C’mon…I’m an elderly white woman from the midwest. Descendent of founding fathers. Raised Presbyterian. Well educated. Born into an upper middle class family in a suburb of privilege, I never wanted for anything. I mean, other than a little respect when you get home…

This humble blog has chronicled over a decade of my simple little life. I have shared my story of abuse where no one would suspect it. It’s a universal story. It isn’t special. I have worked through years of accepted and limiting belief systems; I have felt like I’ve overcome lifetimes of fear. I have moved houses three times in this decade since I started this journal. I have been placed high on a hill buffeting against the gales of Lake Michigan. Missing my family of origin. My Mother has never seen this place. My father, my brother, have never been here. I have outlived them. I’ve become estranged from a sister. I’ve buried darling dogs here, and my beloved familiar. I have come a long, long way toward myself. Toward what cannot be dissolved.

Somehow you’ve remained constant when little else has. You’ve witnessed many ups and downs, deep depressions, glorious ah-has. The exchange seems lop-sided; I’ve gotten the better end of this deal. Here’s hoping I have something of value to offer moving forward. I’ll say this again for the record – other than my joints, I feel 24 most days. But now I know what I couldn’t know then.

The past few days here have been daunting. I’m going to try to get out today, but it will be an adventure. We’ve been waiting days for a snow plow. My son has done his best to shovel out enough of the icy boulders left across the bottom of the driveway so that my car might be able to get through. There is a momentary reprieve in the snow, so no time like the present. I haven’t been out of the house in about 12 days. How’s that for a small life?! Even today, I won’t go far. Just the basics – bank, grocery store, library, post office. They are all within a mile loop, but it isn’t always doable. It’s a 30-degree-downhill mile through a tunnel of snow and ice. As I said, daunting. Always with a shovel and kitty litter in the back in case you slide off into a snowbank. At least you can try to extricate yourself, but more likely you’ll hitch a ride home until the tow truck gets around to you.

I am one of a few houses this far out of town (1 mile) that is inhabited year round. This is a summer resort area. My neighbors are from all over the country, but they only come regularly 3 months of the year. Yes, I stay because financially I cannot afford to leave. I don’t have a second home or the means to fly out to warmer climes. But I also love this isolation. The quiet is priceless. They don’t know what they’re missing.

Sitting here now at my kitchen table, I can look south through treetops and see about 2 miles to a distant hill. I can look west down to the neighbor’s closed up house an acre away, and beyond the mature pines to a snowy valley. East I look down through a valley to a stand of pines a few acres away. That farm has a small rustic barn across a field. Deer feed there in the evening, and the occasional bear or bobcat wander through. A large rafter of turkeys are coming and going – no extra charge for the entertainment. A pair of bald eagles has returned to nest somewhere in that stand of trees. They fly overhead daily back and forth to the big lake. I say “big lake” meaning Michigan. There are several smaller lakes nearby.

The scenic 2 lane road I live on is called a highway, but there is almost no traffic this time of year. Before moving here I was taken on an out-of-body flight one night, and shown this highway was built where a native trail had already existed. This isn’t unusual here in Michigan, of course. The natives had found the natural openings in the trees, probably following the organic paths animals frequented. But what I was taught that night was that this natural pathway was also a highway for witches, and for spirits that simply followed their lead. The path of least resistance for centuries, it seems. Okay, I thought, and shrugged, not knowing what that information meant.

Now that I am learning to live in an expanded reality, I realize this is a hilarious metaphor. Take the path of least resistance, Susan. Stop being defensive, angry, or even knowledgeable. Can’t you see there’s more to me than my mistakes? Let the ancestors serve me. They won’t take me somewhere I’m not supposed to be.

Maybe life could be a bit easier. Maybe. Maybe I can begin to enjoy the magic of this. I need something, give me something wonderful.