PROCESSING

I am not organized today. That’s the way it goes – up and down or just treading water. Life is a process, each day unique unto itself. I guess that is why THEY say treasure it – for it will never come again. Sometimes I beg to differ though, like now. We seem to be reliving the same day of the Covid and of the cold. I am not complaining. I am healthy. I am safe. I am at ease. I wear my mask. I social distance. I check the numbers each day – number of deaths, number of new cases.

Each afternoon, we bundle up in our warm clothes and head out to the ski trails in our neighbourhood park. We warm up/cool down walking there. We sweat and get our heart rates up doing our laps around the park. I set my timer on my iPhone so I can monitor my progress. I like to know if I am on the right track and improving. I like to make corrections before I am too far set into bad forms. I am very happy today with my best time of 10:02.42 minutes on my 2nd lap around the park. I could feel that I was improving on my glide. I did not have to work as hard -pushing, huffing and puffing. Skiing is a process. I have to do the time and the distance.

Most of the day is gone. I’m looking at 5:30 in the afternoon. The sun is still out. It is -26℃ outside. It was -37℃ this morning. In the greenhouse, it is still 16.5℃. I can’t believe its high was 26.7 ℃ at 1:49 pm. But then the low was also -26.9℃ at 8:24 am. And just like that the sun has set while I’m tapping and the temperature in the greenhouse has dropped to 4.6℃. Not time to do spring planting yet. Patience, my dear.

So ends another Groundhog day. I’m getting a taste of what Bill Murray in that movie. I’m using too many excuses for the same old, same old. No excuses now. It is that I am just lazy and stuck in my daily routine. I am not lazy generally, just in changing habits. I pat myself on the back after I get back from skiing. I think I’m heroic and have done alot. Therefore I need to treat myself to a cuppa, a snack and Netflix. Before I know it, a couple of hours are gone. And I go: Oh, my God! I’ll do better tomorrow.

DAY 8 UBC – I NEVER PROMISED YOU A ROSE GARDEN

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden

Not every morning, day and anything are equal. I wouldn’t want it to be, would you? Where would the challenge be then? It would be like Bill Murray waking up to the same day, every day in Groundhog Day. A person could go bonkers! Change is good for us. Having said that, it doesn’t stop me wishing for the comfort of the endless sun shiny days. It’s our human default mode. We hate change. We hate discomfort and inconvenience. We hate interruption of a good thing.

You might have guessed it. Today is a cloudy and windy morning. We’ve had a light shower. It’s not conducive for productivity or joy. I should amend that. It can and does lead to creativity. Clouds sometimes give us pause make us reach deeper into ourselves. They can be an impetus for writing poetry, making music and other pursuits. I think we call them silver linings. Without clouds where would we get the rain for our rose gardens?

It’s getting towards the end of the day. I’m feeling a bit challenged on finishing this post. The day did not stay cloudy. The afternoon was lovely, warm and filled with sunshine. My persons came for afternoon tea and snacks. I was excused from my duty of ladder holding and fetching bandaids. It was a lovely visit. I am not high maintenance. I need only a person or two, good conversation and caring. I don’t need travel or shopping. I am a happy homebody.

YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW

Oh, the sun is doing a surprise showing and so am I. I broke the habit and it’s tough getting back. It’s that slippery slope. Well, today is yesterday’s tomorrow. It’s here. I haven’t found all my mojos yet. Do I sound like a broken record? I feel very much like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, waking up to the same day repeatedly. I’m trapped in my own time loop, living in my head too much. When will I wake up – to a new day?

No point in asking rhetorical questions. I still sound them out to see if there’s any anwers. There are none. I have to create my own reality/magic. I wish and wish with all my might. I fold my arms like Barbara Eden in I Dream of Jeannie. I blink my eyes and nod my head at the same time. Drat! Nothing. Magic happens only in movies or on TV. Maybe I don’t believe enough. I’ve lost that mojo, too – the magic of belief.

I can’t really give it a rest. That’s what I’ve been doing and all my passions have gone down the tube. Now I have to do the hard work of retrieval. How to begin when I’ve lost all my sentiments and naiveties? Somehow, I’ve lost faith and trust in goodness and kindness. I don’t believe we will be ok in the end, that we and the planet will survive. So then, what is the point?

I gave it some thought. There doesn’t have to be a point. The alternative is not acceptable. I still believe in truths. Maybe they are more powerful than magic. Why don’t I start right here, in the now, with what is true?

GENTLY DOWN THE STREAM WITH ALICE

Groundhog_Day_(movie_poster) — Image from wikipedia.org

Some mornings I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, waking up to the same morning day in and day out. The unchanging greyness frightens me in the first moment of wakefulness. Have you ever experienced that?

The thing not to do is to dawdle in bed, but I do. The greyness holds me there. I am unwilling to touch the cold floor of reality and face the day. I’ve been here before many times. I know that the moment my feet hit the ground, the feeling will dissipate. No, it does not magically evaporate. I have to assist its departure. How?

Getting out of bed is the first hurtle. The rest follows: I get up, dress up and show up at my desk. I put one letter, one word….any letter, any word and start. Things happen when you move. That is the law of life. It is not rocket science, as they say. Don’t you just hate cliches? I’m past the hurtles and I am sitting here, tap, tapping out the words. I hope for magic today. I want to feel the words tumbling off my fingertips like water rippling over the rocks in the river. The sound of the keyboard is music to my ears. I see the stream of words floating gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily life is but a dream.

I’m rowing my own boat, steering, pushing it towards my destination. You have to have a little bit of oomph to get over rough spots. The weather changes and the water can get rough. A life jacket is a must. A rope or two can be useful. You can never tell. It’s best to have some tools on hand.

The weather has changed. The sky is steely grey. I feel the ghost tiptoeing on my grave. It is alright. I am well acquainted with him. He cannot hurt me. I breathe and drop the other shoe. There are no explosions of catastrophe. The quietness of a Saturday morning presides.

I am safe in my home, in my own skin. I am the captain of my spirit. I get to change the direction in which I travel. The sky is grey. Autumn leaves of orange and gold are floating past my window. They are whispering and teasing me with their graceful dancing movements.

“Come with us. Come with us”.

Perhaps today would be a good day to explore – to travel down Alice’s rabbit hole. Would I find her Wonderland?

I stepped inside the book yesterday just for 15 minutes. I fell down the tunnel with Alice and landed on top of a bundle of twigs and leaves. We chased after the white rabbit and came to a hall full of locked doors.

We found a magic key that opened a door. We still could not get in, of course. It’s not that simple. If it was, that would be the end of the story. There would be no Alice in Wonderland. Life is like that too. It has many corridors with many locked doors, all posessing different codes. You need the right combination to unlock each.

I had to leave Alice swimming in the puddle of her tears, wondering how she was going to get into that Wonderland. I will find another 15 minutes to be with her today. It is an intriguing story. It has grabbed the child in me. That’s what good stories do. I’m learning the process.

BITING THE BULLET

I am afraid today is another Day – waking up to the same grey and cool morning. No snow though, thank the lord for small – no big mercies. I’m starting to feel like Bill Murray. Desperation is nibbling on my edges. I cannot afford to let it all hang out.

I am hanging in/on or whatever. I’ll put on my Wonder Woman outfit and let it do the magic. Today I have my tiara AND my lasso. Look out! I have magic and power.

I can bite the bullet and do all those hard to do things that I’ve been putting off. What better time to do them than on a grey and cold day? I do not need to move mountains, only piles – and piles. I only have to move one of them at a time.

And at the end or in the middle, there’s those sweet buns I made yesterday and a cup of sweet spicy hot chocolate. I am feeling energized and ready to tackle anything . And Sheba is poised to help.

IT’S ALL ABOUT ME

Sometimes I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. I wake up to the same day over and over. That’s the way it’s been lately. Today is another grey and cool day. It feels damp but no rain or snow – yet.

Wish I could be a wee bit more worldly and talk about more worldly issues like the post, The World is Not Flat. But alas, I can only talk about my every day mundane struggles. I am afraid, dear readers, that it’s all about me. That is all you are going to get – my myopic views of the world as I see it!

How am I seeing my world today? There’s still a lot of the same grey, cool dreariness of yesterday. I push myself to pump up my own adrenalin to head out the door with Sheba for an early morning fast walk. The crisp air helps to propel me forward even though Sheba would rather stop and smell the coffee. Some other morning, Sheba.

There is no point in moping over the weather. It is what it is. I am moving through the day. There are no end of things to do – books to be read and written, seedlings to transplant. My cross-stitch of Jesus is calling me. I’ve been working on it off and on for a few years. It is time to complete unfinished projects.

It is time to put procrastination back on the shelf. There’s a life to be lived and doodles to be doodled. And there is Sheba to be cleaned up after. She has just thrown up on her rug. Grrrrr!

onethousandandtwo

Looking at Infinity

Groundhog Day