There’s a whole lotta magic available to me, I’m just starting to see. For reals. Thing is, it’s not wave a wand and poof type magic, it’s more plod plod plod plod plod plod plod and, “Wow I’m not what I was before” magic.
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My body and my mind feel like solid rock some days. On those days, there’s so little give, so little space, that it’s an effort to simply walk. My back gets tight. I know it’s exacerbated by stress, or maybe even caused by stress.
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As a quasi-agnostic, I don’t love the word miracles, but it has a much better ring to it than “really unexpected good things.” Court Surprisingly Good Things. Nope, doesn’t do it the same way. And when I look at the world through wonder-colored glasses, miracle-courting glasses, it’s a much better place to be.
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There’s a character who’s on my side completely, on the side of my higher, more ephemeral self. The self that’s stronger than Evie, the evil inner critic, stronger than Princess Wah Wah, the inner grandiose victim, and bigger than Jenna, the merry domestic goddess.
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Honestly, at the peak of the flea situation I was ready to get rid of Cleo. Not permanently, just while she got de-flea’d. I know this thought makes me a bad cat person, possibly a bad person in general. But I’ve always considered myself a dog person who is too lazy and selfish to take care of dogs and therefore has a cat.
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It’s been 8 days since my last post, probably the longest break I’ve had in three years. I thought about posting, I even wrote some titles, but didn’t give myself the tiny amount of focused time it takes to complete one. For all kinds of good reasons of course. And then I wonder why it was a turbulent week.
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In the face of a big white wall, I’ve been known to paint on canvas and hang it up. And my hubby Mike seems to enjoy the results, and so do I. There’s a big white all in our living room however that I’ve left unadorned.
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The cure for not enough-itis is not more, it’s a change in perspective. I know that, and you probably know that, and yet not enough-itis still creeps in if unattended. And there’s a culture of consumption that encourages the (diseased) way of thinking that more will lead to — peace? Happiness? Safety? A sense of worthiness?
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We’re so lucky sometimes it’s hard to fathom. Like today, we have heat for our home, clean water to drink, healthy food to eat, even chocolate. The grey sky outside is morning mist, not smoke, I’m pretty sure, and we are safe. At this moment we are safe.
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There’s a fire a few towns south of us and a really big fire north of us, far north. My friend Jazmine evacuated to our place the night before last and hung out at our kitchen table most of the day trying to work from her laptop pretending to be normal.
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I’m sitting on the new white sectional watching little black birds fly against the pale grey white early morning misty sky. A gang of black flapping dots, cruising around, doing their thing. I used to watch this bird show all the time from my favorite morning chair, but then when we got the new white sectional, the new white sectional went where the old chair used to be and the old chair moved to a different place altogether. A place comfortable enough to sit and write, but with no view of the bird show.
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There have been mass extinction events before and yet history continued. There has been suffering and racism and toxic air and genocide before and history has continued. Doesn’t mean I like those things or the people who promote those things. Doesn’t mean I won’t fight those things and feel grateful for the privilege to do so.
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Whoever thought truth would be a controversial concept? But I don’t need to worry about you too much. Not before I mind my own beeswax and get clear on what’s true for me. What’s true for me is I care more about people than stuff. That my life is rich because my family and I can afford to get help when we’re sick, food when we’re hungry, shelter when we’re tired, and education when we want to learn. We are rich because we get to give time and a little money to help others. What a privilege.
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Today, the day after Halloween, is like the Thursday night of my long-gone clubbing days. It’s the day when the real freaky people come out to play. Friday night and Saturday night are for amateurs, tourists, and office workers. Thursday night is for people who care more about play than whatever happens the next day.
Read MoreI’m looking forward to a sober Halloween, where I can enjoy everyone else’s shenanigans and know that Ax and I will be home safe and in bed at a reasonable hour. He’ll get to have five candies this evening, and one a day for a week after that. Then we’ll dispose of the remainder. He understands that the limits come from love, from wanting him to have a healthy, long, fabulous life. He gets that a little candy once in a while is okay, but too much can take his strength and power away. And he doesn’t want that either.
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There’s a lot of stuff out there that is upsetting to me. And there’s plenty of unease that I self-generate. I know what’s good for me, a lot of the time, if I slow down long enough to notice, to run that HALT checklist: Hungry? Angry? Lonely? Tired?
Read MoreI’ve been staring at the big blank white wall in our living room for a while now, wondering what kind of painting would look best there. I can see a lot of options, color schemes, scenes, moods, in my mind’s eye. I thought I’d settled on one that had stuck with me for quite a while. I was ready to buy the big canvas and get to work in my backyard art studio (the yard, with a tarp on the ground).
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