Some weeks, I feel like this car. Rusty bones.
I am a person who always wants to report good news, but who has that kind of life?
When my back goes out of joint, like this past week, I always try to figure out why.
I figure, if I can pinpoint exactly what I did wrong and avoid that particular move in future I will be safe from pain forever.
But that's not how it works.
There is never a why to be found.
You go to bed feeling great, you wake up as the tin man in dire need of oiling.
You were happy, now every time you move, it hurts.
Nooooo. Not again.
We must play the hand we are dealt.
Sometimes that stinks.
Let's be honest.
Nevertheless, you plug along, collecting rust.
Slowly, slowly you begin to feel better.
You try to focus on the beautiful sunshine outside.
You savor hot tea and enjoy the budding trees.
You summon the courage for gratitude.
Gratitude is the hardest best thing you will ever practice.
Believe it.
And rust has its own kind of beauty, which takes time to develop.
Old, rich, deep color.
In life, there is always beauty to be found.
And joy.
No matter what.
On rusty days, one must search a little harder to find them.
If you can begin, if you can open your hand just a little bit, God will not leave you comfortless.
This I believe.
Don't you just love it when something unexpectedly good happens? I live for such moments. I call them instances of grace. Last night, my book group met at Central Market. We chatted in the dining area till the place closed down. We do that. Not saying we're blabbermouths, buuuuttt... a few of us may be. Just before we left (aka were ushered out), a cheerful, bright-eyed employee from the floral department swept up to our booth and handed each us a bouquet of daffodils. Love that! Having bloomed, the daffodils would not be suitable to sell the next day, so flower gal decided to give them away. To us. Yay! Have I told you yellow is my favorite color? I usually tell QG flowers are too expensive, give me the cash instead, but now I am rethinking.
Second unexpectedly good thing yesterday was my acupuncture appointment. Let me just say that acupuncture hurts. But it's worth it. I have a friend who likes to rhapsodize about how good acupuncture feels. She claims she ends each session by requesting a needle in the top of her head, which it makes her feel giddy. No joke. I have to wonder what planet she is living on, 'cause to me acupuncture is a necessary evil when your back hurts really bad.
My acupuncturist, Pingping, who I love, tells me she puts the needles deep enough to "feel the energy." Apparently, my energy runs very, very deep. Ouch. Yesterday, Pingping ran across an "energy block" on my left hip strong enough to bend her needle. Don't ask. All I know is, I am feeling 90% better since our session, and she reported that my problem seemed to be a pulled muscle. Fist bump, people! Pulled muscles are much better than slipped discs, in my book. Thank the Lord above for instances of grace. Like pulled muscles.
Lazy weekend. The bad news: sore back. The good news: back is improving, which just goes to show how therapeutic laziness can be! This amazing blossom was spotted on my daughter's street in Portland a couple weeks ago. Sit back, breathe, and enjoy its enchanting yellowness for a spell.
Once in a while, I get a good idea. Here are two you may want to try. The first I take credit for, the second was straight from my friend Carolyn.
Idea number one involves boots. It's been a cold winter here in Dallas, and I got obsessed with getting some boots with fur inside to keep my feet warm when I borrowed my daughter's cozy ugh-like boots. I loved the feel of the fur against my bare feet. So I snagged some bargain Uggs at the Dillards clearance sale and have worn them almost non-stop since. Love that snuggly inside. QG started getting up in my grill about not wearing socks with them because he said my feet will sweat and get them all nasty and stinky.
First of all, my feet don't sweat because I am cold natured, but his comments gave me an idea to keep them fresh anyhow. I took an old pair of panty hose (who wears those anymore?) and cut off the legs. Then, I filled each leg with baking soda and tied a knot above the filling, about half way down the leg. Now, I slip those babies into the boots every time I take them off to absorb odors and keep them fresh. Aaaah.
Idea number two is dehydrated banana chips. So easy and healthy. My friend Carolyn gave me some she had made. That inspired me to do the same. You want very ripe, though not mushy, bananas. I found several bags of them on clearance at the grocery store the other day. I just sliced them about 1/6 inch thick, laid them out in my Nesco dehydrator and ran it at 135 degrees for about twelve hours. It is that simple. They are so tasty and crunchy. I am generally very anti-kitchen gadget, but a dehydrator is a worthwhile investment.
Sometimes I have really crazy dreams that seem like technicolor movies. I woke up one morning last week with the line, "I say bungee Sanibel all," running over and over in my head like a mantra. Don't ask me why. It was part of some dream I was having.
Last night I was on a photo shoot with a National Geographic photographer. Our job was to shoot the pink and orange sunset shining across the river behind his house. He had five kids, and he handed me one to hold when I arrived, only it looked more like a tiny vole, so I was perplexed about how it could be his child. I set the rodent/baby down and accidentally misplaced it when it wandered off as I was searching for my best camera lens, which had slipped off of my camera and rolled away.
As I knelt, sweeping my hands under a dining room cabinet to check for the lens, George Bush unexpectedly strolled past and I wanted to take his picture but couldn't without the lens. Nobody ever found the baby because we all got distracted going down the spiral water slide in their living room instead of looking for it. The photographer's wife was not very understanding about me losing their youngest kid/rodent. And I did feel pretty guilty about it, especially seeing as how I forgot to even look for it because I was having too much fun. If only someone could interpret that dream for me. Then again, maybe I don't want to know. Life is mysterious. You've gotta laugh.
Maybe I should start writing out these dreams in detail. Who knows? I could be the next Stephen King. I say bungee Sanibel all!
I have this friend Patricia who has what I consider to be the perfect house. It is not huge or lavish. Each item in it was chosen carefully and arranged with care. It is elegant yet cozy with lots of wood and natural items.
Patricia loves to arrange things and is always tweaking this or that to make her arrangements fresh or seasonal. She told me it must be a sickness because sometimes she can't go to bed until she had found the perfect arrangement on, say, her mantel or whatever surface she is cozy-fying.
I so relate to that. I have the same disease. Don't you love that when a friend expresses something you have long harbored in yourself and you suddenly realize you are not alone? I am always searching for simple yet pleasing arrangements, always trying to make my house homey. I was not raised by a mom who cared about these things, who ever rearranged or washed a dish. I grew up craving the feeling of living in a house that looks cherished. I guess I figured if the house looks loved, the people inside must be, too. These are a few shots around my house this morning.
This week, I am taking a class on Word Press. It is interesting and fun. Yes, fun, even though it is computer-ey, which usually horrifies me. Now that I have been blogging a couple of years, it is time to tackle the technical aspects. Yay! I am thankful for the chance to learn something new. And for flowers. The ones above I found in the town of Solvang, California. My brother-in-law Stafford took us there last weekend while we were wine tasting. It is a darling town, which started as a Danish community. It has tons of poppies and other beautiful flowers everywhere. Since QG is half Danish, he really loved the place.
Also, I am increasingly thankful for yoga. QG and I have upped our classes to five most weeks. We cannot get enough. Seriously. Not only does it keep us limber, after our arthritis-inducing car wreck, but it has helped me learn gratitude and non-attachment. No matter how old you get, you can grow and change in positive ways. I have replaced a lot of my old self-critical thoughts with gratitude and praise. What a cool journey this has been! Try yoga and see for yourself.
Lastly, I am thankful for all of God's creatures. This is a sea slug I met on the beach last Friday. They'd had some storms a couple of days before we got there, which had washed lots of creatures, shells, and wood onto the beach. On our three-hour beach hike, I met a gal who was collecting shells and wood shards to use in her jewelry-making and we got to talking. She was a native of Santa Barbara, twenty-seven years old, and she said she and her boyfriend had been eating nothing but boiled sea slugs for the past four days. She said if they "pop" when you cook them, they are safe to eat, otherwise, toss them. I will take her word for it. I am not brave or pragmatic enough to eat these guys. They are too beautiful. The one above escaped jewelry girl's boiling pot. QG and I threw him back into the ocean to live another day. Go, Slugly, go!
QG and I were in Santa Barbara for the past several days visiting his sister and her husband, who retired there two years ago. Oh my Lordie. Let me just say that Santa Barbara is heavenly. When I retire, I only hope that they will hire me as their maid or gardener and let me live in one of their extra bedrooms. I would require only occasional infusions of coffee, bread, meat and ice cream in way of payment. Not much to ask, right?
We went to the beach, puttered about the town, and went wine tasting during our visit. We got in at two this morning, and I vaguely remember turning out the light at four only to spring awake at seven. Don't ask. Sooo tired. This is their dog, Nikki.
Below is a very pretty house we passed on the beach. I wonder who lives there? Whoever they are, they are lucky, but aren't we all? No doubt. May we all appreciate the roof over our head, no matter how humble or grand.
Hey, look what God made. Honestly, I think fruits and vegetables are some of the most beautiful works of art around. If you can't make it to a museum and you are craving to see art, you can always hit the local grocery store. Aaaah - color, texture, intricate design, and it tastes good. What more could you ask?
Below is a house in Portland from my trip last weekend. The doorway looks so inviting, I want to visit whoever lives there - they must be friendly.
Today, I was in Hobby Lobby buying a skein of black yarn when I heard a toddler in the next aisle chirping to her mom for juice. Her voice sounded just like my daughter Lauren when she was two, only she called it juicy. That voice sent me tumbling down a time tunnel and a pang of nostalgia jabbed me under the ribs.
I miss those days of juicy. I miss being responsible for deciding someone else's hairdo, besides my own. I miss the dorky barrettes I used to make from balloons. Barrettes only a pre-schooler could love. For a while, I wandered about the store as if hunting the decades that had past without my permission. But, eventually, I had to pay up and leave, lest fellow shoppers start whispering about the funny lady aimlessly loitering with a far-away look in her eye.
Once outside, I paused to breathe in the crisp air. I made myself give thanks for that breath, and then looked around for something else to appreciate. Two legs that work, an old van with a seat worn perfectly to match my bottom. A cup of tea awaiting me at home. Life passes so quickly. You can never stop the frame, no matter how beautiful. You must keep living this very moment, even if some days the rear view mirror beckons, because this minute holds enough.
