Summer Doldrums

We’re past the mid-point of August and I’ve got the summer doldrums. I’m low on energy and inspiration so I’m looking through the snippets of phrases and ideas I’ve saved, hoping for something to spark. This week, my offering will be either brilliant, or a bit of rambling nonsense. No different from most weeks, really, except I’m not as likely to be long-winded.

I haven’t always felt this way; summer remains my favorite season. Maybe it’s the extreme heat or maybe it’s because my tolerance for that heat is lower, but I yearn to watch the rain from my window on a dark and dismal day. A string of these would be nice. The only thing standing between me and a move to New England right now is remembering that I despise the cold.

This malaise is just a phase. One that will probably last six more weeks. I’m quite fond of October. And November. Okay, lament over.

The ancestors have been calling lately. Not mine, they’re a stubborn lot and tend to take a lot of coaxing, but my husband’s dearly departed have been quite keen to make themselves known lately. His oldest brother and sister-in-law came for a visit in July and one of the high points was hearing some of their family stories. He’s about 15 years older than my husband and remembered details my husband never knew. I logged into their tree in my Ancestry account, and they had a virtual visit with people who’ve long since passed over while I updated names, dates and places.

Since then, I’ve been immersed in piecing together the details of his maternal grandmother’s story and she and I have become quite close. I’ve learned that whoever they are, when they want to talk, it’s my role to listen. I think they’ve been waiting for me to retire so I’d have time to research, prompt the current generation, and record what I learn for the generations to follow. This is my life’s work.

Tempus fugit, et numquam reveretitur. Time flees, and never returns. I suspect my obsession with uncovering details and the stories of ancestors is my core belief that the past, the present, and the future are not linear. The events of the past are as pertinent as those that will come to be. My own story isn’t one of successive chapters, read like a book from beginning to end. The 17-year-old version of me coexists with the versions of me at 29, 37, 45, 56, so on and so forth (hopefully for a very long time yet). In some ways I know more now than I did at 17 but in some ways I’m far less wise. My level of ‘sage’ has never had anything to do with my chronological age. This realization enables and encourages me to connect with people from all generations and appreciate the wisdom of their life experiences. Each one of us is the ancestor of our line and it’s a damn sight easier to record the story before it’s forgotten and then must be remembered.

Assuming the role of family history steward requires organization and discipline. I have natural tendencies of both, but I’ve never been strong at self-direction and my procrastination gene is strong. I’ve had to establish goals and I suppose a schedule would be helpful so that’s what’s next. I’ve developed a real aversion to appointments and other ‘time markers’ and haven’t used any kind of wake-up call since before the pandemic. I am loathe to resort to this measure, but I might find it necessary if I’m going to get anything done. I do love making lists, ticking off accomplishments as I complete them, which is helpful.

Alternatively, I could make better use of the nighttime hours. I’ve never been a night-owl, my day is usually over by 6pm, but I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who stayed up late. I’ve always felt like I was missing out on the things that nighttime people do. My internal clock has begun to shift away from my previously ridiculously early working-hours mode and if I can convince Marlowe and Tillie to sleep in a little later, my evening hours might become more productive. It would be nice to read tarot, write, and talk to the ancestors while looking at the night sky. Maybe I’ll work on implementing an internal time adjustment after the equinox, when it starts to get dark when it’s supposed to get dark. I’ll report back in a few months. Putting this on my list, now.

So, while the southern United States bakes in the record-breaking heat, I’m living as though I’m in a shabby but comfortable library, wrapped in a light shawl and warm lighting, in an ancient house on the windswept moors. I’m not alone. My ancestors are here, and yours are likely to drop by as well.

If you would like to know more about my ancestral connection work, or my other offerings such as tarot readings, spiritual guidance and mindset coaching, you can find more detailed information by using the drop-down menu on my website: The Mystic’s Parlour (the-mystics-parlour.ghost.io)

You can also contact me via email at themysticsparlour@gmail.com. Your continued support and encouragement are greatly appreciated.