LOWER THE DRAWBRIDGE FOR ME

Sunday morning.  I am baking baquettes and trying to write.  I am distracted by dog hair on the floor, thoughts, feelings and excuses of all sorts.  I would just like to sit here in the warmth of the morning sun and do sweet tweet. I would regret it later so I must trudge on. Maybe a cup of tea would soothe the words out of me.

So I’ve had my cup of tea.  The baquettes are done and eaten.  The dishes are dealt with. The dog is walked and her hair are gone.  The thoughts and feelings linger.  It is evening, supper done and I’m sipping my wine, feeling melancholy.  I am sure it has to do with the state of the world today.  We are, or should I just speak for myself, so adrift in this moment.

We want so desperately to connect, don’t we?  If not, why fore all the social media?  I know I am guilty of being on Facebook and Instagram.  I have a Twitter account.  I would tweet more if I understand it more and if I have more followers.  Yet, despite all this, I feel more disconnected and lonely than ever.  Do I have any real friends?

I am trudging through my thoughts and feelings.  I’ve had a glass of wine.  Don’t mind me and my words.  I really want to write about storytelling today.  Somehow I got lost and couldn’t find my way to it.  How nice it would be to back to the days of The Friendly Giant. He would lower the drawbridge for us.  We would enter the castle and he would have arranged some chairs around the fireplace .  Wouldn’t it be nice to sit and listen to each others’ stories?

I miss those days.  Missing is a useless feeling though.  It does not help to connect us at all.  Perhaps I can try again tomorrow for a story. In the meantime, here’s the Friendly Giant.

 

ENTERTAINING THE WILLY NILLIES

IMG_3629Another sunrise, another dawn.  The colours blossom across the sky.  I am awed.  I am elated.  I am soothed.  I am happy to be in this moment, on this earth.  I watch the light and the shadow dance, complementing, enhancing each other.  What would one be without the other, without the contrast?  What is ying without yang?  Can you tell the sweet without the sour?

Silly questions, I know.  I am like that.  I like to entertain these willy nillies.  Sometimes they lead to something profound – like a lightbulb, serendipitous moment.  I would like to have such a moment so I can rush out onto Preston Avenue, shrieking Eureka!  The traffic would stop, I am sure.  Someone would call 911 and I would be taken in for assessment.

But it would be a grand moment.  I smile at the deliciousness of it.  Imagine!  Discovering the answer to it all, whatever all is.  Let me linger in this bliss for while.  Life has been too serious lately.  I’ve been caught between a rock and a hard place too many times.  There is a softness and sweetness here.  It is good to sing, sway and dance.  Take it away…

 

 

PARIS AND IN MY LIFE

It is another morning.  Paris is a continent away but sorrow resides in the universe.  How have we have come to this time when people knowingly open fire upon their fellow human beings?  Surely they must know that they will be killed in return.  What pushed them to give up their lives?

I ask these questions because I do not understand.  I see that they are as much victims as as the ones they have killed.  However their situations/lives may be, there will be no other chances after they are dead.  But then, I am not in their shoes.  Have not walked their mile. Have never want of the basics of life.

I’m asking these questions and seeing the words of Joni Mitchell:

I’ve looked at life from both sides now

From win and lose and still somehow

It’s life’s illusions I recall …

I’m listening to John Lennon’s In My Life sung by Johnny Cash’s quivering voice.

These songs and lyrics play in my head along with the questions that Paris stirs up.  There is one thing I am sure of.  Life is good.  Life is sweet.  Let me count the ways.

  • waking up in the morning to the aroma of coffee perking
  • the first sip of coffee/tea. What’s not to like about that
  • breathing, laughing, crying, feeling the tears down my cheeks
  • seeing my sunroom bathed in sunlight on a cool November day
  • Sheba coming in to wake us up. Time for breakfast she says
  • making breakfast, eating breakfast, doing dishes
  • writing my words, writing my happiness, writing my pain
  • and so on and on – the ordinary, the mundane, the fantastic, the sorrows

And so, life goes on – moment by moment in all its catastrophes.  It is what we have.  I am glad I am here – in my life.

 

DISAPPOINTMENTS AND HEARTACHE

IMG_3609It’s funny how those aha moments come – out of the blue like a falling star from heaven. I’ve been thus hit this morning. I am sitting here basking in its afterglow, feeling grateful, tap, tapping away on my keyboard. I feel as if I’ve come home after a long journey. Perhaps I have been absent, away from myself for a long while.

I’ve been away, trying to be what I am not.  Trying to grasp what is not mine to have. Trying too hard to measure up to be an exalted angel – to be kind beyond kind, to be generous with a bottomless heart, to be that perfect product without a flaw.  How could I succeed?

I couldn’t no matter how hard I try.  I have tried and been disappointed and heartbroken to learn that I am just human after all.  I am flawed.  I take things personally.  I have resentments.  I am disappointed and disillusioned at times.  I have meanness in me.  I admit that I have all that in me.  I see it.  I am glad.

Why am I glad?  I am glad because now I can move on.  Disappointments and heartache are my good friends, teaching me what works and what doesn’t.  They are ushering me from the valley of the shadow into the light.

THE VERY FIRST OF NOVEMBER

IMG_3420October over, November beginning – a death and a birth.  I am a little disjointed, somewhat off course.  How to feel?  What to do with this new month?  I am not as blue as I can be, but bluish nonetheless on this grey wet day of November.

I was buoyed by the colours of October, held up by the Mindness Summit.  I had something to look forward to each morning – having tea with Melli O’Brien and her guest. What wisdom would they bring me that day? What a month it had been!  What a wonderful array of speakers.  And what a heart warming ending with Jon Kabat-Zinn.

IMG_2969October and the summit are over.  Now it is time for me to walk the path on my own.  It is not enough to have the knowledge. I have to live it – moment by moment, just as it is. It is much like the advice that Anne Lamott has on writing:  Write down as much as you can see through a one-inch picture frame. Then move to another one-inch frame.  I will have to read her book, Bird by Bird again.  It has many wise instructions on writing and life.

This first day of November is a pause, to rest into the quiet, to ready for a new month of challenges.  What will come up?  Time will tell.  I can only see in today’s picture frame. It is enough.

 

 

 

A YEAR TO: LEARN

smokingLoving oneself is perhaps the hardest thing to do/learn.  It’s taken me these many unconscious eons and this one conscious year to see how abusive I’ve been to myself. Now I can see clearly how I/all of us can fall into that vicious pattern.  Like it or not we are not unique unto ourselves.  We are wired the same.

Until we are awakened to that moment, we/I will keep falling into the same hole that Portia Nelson speaks of in her poem, There’s a Hole in My Sidewalk.

“I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost… I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in. It’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault. I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

I walk down another street.”

I can’t really tell you how many times I have fallen into the same hole.  I am unaware of how bruised or battered I became till that aha moment when someone switched on the light.  It seems so easy now that I am on the other side of the street.  It is not so when I was in the quagmire with no firm foothold.

IMG_2371Learning comes slowly for me.  I’ve been stuck in the same place for the last year. Sometimes you have to hit me with a 2×4.  Falling into the same deep hole also works! The lesson is lasting.  I realize that I am not in control of or responsible for everything.  I am not that powerful. Not everything is my fault.  No doubt, I will forget again from time to time. It’s only human nature. But I will not hurt myself more in those times with self-blame. Loving kindness starts with oneself.

JAMMING IT

IMG_3426There’s something so soothing and meditative about squishing grapes that I never thought possible! That’s the surprise I discovered when I sat down with my two pounds of Concord grapes. Two pounds is not alot but too much to eat.  Since we made the effort to grow them, it’s hard to waste them. I am not fond of making jelly.  It seems like SO much work.  My head gets boggled and quirky just thinking about it. Jamming is no breeze either, but seems like the less evil of the two.

I resigned myself to a bunch of work.  But I tried to make it as easy and pleasant as possible.  I took the lot into my sun room and sat down with them.  There’s no easy way of skinning them except squishing them one by one.  I did not rush.  I tried to watch/listen to video on YouTube but found it not enjoyable.  I gave that up for just sitting in the sunlight, squishing one purple grape after another, watching them plop into the pot on my lap.  In a little while I was overcome with peace and contentment.  My body said, Boy, I feel good! WOWZIE!

It took a couple of hours to jam two pounds of grapes from squishing to jarring.  The result was two little jars of purple jam.  No boiling bath was necessary.  They will be eaten soon enough or into the freezer they go.  The PROCESS was slow and enjoyable but not difficult.  The only difficult part was STARTING.

The recipe I followed, more or less:

4 lbs Concord, wild or other seeded purple grapes

1/2 cup water

1 cup raw sugar (organic turbinado)

pinch sea salt

Rinse grapes, stem them, then rinse again (especially if yours are wild or homegrown and covered in sandy Downeast soil, spider webs and slugs like mine).  Peel grapes by pinching each one (at the end opposite to the stem end is easiest) and allowing the grape innards to plop out into a medium (4-quart) stockpot or Dutch oven (this is far easier than it sounds; 3 lbs of grapes took me a leisurely 15 minutes to peel). Keep the grape skins in a separate bowl.

Bring the grape innards and any juice to a boil over medium-high heat; reduce heat and simmer until grapes begin to disintegrate, releasing seeds, about 10 minutes. Pour into the bowl of a food mill. Rinse the stockpot, add grape skins and 1/2 cup water, and bring water to a boil.  Reduce heat and simmer grape skins, partially covered, until soft and breaking down, about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, pass grape innards through the food mill; discard grape seeds.  Add grape pulp, sugar and salt to the grape skins. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then continue to cook at a brisk boil (lowering heat if jam begins to stick) until the gel stage (mine never reached 220 degrees F; I stopped it at 216 degrees when it formed a wrinkly set on a frozen plate).

Ladle hot jam into hot, sterilized jars to 1/4-inch headspace. Pass a wooden utensil along the sides of the jars to remove any bubbles, wipe rims, affix lids and process in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes.

LONG AND WINDY ROAD

IMG_3404I’m forever trudging down this long lonely windy road. There’s no end to it though I do see a light at the end.  I might as well put my head down and keep going.  I’ve come this far.  I should buckle up, bear down or whatever and see it to the end.  Never give up!  Never say uncle or squirrel!  I have to keep my focus, my eye on the road.  I’m so close and yet so far.

IMG_3398The road is long and oh, so dark and lonely. Won’t you lend me a hand?  Can I sit at your table and rest for just awhile?  I’m cold and my feet and soul are weary with this journey. No need for talk.  No need for false comfort. Rest and honesty are all I need.

 

LIKE A CAROUSEL

It is Thursday evening, not quite Friday but it is good enough to tell tales of 100 words on Friday Fictioneers. We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  Here’s my 100 words prompted by this week’s photo.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Her head was spinning like a carousel out of control.  Her heart pounded.  Lub dub!  Lub dub!  She crossed her arms across her chest as if to hold the sound in.  She bent over, taking a deep breath.

Her head cleared.  She sighed in relief.  She could think again.  She was tired of being down trodden, being at everyone’s beck and call, pleasing them, cheering them on. There was no time for herself.  There was no her.

“I’m tired of it.  Damn it all to hell!”  She muttered.  “I’ll have no more of it.  I know what I will do.”

AFTER THE PARTY

partyAfter the party is over, after all the drinks are gone, after all the speeches have been spoken, after everyone has gone home… We can relax and let our smiles fall. We can take our shoes off and drop our clothes on the floor.  We can sigh, breathe and let our shoulders drop. We can wash the weariness off our faces, smile again, remembering the moments, faces, toasts and stories, feeling grateful that we have friends and family to invite and share.

After the party is over, after we can take no more, after we have come home, we can let our faces fall.  We undress, hang up our clothes and stumble to the bathroom.  Under the warm shower, we breathe and sigh with relief and contentment.  We smile at the memories, stories and happy faces, feeling grateful to be invited.

mountainjpgAfter the journey is over and the dog collected, after the bags are unloaded, after a cup of tea and a glass of wine, after a meal cooked and ate, after a good night’s sleep…..After the bags are unpacked, the clothes laundered and hung, I am able to sit here, feet up, tap, tapping on the keyboard, feeling grateful for the journey, the hills and valleys, the laughter, the tears and the people who travelled with me.