I think of myself as work in progress, like dough rising to the occasion as time progresses. Some days I rise higher and faster and other times I’m a little slower, but I always show up and make my best effort. Today I am making bread. The dough is rising in the heat. I am wilting a little. Win some and lose some. That is how life is.
Today is the second day of my being FaceBook-less. I have deactivated. I am friendless. It is exhilarating the first day. It is so freeing not to have connections. Well 158 is not that many to most FaceBookers but it is alot to me. A woman is rich indeed if she has that many true friends. I am lucky that I do have a few good friends but I am no social butterfly. I am actually surprised that I have 158 people to add! Day two sans FaceBook is not so carefree. I have no notifications, no gossip, no photos, no news, no uppers or downers. I have no emails.
I have no friends and no emails. But….I do have a life. And so today to quiet my unease of this new situation, I restarted my quigong exercises, I sewed, I baked and I wrote. I am working on a life of quality, not quantity. Tomorrow I will do something new, something to break my pattern of being always in my comfort zone. I will dig for my passions. I will get to know myself. I will be my own best friend. I am a work in progress.
So here I sit, in the afternoon heat, wishing for days of yore. I am wishing for those days of innocent girlhood when you can just pick up the phone and talk to a friend. There’s a price to pay with our modern techno gadgets. You lose the skill for verbal, face-to-face or even phone conversations. I feel myself going in that direction. I hesitate to pick up the phone and dial. Maybe they’re busy. Maybe I will be a bother, Maybe, yes, maybe…..And so I put the phone down. Maybe another day. I am envious of people who are brave to be spontaneous….people who can pick up the phone and dial, people who can drop in for a visit because they are nearby and they like to spend time with you. It is so easy to be lazy, to hide with our texting messages and our emails and our plans. Don’t get me wrong. I think these are wonderful time saving tools, but as with everything else…balance would be nice.
So here I sit instead, tapping out my words and sipping coffee on a hot summer afternoon. I wipe the sweat from my face. I can hear the traffic whoozing down Preston Avenue through my open windows. Do you know that Staffing has already called me twice today? Can you believe it? I could not even make it for my own shift yesterday. But what do they care. I’m just a name and a number on their call list….someone at straight time. Though I work in healthcare, I know that I am the one who has to care for myself. Healthcare is too big an expanse to know whether a worker is sick and in trouble. So I am at the top of the triage to sound the alarm…health worker down! Time out! No need to bring all my health or other dramas to work. That’s not what I’m paid for. That is the sad truth. Time to refill my coffee.
I muster enough energy for my hair appointment this morning. Somehow I always end up in the barbershop chair when I’m feeling glum. Maybe it is just false perception….coloured by my mood, I am sure. My hairdresser is very beautiful, blonde and European. Her name is Beata. I have enough confidence in her now that I don’t worry about my mood affecting how the cut will turn out. My haircut is always fabulous. And she does not talk too much which is nice. I talk enough in my work life that it is wonderful to be able to sit back in her chair, close my eyes and let her razor and scissors do their work. It is fabulous not to make small talk. I can close my eyes and escape from all the noises of life for a little while.
I open my eyes. My hair is short, short….just the way I like it. But I am still looking glum. Well, it is hot and my face is a bit swollen and puffy. How else can I look? All good things in time. I am a work in progress.
I got the perfect picture for this post the other week! I’ve been on the lookout for such a field for awhile. I was going to settle for a close up shot of a handful of the flowers when Sheba and I walked through this schoolyard. There before our eyes was this beautiful field of dandelions….just as I have seen in my mind’s eyes. For a full impact, please click on the picture to get the full size image. It is breath-taking beautiful, absolutely wonderful….this expanse of sunshine. You probably think I’m nuts, going on and on about a field of weeds.
I have not been feeling well lately. I have been in a blue funk of some nameless sort. When I opened my eyes the other day, I saw my yard was full of dandelions. I saw it was engulfed in weeds. I became depressed and full of despair. I felt hopeless. How was I going to make it all go away? I needed to change my view of seeing the glass half empty. I needed to see it half full…not a small task. I remembered reading in the paper about the curing virtues of the dandelion. I decided to change the way I think about this plant….not as a weed, but as a valuable medicinal herb.
I am going to dig out the dandelions, save the roots, clean and dry them to make a tea – the rest of the plant is going into the compost, or maybe into a salad or sauteed. The possibilities are numerous if I am just a little adventurous. The going is slow and I concentrate on doing one little area at a time. I think of the exercise I’m getting and the roots I’m gathering. I feel somewhat of a pioneer. I wonder if the flower is good for tea? The song I’m hearing in my head today is A Hundred Million Miracles. That’s what I think of when I see this lovely yellow weed called the Dandelion. And I am sure that there is a hundred million of them!
I’ve never stopped to think about how miraculous life is. It’s taken all these 60 plus years and a song from the Flower Drum Song for me to see. Each of us is a hundred million miracles in ourselves, miracles of a hundred and million cells breathing and working each and every moment of every day. Every moment is a moment to revered and appreciated. They are gifts ….. they are our lives.
It is something that I will have to remember…in those moments when I am tired, discouraged, in pain, in sorrow….whatever. I will have to open my eyes and look around me and see and remember….all the miracles in our world and that nothing stays the same.
A HUNDRED MILLION MIRACLES (from the movie “The Flower Drum Song”)
My father says that children keep growing,
Rivers keep flowing too.
My father says he doesn’t know why,
But somehow or other they do.
–They do! some how or other they do.–
A hundred million miracles,
A hundred million miracles are happ’ning ev’ry day,
And those who say they don’t agree
Are those who do not hear or see.
A hundred million miracles,
A hundred million miracles are happ’ning ev’ry day,
–Miracle of changing weather:–
When a dark blue curtain is pinned by the stars,
Pinned by the stars to the sky,
Ev’ry flow’r and tree is a treat to see,
The air is very clean and dry.
Then a wind comes blowing the pins all away,
Night is confused and upset!
The sky falls down like a clumsy clown,
The flowers and the trees get wet.–Very wet!–
A hundred million miracles,
A hundred million miracles are happ’ning ev’ry day,
And when the wind shall turn his face,
The pins are put right back in place!
A hundred million miracles,
A hundred million miracles are happ’ning ev’ry day!
In ev’ry single minute so much is going on,
Along the Yangtse Kiang or the Tiber or the Don.
A hundred million miracles!
A swallow in Tasmania is sitting on her eggs,
And suddenly those eggs have wings and eyes and beaks and legs!
A hundred million miracles!
A little girl in Chungking, just thirty inches tall,
Decides that she will try to walk and nearly doesn’t fall!
A hundred million miracles!
A hundred million miracles, a hundred million miracles,
A hundred million miracles are happ’ning ev’ry day!
My father says the sun will keep rising over the eastern hill.
My father says he doesn’t know why but somehow or other it will.
–It will! somehow or other it will.–
(Reprise)
–Miracle of making music:–
When an idle poet puts words on a page,
Writes on a page with his brush,
A musical friend writes the notes to blend
Suggested by an idle thrush.
Then a young soprano reads what they wrote,
Learns every note, every word,
Puts all they wrote in her lovely throat,
And suddenly a song is heard!
–Very Pretty!–
A hundred million miracles, a hundred million miracles,
A hundred million miracles are happ’ning ev’ry day!
onethousandandtwo 