Querencia


Querencia (adjective) Origin: Spanish | que·ren·cia  A place where one feels safe, A place where one feels at home.

When I was a baby, I was afraid of everything and everyone. It didn’t matter who was around.  It didn’t matter what I was doing.  I was just afraid. Even if I didn’t look like it, I was.  Mom and dad would tell me stories of how I would jump at everything.  I would scream and cry at the introduction of everything new. When I look at my baby picture, I just wonder what the heck was going on in my little pea brain.  I wonder why I was so afraid.

At some point in my life, that all changed and for the most part I have felt safe and at home pretty much where ever I happened to be.  It didn’t matter who was around.  It didn’t matter what I was doing.  When I saw this word, I had to really think about what Querencia currently means to me.  At first I thought to myself, I feel pretty confident where ever I am and in pretty much every situation.  

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.  ~ Maya Angelou

However, when I re-read the actual definition, “A place where one feels safe.  A place where one feels at home.”  I had to seriously ask myself where that place is.  I could not, off the top of my head really say that I felt that there was an actual place where that would be true.  These days, I feel slightly more restless and not very safe.  

I started going through some old photos and it was strange.  Years ago, I would have said that this place existed when I was with my children.  I did my best to make their lives safe and comfortable.  They were babies and I was their mom, their protector.  I’m not sure that would be my answer right now.  Kids grow up, things change. Life happens.  Drama ensues.  I hope one day I can go back to that feeling.  There will always be love, but it hasn’t felt like home for some time.

Even before kids, I would have said it was when I was around my younger sister. We did everything together.  I trusted her to be my solid.  My one bestie that I could always depend on.  I think that has also changed. Life happens.  Emotions held back, words left unsaid hanging in the air. Doubts and fears and who knows what.  But it changes.  I hope that one day I can go back to that feeling.  There will always be love, but it also has not felt like home for some time.

I have some special friends that always make me feel safe and comfortable.  But at home?  We are always so busy that we can’t always make the time.  I always feel good when I am around them but the times around them are so short and so far apart that the home piece is missing.  It’s because I live so far away.  The relationship building is hard to do so far away.  I have some friends that I connect with frequently and when we come together, no matter how long we have been apart, it feels like home and it feels safe.  It’s just the darn suitcases that remind me that I’m not really home.

But then, I came across some pictures of my older sister.  Even though we didn’t hang out much when we were little and we fought like cats and dogs as we grew, she was always my protector when I really needed her.  She has been consistent and the same our entire lives.  She has opened her house to me and visited me when I was down, picked me up from teen heartbreak, joined the Navy like I had, raised kids like I had, and so many other things.  She’s the one to placate a situation. She’s the peacemaker.  She will make me laugh when I go over the ledge rather than help me jump.  I don’t like getting all stressed and down and she doesn’t let me feel sorry for myself but she does it in a way that is kind.  She never tries to over-analyze every situation I need to talk about.  She lets me flow and grow and feel safe.  She’s much better at it than I am.  I feel safe, unjudged, and familiar when I am around her.  I love her for this. I feel safe around her for this.  I feel at home around her for this.  Thanks sis.

    Querencia:  Rhapsody; keshy; hope; Varsha; Rebecca; 1227; sanguine; jessica; heartmind; Dylan; Pennie

 

 

 

Saudade


Saudade (noun) Origin: Portuguese | sɐw’dadə A nostalgic longing to be near again to something distant or someone that is distant.

I am nostalgic about almost every place I have ever been.  I miss the memories of the traveling I have done, of the places I have seen, of the people I have met.  I took a trip to Croatia with my youngest daughter a few years ago and it really was an amazing time.  Sure there were the mommy/daughter moments that were outrageously annoying.  However, I prefer to only remember the best parts of that trip.

I think it’s easier to remember … and to forget the annoyances of traveling with family than it is regarding issues that arise while traveling with friends. For me, it is because family has known you forever and you have your patterns and histories of the good and the bad.  For every bad there is a good.  Especially with your children.  My dream has always been to show my children the world.  Luckily for me, I have been pretty successful at that.

Though I do love traveling with friends.  There is always a feeling of saudade when my children or family are not around.  I feel like I have let them down by not having them participate in my adventure.  The re-telling is never the same as the being there.  Also, there is a freedom of being able to comfortably be at your best, your worst, your goofiest, your happiest, and even your saddest.  I am looking forward to more travels with them, more memories with them, and really, just being nearer to them.

“That strange sense of being different stays with you. You long to be with people who are more like you. Similarities are what bonds humans than differences, Beevitha.”
― Husna Mohammad

Saudade:  Irina; Iamfierce; candk; seeking; julia; zeki; simon; Asakura; agogo; chronosfer;

Heimweh


Heimweh (noun) Origin: German | Homesickness.

“I felt a pang — a strange and inexplicable pang that I had never felt before.
It was homesickness.  Now, even more than I had earlier when I’d first glimpsed it, I longed to be transported into that quiet little landscape, to walk up the path, to take a key from my pocket and open the cottage door, to sit down by the fireplace, to wrap my arms around myself, and to stay there forever and ever.”
― Alan Bradley

As much as I love to travel.  As much as I love new experiences.  As much as I love a variety of food and drink.  As much as I love making new friends.  As much as I love the open road.  As much as I love flying.  As much as I love taking the train.  As much as I love new sceneries.  As much as I love the sounds of an unfamiliar culture.   As much as I love who I become in a new surrounding.  As much as I love the view of an unfamiliar landscape from an open hotel window.  As much as I love everything about every other place in the world….

There is nothing I love more than home.

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“Maybe you had to leave in order to really miss a place; maybe you had to travel to figure out how beloved your starting point was.” ― Jodi Picoult

Homesick: Nawazish; pianogirl; susi; rugby; sang; iqra; christy; gdutta; manoj; jonathan; dale; cassandra

Day 29 ~ Tunnels ~ Hiawatha


Washington and Idaho have some of the best hiking, biking, skiing, cross-country, etc trails you can ever visit.  This summer when I was home, my sister and I ventured out on what is now one of my favorites and one which I will do again.  The Hiawatha Trail was unknown to me until recently.  It started as a rail line that traversed through a dozen tunnels and had scenic views aver high trestles.  It was a line that crossed approximately 50 miles between Idaho and Montana.  The actual bike trail is now closed to cars so you can bike or walk it.  It’s about 15 miles, from top to bottom.

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When you ride this trail, you MUST have a headlamp.  You can bring your own or rent one.  I literally thought that I would be fine without using one, but some of the tunnels are pitch black when you enter and even with the headlamp, it can be slightly disorienting because you can not see out the other end.

Even when you could see out the other side, going from the bright light to the dark tunnel could be a bit disorienting.  I know the below pictures look blurry, but that is exactly how it felt.  Cool and creepy at the same time.

“If you entered a tunnel, you can be sure that the tunnel has at least one exit!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan

Despite the above quote, there were some tunnels that you were not allowed to enter.  There was one way out, but I was not convinced that that one way would be the way I would want to get out.

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Like I have said in my past blog, this is simply one of the coolest hikes/rides I have been on.  It’s definitely worth checking out.  I have put several links with information at the bottom of this.  If you are ever passing through the area and have some time on your hands, you should really stop, rent a bike and zoom zoom!!

Sure, you might get a little dirty.  You might find it a bit rougher than expected.  But it was a day that we will never forget.  We needed a little light at the end of our dark, dark tunnel.

“Damn the tunnels and fuck those who wait for the light at the end of it,
Darling;
Just stop wasting your time and learn to be your own kind of light …”
― Samiha Totanji

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“We took the path that led others nowhere and only we saw the light at the end of the tunnel. They warned us about the monsters we would encounter, the odds that we would meet. And they laughed when we got the scars while fighting the dragons on our way. When we came back out of the tunnel, holding the sword that they always craved for tightly in our hand. Bleeding and the sun shining on our face. We became the tales they wanted to be. We became the reflections of what they always wanted to see themselves through. We became the warriors they had always imagined of.”
― Akshay Vasu

Links to the Hiawatha Trail ~  Hiawatha; Ridethehiawatharoute of hiawatha; trails; USDA; MTB

Other trails ~ Paul; piecemeal; parry; edaly; outdoor; soybend; minnesota; monkey; atmtx; marie; kongo; queenbed; susanne; jonathan; Larry; suZan

Day 28 ~ Doppelgänger


“When I was a kid I worried that when I woke up, I’d find my family having breakfast with my doppelgänger. We would fight to the death, and then my family would peacefully finish breakfast.”
― Fran Krause

There are so many times in my life that others have said to me, “Hey, I just saw you over there!! How did you get here so quickly?”  I would always say things like..”Uh, obviously, that was not me!!”

This happened to me when I was in the Navy, pregnant with my first child.  Every single day someone would come up to me and say they saw me somewhere else.  I just put it off to being in uniform and everyone sort of looking like everyone else.

One day, a friend came up to me and said, “Hey, I apologize if my sister and her friends are making you uncomfortable by staring at you.”  I honestly had not realized I was being stared at.  She continues, “It’s just because they cannot get over how much you look like their professor.” I think to myself, “Oh here we go again.”  So she brought me over to where her sister and her friends were and they pulled up a photo on their phone of their professor.  My first reaction was, “Where did I take that picture and why do they have it on their phone?”  They all started laughing and I was thinking, “What a weird joke.”  Only when they pulled up the second picture did I realize that this was not me.

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Now, I realize that you do not know me well enough to know if this looks like me or not.  But seriously, even I thought it was me.  At a glance, it was me.  If you look very close, you can see differences but only if you look very close.  I actually even pose like that at time.  Hand in pocket, randomly pretending to be a part of my background.  It was a bit creepy, but fascinating as well.  It made me wonder if the earlier look-a-likes, were the same person as the one above.

The second picture they showed me, obviously was not me, but I could see in it an older version of me.  I’d like to think a much older version of me.  My aunt or my older sister.  It doesn’t matter, I still see me.

Remember, as I have stated in other posts, I found out when I was about 26 that my father I grew up with was not my biological father.  So now I wonder…Could this be an aunt, and older sister, some distant relative?  I tried to reach out to this person, but never heard back.  Which made me even more convinced.  Most of my family either does not respond to me at all or it takes them some time to respond.  So yeah, it totally could be a relative. I still sort of wish she had responded and she was.  Maybe, it is me?  Maybe it’s an older version of me on a different time line.  I love a good science fiction story.  Have you ever watched the German flick “Dark”?  You should.  It’s a very complicated story line and you have to pay attention, but it’s worth a watch.  The fanciful portion of my being loves the concept.  Although the sensical brain in Sami denies the possibility.

“Almost Myself
On a twilight road, I met a young man with my face.
A denizen of some distant dust devil in drifter denim.
We stood and eyed each other, then, with a look of mutual disdain, we parted.
Our backward glances were not narcissistic flirtation, but self-conscious reflection and surrender to the formality of the familiar.
Against a backdrop of veined lightning and coyote song, I was alone again.”
― Stewart Stafford

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Now I am slightly interested in finding faces that look like mine.  Or faces that look like other members of my family.  I saw a comic of a lady once that in spirit and in looks reminded me of my mom.  I posted it on Facebook and many of my friends laughed because they thought I was presenting a future image of myself.  In retrospect, maybe I was.

Many people say, “Who’s my doppelganger?” when maybe / they should ask, “Whose doppelganger am I?”
Carson Cistulli

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I used to hate being compared to my mom.  But as I grow older, I can see the resemblance more and more.  If not entirely the attitude, definitely in looks.  It’s funny how as we age, we can sometimes become the image we thought we would never be.  It’s not all bad.  My mom was a strong, versatile, and very talented lady.  She was a cowgirl, irreverent, spontaneous, and funny at times.  She had a way about her that you either hated or really loved.  Often both at the same time.

I am ashamed at times when I think about her, because I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about her. However, when I do think about her, I focus only on her positives, because, well, I am her doppelgänger.  We are more alike than different.  I am her image.  I am sometimes her, or at least so it seems.  I try my best to be the best parts of her.  I’m guessing she is probably looking down on me, slightly disappointed in my efforts.  This thought sort of makes me laugh.  Largely because it is likely true.  Thankfully, that only makes me work harder at it.

RIP mom.

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“On a winter night I hear the Easter bell:
I knock on graves and quicken the dead,
Until at last in a grave I see — myself.

(Winter Sonnets: XI)”
― Vyacheslav Ivanov

“That man, especially when he slept, when his features were motionless, showed me my own face, my mask, the flawlessly pure image of my corpse […] in a state of perfect repose, this resemblance was strikingly evident, and what is death, if not a face at peace – its artistic perfection? Life only marred my double; thus a breeze dims the bliss of Narcissus; thus, in the painter’s absence, there comes his pupil and by the superfluous flush of unbidden tints disfigures the portrait painted by the master.”
― Vladimir Nabokov

laura; method; debbie; sync; bonkers; shame; clare; sparks; random; sacha; hudley; scribble; logic