I am gliding on great joy this week. After the heavy crash of Dec 14th 2012 the pendulum has swung to deepest gratitude and happiness.
This week has been filled, no, overflowing with awesome. Last night a gathering of women turned into a laugh riot of epic ridiculousness, collaboration and talk of future old-fashioned slumber parties (think light as a feather stiff as a board, nail polish and frozen bras). Tonight, bucket loads of kids tore up my home with the most divine pleasure I have ever seen. And this morning a dear friend's baby was born.
The apocalypse of destruction didn't come today. Rather the opposite. Harmony in it's grandest sense.
I cannot imagine a life more wonderful than these moments. I am grateful to be living them.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Saturday, December 15, 2012
trust
This has been in my draft folder since the spring.
I was alone, dwelling in my struggles, wondering if I was doing 'it' right. If the path I had bushwhacked for my travels was, indeed the path that would be my ultimate joy. Were these pains and sadness of dis-ease or were they the cuts and scrapes of focus and creation? I lay there with sobs and questions. In a ball of sniffles and snot, flickers then flames of love heated my insides (wha-ho that is chee-zee). This love burned stronger at the prospect of being extinguished at the possibility of disbelief.
There, gazing at the sky was my moment. That moment of enlightenment yogis have. That your wacky friend waxes on about that they found in some hot spring. OK, so it may not have been enlightenment. Maybe a higher power, the universe, or the voices in my head. Between sobs and questions, loss and confusion, I heard it. Trust. I heard it over and over. Trust. Trust love. Trust all is well. Trust the love for myself and the love from others. Trust.
I have since tried to think of all the synonyms for this word, trust. I have said it 10 times fast. I write it on scraps of paper like young girls doodle hearts and bubble letters on there notebooks during Spanish class. Confidence. Certainty. Truth. Faith. Believe. Know. Trust.
Trust is my solid ground. It is gentle and kind, strong and powerful. It is the constant on my uncharted journey.
Is life uncertain? I'm not sure anymore. I know that my struggles are beauty in disguise. I love my life. It is simply beautiful. I am delightfully happy. I'm going with it!
I was alone, dwelling in my struggles, wondering if I was doing 'it' right. If the path I had bushwhacked for my travels was, indeed the path that would be my ultimate joy. Were these pains and sadness of dis-ease or were they the cuts and scrapes of focus and creation? I lay there with sobs and questions. In a ball of sniffles and snot, flickers then flames of love heated my insides (wha-ho that is chee-zee). This love burned stronger at the prospect of being extinguished at the possibility of disbelief.
There, gazing at the sky was my moment. That moment of enlightenment yogis have. That your wacky friend waxes on about that they found in some hot spring. OK, so it may not have been enlightenment. Maybe a higher power, the universe, or the voices in my head. Between sobs and questions, loss and confusion, I heard it. Trust. I heard it over and over. Trust. Trust love. Trust all is well. Trust the love for myself and the love from others. Trust.
I have since tried to think of all the synonyms for this word, trust. I have said it 10 times fast. I write it on scraps of paper like young girls doodle hearts and bubble letters on there notebooks during Spanish class. Confidence. Certainty. Truth. Faith. Believe. Know. Trust.
Trust is my solid ground. It is gentle and kind, strong and powerful. It is the constant on my uncharted journey.
Is life uncertain? I'm not sure anymore. I know that my struggles are beauty in disguise. I love my life. It is simply beautiful. I am delightfully happy. I'm going with it!
Friday, December 14, 2012
love
My heart is broken for the parents who sent their babies to school expecting their dear young ones to come skipping home in the afternoon. I hug my children and cry. I refresh my Facebook. Our day goes on. The house still needs tidying, the dishes should get done, we haven't begun to decorate for Christmas, and I have a board meeting and class to attend. I refresh my Facebook. Our day goes on. I am frustrated the girls won't pick up the Tinkertoys without my assistance. I am frustrated the youngest won't eat her lunch, the lunch filled with protein to keep her happy until dinner. I am frustrated with the eye rolling that just won't quit. I refresh my Facebook. Our day goes on. I kiss my children as I leave the house. I tell them 'I love you, I love you so much' again and again. Our day goes on. I can't imagine that being the last hug I share with my dear, sweet, eye rolling, clever, beautiful, kind girls. I cry. My day goes on. I cry. My heart breaks, I well up, I cry. I continue to cry. But my day goes on. I come home and kiss my sleeping babes. I count my blessings.
I am thankful I can tuck my girls in at night.
I cry. And my night goes on......
Monday, December 10, 2012
Dusty McDusterfield
My house is a mess. There is construction dust in every corner. The bathtub has no walls, but the toilets flush and the taps run water. It is a great month in our home. There are as many piles of clothes, toys, crafts, gifts, and papers as there are bits of plaster dust on our floors. When it's time to eat we shove a pile or move to an area of floor that is momentarily vacant of treasure. It's messy, cluttered, and hectic. It's heaven. Work is getting done.
Everyday my dad comes to spackel, nail, build, install, and paint. Clark spends his days running wires and installing outlets and switches. We are at our best, most joyful selves when we choose to work and leave our housework 'til another day.
Everyday my dad comes to spackel, nail, build, install, and paint. Clark spends his days running wires and installing outlets and switches. We are at our best, most joyful selves when we choose to work and leave our housework 'til another day.
Monday, October 29, 2012
The Hurricane
I have a loving relationship with a hurricane named Gloria. It was named after one of my favorite aunts, says the 5 year old that holds life long residence in my heart. That hurricane and my memories of that day were who my aunt was, strong, fun, loud and generous. Oh, how I loved my Aunt Gloria. Having a hurricane of her very own only raised that pedistal she was mounted on.
I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful day. Trees and power lines were down all around. My mom baking bread, the power out and our bathtub full of water. I don't know if the storm was high risk where we lived at that time. If it was my parents never let on. That's not how they do things. They find the pleasure in the suckiest of situations. Their storm clouds have at least 3 coats of immaculately applied silver linings, not a missed brush stroke in sight.
My dad took us out to assess the casualties after his daily 3 mile jog. One umbrella tree (that I had never noticed in my lifelong residence on those four acres of backyard), one rotten tree at Carol and Bob's down the street, and numerous branches on power lines that we were not allowed to walk under. Oh man, that day was the best. My parents, my sister, my grandmother and I spent the day together. It wasn't Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter. No stiff collars, ironed dresses or tights with the crotch constantly pulling down to my knees. We could stay in our jammies all day, play and eat bread. The whole house had that fresh baked bread smell. It is one of my fondest memories from growing up. I'm sure the winds blew and it rained buckets. But I don't remember. Family and fresh bread.
I was 5 or 6. The same age my daughter is now.
Today, is Hurricane Sandy. Named after our dear friend, Sandy, says my inner 6 year old. And so far the personality of this storm is that of our sweet Sandy. She is mild mannered (so long as you live where we do and aren't on some pier in Atlantic City). Some rain, some gusts of wind here and there, some blues skies and sunshine, good food, friends and no school.
I spent the morning doing yard work. Taking down the swings, bringing in the sandbox toys, loading the wood bins, raking, and gathering kindling. The sky cleared at one point to a bright blue and the sun came out. It misted most of the afternoon. No big deal. One daughter went to a friends to play the other to her grandparents. I made a dinner that everyone enjoyed. We had popcorn and apples with peanut butter for dessert while watching a movie and making headbands.
Goodness golly, it was a great day.
That is hard to say. Others didn't have the same day we did. There is vast devistation and loss. Mothers have lost their children. Families have lost their homes. Beaches have been swept to sea along with the roads leading to them. People are hungry, thirsty, scared, and cold. They have a very different view of today.
I like to think that my parents have passed to me the capacity to create joy in ugly situations and that I am doing the same for my children.
My daughter's favorite place to be is school. She'd be there 7 days a week if she could. Do I have school on Saturday? Why don't we have school on Labour Day? Oh and forget telling her she is too sick to go to school, the day will be spend asking if she'll be going to school tomorrow and wondering what she is missing today!
Except for today. Hurricane Day. No school today. No school tomorrow.
"Since its a hurricane day can we eat breakfast in front of the fire?" No school and eating bacon in front of the wood stove. I won her over. Our storm clouds are glazed in bacon, that's just as good as silver.
I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful day. Trees and power lines were down all around. My mom baking bread, the power out and our bathtub full of water. I don't know if the storm was high risk where we lived at that time. If it was my parents never let on. That's not how they do things. They find the pleasure in the suckiest of situations. Their storm clouds have at least 3 coats of immaculately applied silver linings, not a missed brush stroke in sight.
My dad took us out to assess the casualties after his daily 3 mile jog. One umbrella tree (that I had never noticed in my lifelong residence on those four acres of backyard), one rotten tree at Carol and Bob's down the street, and numerous branches on power lines that we were not allowed to walk under. Oh man, that day was the best. My parents, my sister, my grandmother and I spent the day together. It wasn't Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter. No stiff collars, ironed dresses or tights with the crotch constantly pulling down to my knees. We could stay in our jammies all day, play and eat bread. The whole house had that fresh baked bread smell. It is one of my fondest memories from growing up. I'm sure the winds blew and it rained buckets. But I don't remember. Family and fresh bread.
I was 5 or 6. The same age my daughter is now.
Today, is Hurricane Sandy. Named after our dear friend, Sandy, says my inner 6 year old. And so far the personality of this storm is that of our sweet Sandy. She is mild mannered (so long as you live where we do and aren't on some pier in Atlantic City). Some rain, some gusts of wind here and there, some blues skies and sunshine, good food, friends and no school.
I spent the morning doing yard work. Taking down the swings, bringing in the sandbox toys, loading the wood bins, raking, and gathering kindling. The sky cleared at one point to a bright blue and the sun came out. It misted most of the afternoon. No big deal. One daughter went to a friends to play the other to her grandparents. I made a dinner that everyone enjoyed. We had popcorn and apples with peanut butter for dessert while watching a movie and making headbands.
Goodness golly, it was a great day.
That is hard to say. Others didn't have the same day we did. There is vast devistation and loss. Mothers have lost their children. Families have lost their homes. Beaches have been swept to sea along with the roads leading to them. People are hungry, thirsty, scared, and cold. They have a very different view of today.
I like to think that my parents have passed to me the capacity to create joy in ugly situations and that I am doing the same for my children.
My daughter's favorite place to be is school. She'd be there 7 days a week if she could. Do I have school on Saturday? Why don't we have school on Labour Day? Oh and forget telling her she is too sick to go to school, the day will be spend asking if she'll be going to school tomorrow and wondering what she is missing today!
Except for today. Hurricane Day. No school today. No school tomorrow.
"Since its a hurricane day can we eat breakfast in front of the fire?" No school and eating bacon in front of the wood stove. I won her over. Our storm clouds are glazed in bacon, that's just as good as silver.
Friday, March 30, 2012
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