seafield etc

moments as they pass

ellen long — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 23:12:52 +0000

Beginning with the moment my first child was born I have tried to “hold on to moments as they pass”. I knew, without being told, this time would go screaming by and I would be a little sad when it was over. So, I paused. Often. And I treasured. Yes, I used psycho-mommy-under-the-breath-voice once in a while. And on occasion, psycho-mommy-over- the- breath- voice. But mostly, I cherished. For the last 17 years, seven months. I have gently gathered moments. And done my best to be present in them. To breathe them in. Saturday I watched my daughter reach for the hand of her high school principal and accept her diploma. And I closed my eyes. Safeguarding one more time, the memory of her. Of that moment. But I wasn’t sad. I was instead, overwhelmed. With gratitude. And excitement for her. With honor and a deep sense of humility. I have been blessed to be part of this beautiful life, who is now 6 feet tall with shining dark brown eyes and a sparkling voice when she sings. And I hold on to the moments as they pass. And I wait.

I have just a little air…

ellen long — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 02:03:54 +0000

to breathe. So, I used it tonight to talk to my daughter. Her world, at 17, was collapsing. All in one night. All 17 years of it. Boom. Or at least that is how it felt. I told her to just keep breathing. That as real and scary as these feelings were, she needed to go through them, not around them. That they weren’t bigger or stronger than she was. (As strong as they were). I told her not to be afraid of them. To look at them straight on. Embrace them. Feel them. And know there was the other side. The sooner she went through them, the sooner they would likely subside. Otherwise, she was destined to live avoiding. Living in fear of this thing called life because of the feelings it might produce. I told her to Embrace her mistakes. Learn from them. To give herself permission to make them. A lot. Man, I hope she can repeat this all back to me in a month or two. I hope I believe it when she does.

springs hope…

ellen long — Sat, 28 May 2011 13:42:20 +0000

I’ve been a little short on hope lately. At times, it seems to disappear altogether. I know it’s still there. Just obscured. Hidden behind barriers of discouragement and frustration. Facts and reality. And because it isn’t something I can’t conjure up. I can’t produce it. Sometimes, I have to wait for it to reappear. Unfortunately, waiting… not my strong suit. Especially when Hope is such a driving force behind this new journey of mine. Going forward without it can be difficult at best. Well, this morning, it was there. Right there. Smiling at me when I woke up. I didn’t ask it any questions, like where the hell have you been?, I just smiled back. Then I reached for the book beside my bed. On life in Seattle.

2054 miles… approximately…

ellen long — Tue, 24 May 2011 02:51:57 +0000

I have tried to write about the distance between him and me. The actual miles. Not the other kind. And I can’t. I know that some days it feels like 2054 miles. (Approximately). Because it is. And sometimes it seems like the miles disappear completely. But it’s not long before they reappear and I am reminded that for now, for now… I hold his hand figuratively. I have conversations with a phone to my ear. I see him only on a monitor. And tonight, I will close my eyes and he will close his. 2054 miles away. (Approximately). And we will dream of tomorrow. One day closer. Or maybe I’ll have that same dream where I’m Alice in Wonderland in this house that’s way too small and the doorways keep getting smaller and smaller. One day closer, either way.

for better or worse…

ellen long — Sun, 22 May 2011 12:48:44 +0000

… I heard him say the words. He looked into my eyes. And said them. In front of witnesses. On April 20, a very brave man held my hands and accepted this wonderful challenge, called marriage. I felt something very familiar at that moment, the moment where all I could hear was his voice, and all I could see were his beautiful blue-green eyes. I felt exhilarated and safe at the exact same time. I know the two don’t usually go together. But that’s what I felt. I have felt that way for the last two and a half years. And there has already been better. And worse. So much more of the former. I am thankful for both. The better is easy, right? But I am also thankful, looking back of course, for the worse. It has taught me. Enlightened me. Forced me, to dig just a little deeper. To drop. To let go. To bend. To meet someone halfway. Sometimes one step more than halfway. And to find my true self in all of it. So as dark as it can feel, while in the middle of it, Worse has an up-side. If you keep going. May I always keep going. Holding the hands of this very brave man.

and then…

ellen long — Sun, 21 Nov 2010 15:09:52 +0000

Yesterday, I was in bed staring out the window at the fog. Just staring. And rather than grabbing my camera, I just laid there. By ten o’clock when it finally burned off, I felt a little regret, but not much. This morning, I woke up to more fog. Despite my sluggishness, I got dressed, picked up my camera, one lens and went in search of some beauty. Reluctantly. And then I was there. In it. In its silence. In its grace.

And that’s when I realized the most amazing thing. Beauty had found me instead.

Dear Tomorrow,

ellen long — Tue, 05 Oct 2010 17:37:09 +0000

I’m not one to wish my life away. But here’s the thing… it’s been a little crazy around here lately. Not the good crazy. The other kind. I have been packing to move, sorting, organizing, and purging. I feel lighter. Better able to breathe without the extra weight. And ready to take the next step. All that said, it’s been a challenging few weeks. Tomorrow, my life will get a little better. ETA 8:32 A.M.

Dear Tomorrow,

Please hurry.

Love, Ellen.

changes.

ellen long — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 12:22:24 +0000

I’ve always seen the fog as a gift. There is a beauty in it that is unmatched. It’s a shroud. It feels safe and exciting at the same time. I love that. On a bigger scale, I want my relationships to be like that. And on an even bigger scale, life. I want life to be like that. Right now, it’s teetering on the edge of both. Changes, right? Forcing me to find that balance.

ellen long — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 13:02:47 +0000

I lost a couple “friends” when my marriage ended after 18 years. I tried to help them understand. I explained. And then I stopped explaining. They left. And I learned that I can’t change what people make their minds up to believe. I don’t want to. Or need to. What they didn’t understand was that I was never after happy. But peace. And peace isn’t situational. Not for me. It’s not a mood or feeling, like happy. I can’t explain it to anyone. If you have it, you know. If you don’t, you know. and I’m sorry. But be encouraged. It’s there.

ellen long — Fri, 24 Sep 2010 19:15:16 +0000

I found this picture today and it made me laugh. I laughed because that’s exactly how I feel these days. Part of me in one frame. Part in another. Part somewhere else entirely. Not completely anywhere. So, on a day like today, as I am seeing my life as some sort of collage full of random bits and pieces, this image struck me as amusing. And maybe… maybe, I should stop being so amused with myself and work on composition. Maybe.