tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548636820713494812.post3197680277450038165..comments2023-06-26T09:49:27.147-06:00Comments on Ye Olde Crones Gazette: Some thoughts at the beginning of a new year.....OmaLindasOldeBaggsandStuftShirtshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09589622524456973822noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548636820713494812.post-35327649668013804762012-11-30T06:25:54.230-07:002012-11-30T06:25:54.230-07:00Guilt. She is a bitch isn't she. Her best fr...Guilt. She is a bitch isn't she. Her best friend is worry. There are times they both bombard me and I want to curl up in a ball, and I do. I feel they will always be a part of me. They are a part of everyone, women much more so then men (in my humble opinion). We are the caretakers, the ones who are brave enough to accept and face our emotions. Like childbirth, the pain is unbearable but the gift is unimaginable joy. To forgive, even if just for a day, is lifting.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548636820713494812.post-37496443750613061722012-11-16T20:10:31.815-07:002012-11-16T20:10:31.815-07:00Good for you Oma Linda. Life is hard! Know you are...Good for you Oma Linda. Life is hard! Know you are a loved woman! For me, I know my father wishes he could do it all over again and have different children. I just look at him and accept him for who he is. I don't want to have regrets like that! I feel that's his life! Sometimes, I wish things could be different, but I have to live my life! And, cherish the love I have around me! I am thankful! Big Hugs ;o)<br />(I will be back this weekend to read your story!)Magic Love Crowhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14133368208464734546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548636820713494812.post-33690142252032020762012-11-06T07:19:33.569-07:002012-11-06T07:19:33.569-07:00Self acceptance is a tough one for me also. Thoug...Self acceptance is a tough one for me also. Though I'm not as bad as I used to be. When my mother died, I cried. Not because I was going to miss her because we were close. We were not. She was a selfish and self centered person who had no affection to spare for her kids, at least not her daughters. I cried when she died because with her death all possibility of having the kind of mother I wanted so badly was gone.ellen abbotthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00535475792150335186noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548636820713494812.post-20277397849680666392012-11-05T21:03:28.779-07:002012-11-05T21:03:28.779-07:00I too have issues with the ancestor portion of thi...I too have issues with the ancestor portion of this time of year, as those who have passed are unknown to me as more than just name. And often, when I think too much on this at this time of year a special breed of wooly boogers comes to roost in my head and make me feel guilty for not having more of a relationship with them. Which was in no way my fault as I was a child and young teen when most passed on, but still that lingering regret remains. And so each year, come Samhain and Dia de Los Muertos, I work at putting those boogers to rest and little by little it's working. I still long for that connection and wish I had more knowledge and ties to my ancestors, but the burden of my own misguided guilt lessens each year. <br /><br />And from one worst personal critic to another; we can walk the acceptance path together. Now that I've healed a little and grown a lot, it's time to learn to accept and maybe - in wee tiny baby steps - love myself. <br /><br />P.S. That family of yours, both with you and those far off (like myself!) are all damn lucky to have such a wise and wonderful woman in their life. xoxDannihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07686692876719223611noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548636820713494812.post-30490407061853277632012-11-05T09:39:57.861-07:002012-11-05T09:39:57.861-07:00To me your wanting acceptance for yourself is wond...To me your wanting acceptance for yourself is wonderful. Perhaps you can blend compassion into it, which is accepting the wooly boogers with love and understanding. Your kids and grand kids are SO lucky to have you Oma!Wendy S.https://www.blogger.com/profile/15844140164219677671noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548636820713494812.post-63073280806127021902012-11-05T08:04:27.038-07:002012-11-05T08:04:27.038-07:00Your words so often mirror my own and it's obv...Your words so often mirror my own and it's obvious we both are seeking the same things from life. I still have trouble accepting the path I was given to travel and now that I've been on it for as long as I have I wonder if I follow your example and work at taking baby steps I may get to where I want to be. maddyrosehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11884692897586711653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548636820713494812.post-2835821941188059192012-11-04T20:39:04.381-07:002012-11-04T20:39:04.381-07:00It isn't possible to live a perfect life, a li...It isn't possible to live a perfect life, a life without regrets. Even Jesus lost his temper and beat merchants in the temple. Since perfection isn't possible, it can't be the goal. I think the goal is balance and harmony. And yes...acceptance. Love yourself enough to forgive yourself for whatever is troubling you. stephen Hayeshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17659054447637207734noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548636820713494812.post-78354036409716648222012-11-04T14:08:45.818-07:002012-11-04T14:08:45.818-07:00Every once in awhile those old thoughts pop up unb...Every once in awhile those old thoughts pop up unbidden. So far, I can think about them briefly (when they surprise me with their appearance)& dismiss them by thinking how I will do things differently should the situation appear. Really can't focus, then it's time for cross-stitch. Always a comfort:) Speaking with my ancestors bothers me as well. I just find it incredibly difficult to believe that people who would be appalled at my spiritual tendencies would change so radically after death.petoskystonehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01633621111274495078noreply@blogger.com