Gratitude

I am grateful for my beautiful daughters, my family, my lovely friends, my health, my tiny little house, my love of words, my decision to tell the truth (no matter how hard), my job, the time I had with my hoochie dog, the time I still have with mellie pooch, the air outside today, the light sprinkle of rain as I walked back from a meeting today, the cup of coffee in my hand as I walked, my independence, my perseverance and the smell of spring on the horizon.

I am thankful for this blog post that I love too: http://www.favoritethingever.com/2011/03/why-naps-equal-happiness/

I want to remember, even as tough times fall (and they will), how grateful I am.

Hearing what you are thankful for would be wonderful!

xoxo

Shell

Both Sides Now

Inscribed on the back of my Ipod is “Joni Never Lied.” I couldn’t fit the whole name when I got the free engraving. Joni sang out the truth. The I’m blue, met up with a man on a Grecian Isle, he did the goat dance very well…but he kept my camera himself, little green, California, Case of You – Joni told the truth. And I love her for it.

Joni always centers me. She takes me back a little, reminds me of calm strength amidst surrender and encourages me to simply breathe and smile.

I have been smiling for a few days now. As my friend Lissa says, diversion can be a good thing. I am reveling in it. And singing out the truth loud and proud. Like Joni, I am not going to lie.

I am finding myself with what a dear friend calls ferocity. It is not the same as calm mediation but the result feels similar. Instead, it is recognizing I am mad. I begin by taking a breath. Then, I ground myself and think, “I will just say F You to that thought. F You defeat, F You loneliness, F You lying story of less than.”

Then I take another deep breath, turn on some Joni and smile; in all my glorious truth.

Winter

The faces of my daughters remind me.

Forty coming fast, my internal deadline for the full manuscript draft. Depression looms while I try to remind myself of a dear friends words, “crying is revolutionary.”

Vacation from work has turned in to hibernation. Words swirl in my head, around and around. I read a book a day, watch a movie or two, lay with these beautiful babies, see them run off to friends or to play in inner worlds. I hide from the phone, from bills, from the drive by drop in good wishes that leave me feeling exhausted and dirty with my own despair.

Light hurts my eyes but I am trying to squint anyway. I think I will shower and wash the sheets today. Cuddling will be even nicer clean.

Mean

Adrienne Rich wrote of the importance of being angry – I get that. Anger is a normal emotion that we all have. To deny it is to deny part of our core self.

But being mean, coldhearted, brutal – that is something else entirely. And we must beware of losing ourselves to the meanness of others or the inner turmoil that causes us to be mean to ourselves.

I am cleaning out the mean. Of course, a little rousing anthem helps too. Empowerment takes courage. And the ability to show we have had enough – we will make it, and all they will be…is mean.

(I know it is T. Swift! Just listen)

Keeping the Home Fires Burning

I can’t believe I missed the entire month of November. No blogging at all! Of course, my B turned 6, family came to visit, work has been insanely busy, and winter has come.

My tiny house stays warm but there is one thing I always wished it had, a fireplace. Of course, it is unrealistic and at this point, impossible to put one in. So, I had been circling the idea of an electric one, a fake one. My good friend has one and I love its corner spot in her cozy living room. But, I always came back to the flames – they wouldn’t be real, they wouldn’t crackle, they would look fake. Right?

One Sunday afternoon while family was visiting for Thanksgiving, my older daughter, step mother and I went for tea. We spent some leisurely time sipping and talking, bonding in shared space we rarely occupy.

We went home at nightfall ready to make pizza for dinner. Walking in to the house, my little one yelled, “Look, Mom!”

It took me a minute, but there, in my own cozy living room corner was the glow of a fire. There was heat and flickering flame and even logs. I had been given an early holiday gift, the fireplace I wanted but felt unsure of.

It glows beautifully, keeping us warm in the cold storms of an Iowa winter. It reminds me to tend to my own internal flames. Most importantly, I think, I am pushed to believe that what is real is what we envision for ourselves. Our fire is real, it makes us happy and keeps us warm. Just like good friends, and faith and words that propel.

Our home fires are flames burning and changing directions, roaring up at times and needing a little tending in the dark cold moments. My little fireplace in the corner is a perfect reminder.

Spooky

Took the kids for halloween costumes. The five year old had many ideas (bee, princess and dinosaur) but chose a cheetah. The teen seems to be stuck between fun and sexy – she finally chose to be a “boxer” – her recent kickboxing classes spurred that along, but I think the sexy won out a little too (shorts and a white tank).

I dress in a costume every day, my pretend you feel great armor. But, I recognize that and changes are afoot. Meanwhile, I am loving the smell of fall and the pumpkins on the porch.

Sometimes this life is a little spooky, but having always found Halloween to be the best holiday, I know I can handle a little fright. In fact, I tend to like the feeling of freedom and laughter after a good scare.

Stolen Moments

I have an idea. As you can tell from the length of time I have been away, my writing has taken a back seat. Again. And I have struggled because of that. Seems when a writer doesn’t write she risks many things.

In terms of health, for me, that means: depression, exhaustion, irritability and a general lack of self-care. In terms of family life, again, for me, that means: lots of peoples needs are seemingly met.  But a grumpy frustrated mama remains, which in the circle means, really, nobody has their needs met. In terms of the work that I do to pay the bills, when I don’t write I carry a heaviness within me that effects my work, makes me feel rushed, slightly incompetent and out of place overall. Its that feeling when I get off at 5:00 that screams, “RUN!” There is no where to go. 

As you know from this blog, I have been trying to find time for some time. And I have focused much energy on the long escape (meaning, for this mama, a week or two). But, AHA! What if I just tried to get away for a little bit of time more frequently? I’m thinking one weekend every six weeks or so. A cheap hotel close by. A friends house if they are away. The monastery I see on the drive toward Wisconsin. Tiny retreats, short spaces to write, time to finish this book. Freedom. Hope. Dream. Maybe. Its an idea.