Fading

I have been missing Mrs. Hogue very much this week. Her granddaughter has cleaned out the house and is in the process of deciding what to do with it (we are hoping she may be able to work out a deal with my father... but it's a long shot).

So there it sits, empty. And I have noticed it is fading a bit in her absence.

There is a theory out there somewhere... a blend of New Age, quantum physics, and maybe even paganism or Wiccan beliefs. The idea being that a house is infused with the energy and life of its occupants. And in some cases, the will or creative power of the person living in the house can sort of hold things together or help the house live longer.

In the case of my grandmother, it meant that as soon as she died, things in the house stopped functioning - no longer willed into working by her presence. We had to replace the stove in the kitchen, the refrigerator, all of the plumbing in the basement, the kitchen sink faucet, the front door knob, and the van used by her caretakers to transport her.

The water heater nearly died on us and was revived with some tinkering by my father-in-law, who managed to breathe life back into it. And the washer and dryer have been threatening to go every single time I use them... but have managed to hang on, perhaps due to my stubborn will to see them keep going!

When you consider that my grandmother lived here from 1944 until 2005, it becomes sort of understandable that she and the house might be a bit linked. Mrs. Hogue's relationship to her dwelling was very similar. She and her husband moved in around the same time my grandmother moved into the upstairs here, so I estimate she must have had at least a good 60 years or so in her house.

I mention this because I have noticed a very striking example of the same phenomenon over at Mrs. Hogue's house. A beautiful hydrangea bush sits on the northwest corner of her house... and everyone has always marveled at the amazing and rare bright purple color she was able to coax into her flowers.

More than a purple, the flowers were a beautiful indigo-bluey-violet with shades of royal purple bursting along every single bloom. Quite a sight to behold and, from what I understand, a rather difficult thing to accomplish. Here is my best attempt to capture that color.

I had hoped to take a cutting of the plant to try out on the same corner of our house, but when I went out the other day to look at the bush again, I noticed the flowers looked remarkably different.

What once was a shockingly bright and vibrant plant with uniquely colored blooms has now become a cluster of mis-matched and predominantly dull flowers... some nearly white in appearance.

It's as of the life has been sucked out of them. They look like little, round ghosts bobbing around the house and mourning the absence of their former caretaker.

I wish I knew how to save them, but perhaps the best thing is to let them go, or at least embrace their transformation into something new in the wake of such a significant loss.

Think. Say. Do.

I wrote a play, while in The Neo-Futurists, about prayer and the semantic difficulty of finding a word that adequately expresses what I feel I do when I'm asking for help or trying to connect with something larger or seeking to manifest/create something new. At least, that's part of what it was about.

Prayer was not a word ever used by my family and, in fact, I grew up sort of feeling like it carried a negative connotation - too religious, too Christian, too attached to dogma. I grew up without formal religion. I attended church with friends every once in a while, but I was primarily raised in what might be called a "New Age" theology or spirituality. My brother and I were encouraged to question, to explore, to define our own beliefs and to learn as much as we could about others. A pretty great way to grow up, overall.

My family always called prayer "blessings" - but it's really the same thing. And so lately I've tried to be more mindful of using the word prayer. To open myself up to using that word to communicate what I'm doing when I pray for others or pray to a higher power.

My prayer for myself, in times of trouble, is nearly always the same: Let things happen as they should; let what is to be, be. Help me trust all is unfolding just as it is supposed to.

Because, ultimately, I do believe all happens for a reason and all happens as it should. Which is not to say I believe I can sit back on my booty and just wait for good things to occur. I believe you still have to fight for your dreams, work toward your goals, and advocate for your needs. (Nor does it mean I believe bad things happen because we asked for them or deserved them... I guess it's more that I think it all leads toward personal/spiritual learning, evolution, and growth.)

So perhaps it's a marriage between destiny and fate... a balance between free will and the will of God (another word I'm trying to get more comfortable using). The bottom line is, the events of the last two weeks have tested my faith as I've prayed for guidance, patience, calm, and trust.

Most of all trust.