Multiple Selves Day 13 Year 2

Current Reading List

This week, I met a women who told me that each of us has many resident aspects of ourselves that we need to define, get to know and embrace.  I have given her theory consideration.  I believe she was talking about emotional components such as anger, grief, playfulness, curiosity etc... She was expressing a model that seemed reasonable, but I still found myself reserved about the idea.  After mulling over her premise for a few days, I was struck by one of those rare “AHA” moments.  The insight to my resident aspects of self happened to be lying on the coffee table.  Even today, with the addition of a Kindle to my life, I realized that paper and cardboard books are the most concrete evidence of my resident aspects.  Seen in that light, my interior world is as obvious as the titles of the books I am reading.

Fall from Grace by Richard North Patterson.  It’s a compelling novel set on Martha’s Vineyard.

Companion Through the Darkness  Inner Dialogues on Grief by Stephanie Ericsson.

one thousand gifts  A dare to live fully right where you are by Ann Voskamp

Photographing Martha’s Vineyard by Alison Shaw

The titles are straight-forward.  No magic with bunnies appearing from a top hat.

It’s not simply that the titles of the books reveal what is going on in my life at the moment.  What is equally telling is that three of the four books were perfectly, and lovingly, chosen by friends.  I plunked down the cash to buy Companion Through the Darkness myself after I read one of Stephanie Ericsson’s essays. I was deeply touched by that one sample of her work.  I knew I needed to read more. 

Here’s what those titles say about me.  I am a reader.  I like stories.  I am partial to Martha’s Vineyard. I am trying my hand at photography these days.  I have been through darkness on my life journey, but overwhelmingly, I find myself in the light, grateful for each step I take.  And my friends know, and accept me -- and all my parts, exactly as I am.

Grass. No, not that kind.

My grandmother was a stocky woman of Germanic and French heritage. Her determination in the face of all obstacles was a thing of legend in our family. Elsie would put her shoulder and her intellect to any task, and with dogged determination, accomplish it. She retired to Martha’s Vineyard after a career as a book-keeper, mother and widow, at the age of 72. She designed and g.c.’d the addition to her little cottage. She delved into town building ordinances and library texts books as well as relying on some guidance from my cousin, an architect and my husband, a builder. Her husband died young, leaving her with her three daughters to manage; two were out of high school, one was in grade school. My grandfather, Charlie Beauchamp, was the love of her life. After his death, until her death three months shy of her 93rd birthday, Elsie never dated another man. She spent more of her life as a widow than a wife. She said there was no point in dating. No one could measure up to her husband. In a quirky sort of nod to Elsie, she and Charlie blessed their three daughters with a middle name that was, in some manner, a derivative of Elsie’s name. Thereafter, my parents respected this tradition when they named my sister Deborah Elizabeth, and me, Dawn Elise. For thirty-five years, my husband has called me, with affection, humor and some respect, “Little Else.” The first time she heard it, she was confused by what he meant. He quickly gave her an example of the behavior he had observed in her that he saw mirrored in me. “Do you remember the time you cut your lawn – admittedly a 20ft x 20ft patch – on your hands and knees, using scissors because the man didn’t come to mow. What were you then, 86?” Another time, Elsie, was in her 80’s, and we went up in a glider together. She didn’t let anything stop her from enjoying and living life the way she chose. She was instantly gratified that he would honor me in that way.
So, today, I found Elsie sitting on my left shoulder. I have been stuck home by limited mobility for some time. However, the three large grass plants I gave my husband for his birthday on 2 September were looking pretty unhappy about not being in the ground. I knew I couldn’t dig a hole since I can’t lift a shovel. But wait, I do have a trowel. And a foam pad. I used my new porcelain and titanium hips to lower myself to a kneeling position. From there, I started scraping, digging, and fighting the earth and stones while all the while picturing prison break movies and Escape from Alcatraz. After thirty minutes, I succeeded in digging two holes deep enough to accept 18” root balls. In went the grasses, the soil was packed, the mulch was spread, the fertilizer introduced into water and the plants were soaked. Elsie was right there, the whole time. About that third plant? She suggested I come back tomorrow.
Day 13