I do not have to rush; I can take my time and and take care. I repeat the ritual shown to me by my mother and Black mothers before her. I apply my lotions, look to make sure there are no dry spots. I laugh as I remember the old Jergens commercial with the alligator, telling women that without lotion their skin would be rough and wrinkly. It is a simple routine, but the beginning of my attempt to slow down, minister to myself, and not rush to take care of other folks’ business before I tend to my own. 

A New Season

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Summer might be almost over, and it is if you follow the meteorological calendar which has autumn beginning September 1. We’re past back to school season which always feels like a fresh start, at least for me. But this year is different. No longer working or employed for an organization, I am back to doing what is my first love – writing.

The word retirement – if that is what you choose to call leaving regular paid employment – doesn’t quite capture this phase of my life. I have full days, and wonder how I got so much done when I had to balance the professional, personal, and creative. I have enjoyed writing since I was at least six, and I remember the many stories I wrote and read, mainly about animals, during those first years of writing. Even while during corporate work, then nonprofit – arts, education, etc., the call back to writing never seemed to leave. So here I am, with the time and freedom to go back to the page. Last week I was part of a writing intensive, a good way to immerse myself in craft with a writing community. In between talks about writing, revising, and publishing, we also completed writing exercises, many of which will develop into complete essays.

Tending the garden (what I call yardwork), resuming my Pilates practice, having fun with family and friends, attending live performances (saw Bob James a week ago), are other ways I spend my time. And sometimes I do what appears like nothing, which is a big shift for me and something I need to almost talk myself into; I am so used to running full speed every day. But it’s all good. Like autumn, it is a good time to slow the pace, wrap up some of the old projects, and make sure everything is settled for the season I am about to enter. 

Mother’s Day 2023

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I wrote this post several years ago, months before my mother passed away. I often think back to it when I remember what kind of mother she was, how she allowed me to grow into the person I am but also provided knowing guidance. I am in a period of transition, and I am grateful for her, and hope this will help those who are nurturing and guiding people they love, regardless of the label others might place on the relationship.

From 2017:

This is for mothers everywhere, and for those who have poured their love, patience, and wisdom into the life of another person, whether it is your own child or someone who needed a gift that you were able and willing to provide. Despite going to Catholic grade school and college, there was a verse in […]

Happy Mother’s Day – Treasures — Ramona M. Payne

Change of Address – Kind Of

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January can be a time of fresh starts, to recalibrate, or to rest. I realize that some of the writing I have been doing comes in two forms— the longer essays and work that lend themselves to taking my time and are a bit lengthy for this space. The other writing is much shorter, I can do quickly while it is fresh, and is served in portions that might be easier for me to share and for you to read.

I want to stay in touch, but for a while I will be sharing less from here and more on another platform, Instagram, which is where I am more inclined to post very short reflections and photos. If you are interested, please follow me over on Instagram, where I am @writepausereflect. And I hope to follow you there too.

Sending you blessings and peace,

Ramona

Choosing What I Need

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Tonight, I am thinking about this question – are there times where you give up your ability to choose what you need? I don’t mean those areas where you make a certain decision because you have to, or because someone, perhaps a child or partner, is counting on you. I am thinking about the little decisions we make where if we just stepped back, we might be able to say ‘No” or “Not right now,” or even “Yes, yes, I can make time for that…because I want to, because I need to.”

Now more than ever, with so many of us feeling stretched to the limit, it is important to exercise the ability to consider what is best for you and not automatically doing things the way you always have. I am reevaluating my “shoulds” to make sure they are in alignment with my goals – personal, professional, spiritual, and creative.

It’s been a minute

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It’s been a minute – well actually months – since I have posted here. I have been writing a little, but when I’ve had thoughts about what to say in this space, it’s been hard to figure out what I wanted to share. I am doing well, and like many of you, I’ve had to adjust to life in this time where the COVID pandemic seems to influence everything.

A few days ago I was running some errands and decided to go to the cemetery where my mother and other family members were laid to rest. As you can see in the photo, it was a sunny day, and besides that, this cemetery has never seemed like a creepy place to me. I went because I can sit on that rock for a few minutes, gather my thoughts, talk to my mother and God, and pray. Sometimes I speak out loud, although not loudly, and at other times it is enough to be still. If I am patient, I just wait, and try to listen.

This time of year can be hard for me. People talk about the time before COVID as the “before-times” but this season is more the “between-times” for me. It is a few weeks after the day, four years ago, when we found out how sick my mother was and just a few weeks before the date she passed. It is a time when I can feel something in my body shift so slightly, and then I remember, that’s it, Ramona, it’s the same time of year as...

But this day it was not so hard. I had taken care of some important business and was on my way to a conversation that I was just not quite sure how it would play out. So I went to this quiet place, with only the sounds of birds, bugs, and the cars going by outside of the cemetery. I looked around me and was moved by the fact that so many other people had been here to say good bye to a loved one. I thought of how close this place is to the neighborhood we moved to when I was a senior in high school. Even if I just thought of my people here, there were so many good memories – of my mother and her laughter, my grandfather’s annual summer party, my aunt’s lemon meringue pie.

Over the last year and a half there has been so much loss – people, celebrations, gatherings, etc. We thought life was headed back to normal when it fact, maybe there is no longer normal, but just now, and the steps we take to shift to whatever is happening now. I am grateful to still be here, to have my memories and my hopes for a future. I will try to write here more often because there is one thing I have learned over the last year – waiting for perfect means I will surely miss it.

The Year of How

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As the month of January comes to an end, I’d like to share an essay I wrote for the University of Notre Dame, where I completed my undergraduate studies. I hope this essay, which is a brief reflection on the challenges of 2020, will help you consider how you want to move forward. You can find it here.

May 2021 be a better year,

Ramona