I’ve recently moved from a late 1800’s apartment where tall windows pour in grand light, as I do not use curtains, only valences you can see through. I chose to live there because the wide bedroom window glorified a view of a pond, a pocket of childhood memory that persists until you live it again.
April 2025, my landlord requested me to move with an eviction notice, ‘for the sake of renovations’, but my pocket of intuition says the landlord wanted more rental money. Because I shoveled the sidewalks and improved his property with flower gardens, I like to think he would think it would not be legitimate to raise my rent, me being a septuagenarian woman, with limited retirement.
I rode my scooter to places I’d like to live, and pocketed notes at various homes near waterfalls. Lucky me, I received a phone call from one landlord who said he was sick of cleaning the bathtub of his Airbnb and gave me the lease to sign, becoming the renter of his duplex where he and his wife live on the other side. Likewise, a late 1800’s house but not having as tall windows, yet a waterfall sings in my backyard, where one can swim as well.
My love affair of waterfalls exploded when my best friend, Gaylee, uses her book, 200 Waterfalls of Central and Western New York, to guide us on hikes to revel in their sweeping beauty until 2019 when she passed due to cancer, leaving me with deep pockets of grief, added to waterfalls of tears as I write a book honoring my “Dad Extraordinaire” lost in 1977, due to a sudden heart attack.
Dad wrote more than a hundred long detailed letters to me while in college and early marriage, from which I am writing Our Love Story!
At Ithaca’s Stewart Park, my eldest granddaughter, Denali, 31, sits on the bench alongside me, which I donated to Ithaca’s city park in memory: S. Michel Colbert-Kohl Dad Extraordinaire to Dianea Colbert-Kohl. Again, I tell her how her spirit seems to have escaped from a pocket holding my dad’s spirit – reborn to love me very much being like my dad.
Deeply sharing, eye-to-eye attentive listening, and yet different as she says I love you readily… at the end of our luncheon date, I think I heard it four times, whereas dad and I could only write those 3 precious words, not express them face to face. Pocketed fear.
Many are skeptical about past lives as was I, despite much research confirming healing from past lives therapy, until I connected to more than one lifetime in primal therapy. My crying, yes sobbing, confirmed and relieved the guilt I carried about dancing (too much, too often).
Still, I was surprised as Denali and I parted, (she lives in Spain) when I began sobbing while walking to my car and while driving. I open my pocketbook, grab a hankie where I blow my tears. Deep pockets of Design Of the Universe (DOU) sadness, honoring the love of my Dad and Denali – missing them!
Missing true love! (For myself as well.) *
*These moments seem like waterfall moments of truth.