stupid me, stupid computer

wasted time. Lots of time. Lots of lost. Making folders filed with photos to burn to disk, then deleted originals BEFORE I burned them to disk, because I assumed "well they are stored in the folder files I just made". So now, the items wont burn says "can't burn, can't find original". And I am ever so unhappy.

oh, and Bob is back was away on vacation all week in San Diego. So Cheese and I must get ready to leave the house. (Cheese has off from school).

painting post problems

I plan on adding to my schedule painting Fridays. Wont effect posts, just I think I will work on painting on Fridays. (there was a typo it said paining....gee I hope not, paining Fridays sounds like a bad thing)

To encourage this, I will put my current unfinished painting up. And most likely add a row of unfinished pieces. So I can see how much work I have left undone, abandoned projects and pieces (of me). (may include unfini stories as well)

Trouble is the photos are blurry, both color and detials are lost. This is an older unfinished painting, from the abandoned children's book idea, Ghost.
My current unfinished painting looks really washed out and blurry.
oh, and blogger still wont let me post any photos as an added page element.

certainly not getting the hang of that manuscipt tracker thing. It looks full rather than empty. Just went to the Moon, is empty, background color is problem, and his stolen word count numbers. Must tinker and tweak.

Oh jolly, I've got 37 pages to type in from notebook, and that doesn't include the little notebook, or the several pages for Fresh Oranges. I type ever so slowly, better start. Horrid procrastinator I.
Need timeline, pressure.
Hate pressure, but without it, well, who knows how much ivy I might plant and buy.
I mean buy and plant.
typing in is odd, sometimes I feel so calm, so relaxed, it is like meditation,
other times I feel agitated, anxious, upset, going to jump out of my skin

Be brave

Be brave
for I love you
and you know
you never stand alone

"black bird singing in the dead of night,
take these broken wings and learn to fly,
all your life,
you were only waiting
for this moment to arise"
(The Beatles)

Be brave
for the sun is shining
and the birds are singing
and I am holding your hand

Be brave
for the night is dark
and can seem lonely long
but the stars are out
and the moon shines on
and always again
comes the dawn

Be brave
in the wind,
stand in the storm,
hear thunder, see lightning, feel rain
don't forever hide away from pain.

for I am here
and hold your hand
and you know
you are never alone

5 strengths as a writer

and 25 weaknesses (like the inability to spell weaknesses without looking it up).
Oh wait, this is an affirming exercise, so I see past you 25 and all your dear little friends, I see through you and focus on
strengths (well at least I choose to think of them as strengths)

1. I am not the cat and can therefore hold a pen, pencil and work a typewriter and/or computer.

********Hopefully I will wake up tomorrow and whack these words down to size, but I know if I don't hit publish now, I will sit here and continue to tweak it, and it is way past my bedtime, and in trying to chop it up when I am so tired, it will just grow and grow, like some mythic dragon, where you cut off one head, and more and more sprout in its place.************

here is my meme, as I was tagged by Vesper, poor dear, I don't know what she was thinking.

My 5 strengths as a writer

1. I am not afraid of being verbally naked. In fact I seem unable to help it. All that stuff that I try to guard and shield away from the world in my day to day life, just spills over and out of me in words. I am open and vulnerable, and am forever reminding myself to put clothes on (that I must be aware of time and place, and dress accordingly)

2. Wherever I hide, my stories find me. They may be quieter for a time, but they never leave, through my actual life they weave. Whispering in my ear from time to time, showing me things. Making connections across time. Like a song forever playing, humming, and I catch a line here and there. I think of this as a strength, because it doesn't require me to be brave, to think I can, to sit and build worlds, it is rather like, it is always there, and reveals itself to me, over time, as it chooses. Ultimately they wont be denied. It will take a lot longer if I am not brave, and don't walk toward them, seeking them out, but still, they will ambush me ( while I brush my teeth, while I weed the yard, while I sing along to the radio in the car), I know it, they will talk, and sing to me when I least expect it (and how I love to listen), lines will float in (even if I don't know what they mean), scenes will be seen, it isn't a choice I am making, they will tell me their story. The choice is just how fully I know it, and how fast. And I think of this as a gift, not one I have, but one given to me, being told stories this way.

3. I am a dreamer. I am never alone in my own head. I never feel alone in the world. Stories always fill me, real ones, tales, but also little bits of silly fluff. Everywhere strange little plants grow. Everything I see leads me off down some odd little lane. I also find I am an editor of day dreams, trying dialogue this way and that, till it feels right, changing scenes that don't work. I don't know if this is common among people who have no wish to be writers. I think this would lend itself to writing, being one who naturally loses oneself to make believe worlds, who inhabits them (or is inhabited by them), and who takes them seriously enough to spend time reworking and adjusting scenes. Part of this for me, is also the tendency to be a loner. To need and enjoy more time alone than the average person seems to wish for. I can't daydream or think through endless chatter. I have heard writers (actually read) talk of the loneliness of the writing life, of not being out with friends, of isolating oneself, of how it is hard for naturally social people, I am not naturally social, I am unnaturally unsocial.

4. I follow along as I am told, even if I do not understand why a character is there, or something that is happening. I will ask again and again,"why?" and at times try to get rid of someone, or not have something happen, but if the story says it does, regardless of what I think would make more sense, I stay true to what the story tells me. And through this I have found, that I eventually figure it out, and it all does make sense (more sense than if I had planned it), and I think what an idiot I was to have not seen it for so long. So I have faith, in what the characters, in what the story tells me, and that over time, I will figure it out, and not to fight it. Summer 06 I was sitting on a boardwalk bench (while Bob and Cheese were on amusement rides) reading a docu-book about the Holocaust (for research), and I was happy (unsettled me that I was so) because I had found information that validated a story part that I thought was a bit off, but here it was whole parts of a book about just such a subject, the story knew itself. The story knew itself. Now, I believe in time, in letting things unfold, in letting them reveal themselves. In knowing they have their own wisdom. So I can stand unsure, as long as the story tells me it is sure.

5. I like research and information. See number 4. I was happy sitting on that bench, much happier than I would be riding the rides, or looking for clothes or bric a brac in the shops. I was giddy over information (even though it wasn't happy information) because it echoed the story that had been unfolding/revealing itself to me (and I can see no good reason for me to be crazy like that, unless it means I am to be a writer. Is that a strength? Needing to be a writer to prove that all my nuttiness has merit?).

I love books. I love collecting worlds, and hearing the voices of others, and their ideas and their minds, and being close to them through words, across worlds, across time, the intimacy of it, this intimacy I cherish. Everyday language and talk can be so boring, skating along on the surface, speaking in ways that aren't compelling, meaningful, in a book you go deeper into another, and deeper into yourself, in this world, I am at home.

Researching seems boring at first, the collecting of information. But I like hunting, seeking and searching (as long as I eventually find what I need) for it, and something magical happens as I read the information, ideas form, and the story carries on in other ways I hadn't seen before. Like daydreaming with my characters and finding new stuff out about them. Not always of course, but I learn stuff even from knowing what doesn't apply to my story and characters. And it is so fantastic when the story evolves.

I am a seeker. I am curious. I know that I don't know. While I have my core values and beliefs, I am not rigid. I am a mental and emotional explorer. I love how frail, and how strong everything, everyone is. It is so beautiful, and so hard, so joyous, and so sad. There is so much tearing apart, and so much coming together. Messiness, all this mess, but also all this order, all these under-woven connections, patterns. Sometimes you look at the front of a piece and believe it lovely then see the mess on the underside, sometimes all you see is the mess upfront, but then you look deeper and see all the underlying beauty. I love being alive. I bitch and moan, whine and complain and worry, but I am so grateful to be here, to be alive, to have my time, to be able to watch it all. And all this stuff, dripping, sentimental, wonderful, wounded, sad, hard, painful, needs to go somewhere, needs to exist within me, and outside of me, needs separate space, needs to be full and whole, and known, as part of me, and apart from me. And it seems to seek a page to be released on, to be realized on.

(oh and of course I love words. Words, and thoughts, and ideas. And imagery. And metaphor. (I suppose a fondness for mixing metaphors doesn't count as a strength, nor does joy and stubbornness in making up ones own words, and wordings) To capture the elusive, to hold something intangible up to the light, to watch light streaming through it. To see the unseen. And to know that by seeing what isn't there, perhaps I can better see what is.)
( Oh and I'm not good at anything else. I have read plenty of published writers who have said that if they weren't writers they would be unemployable, as they have no other skills. If you can claim having no other skills, as a strength toward being a writer, hurray for me.)
( Surely there must be some way, some how, that I belong, that I make sense, that all this stuff that makes up me, will weave together to form something, something that I can look upon and see fragments of beauty in? That hope, that desire, is part of my strength as a writer, it keeps me yearning and searching, and trying. Today, tomorrow, and for the rest of my life)

and number 6. because it wanted to be here, and who am I to deny several more words passage

6. I believe in the impossible.
I don't know why. I try and talk myself out of it all the time
but it matters not. It is who I am, it is how I am made. I believe.

( succinctness? um no)

Oh! I didn't tag anyone!
Well I only go where I go, and several have already done it. But several have been tagged and not done it.
So here are my tags, and re-tags.
Shameless
Grocer
Witnessing
Mediterranean
Moon

go back outside

finish your work. Go back outside, finish your work
finish your work. Go back outside, finish your work.
Now
go
you
dig
dig

quotation inspiration

John steinbeck wrote
"I'm scared, but I think that is healthy. It is perfectly natural that I should have a freezing humility considering the size of the job to do and the fact that I have to do it all alone. There is no one to help me from now on. This is the wriitng job, the loneliest work in the world. And I am now going into the darkneness of my own mind."

I like this. I would expect that I wouldn't, that it would inspire fear more than confidence. But I find it wholely encouraging. (never mind that wholely may or may not be a word, I didn't want for fully or completely)
Because- besides the time I waste being scared, I spend a good deal of time feeling like a stupid sissy for being scared.
And nothing good comes from these additional feelings of harassment.
It is much better, much easier on my mind, to say, "You are scared? Well of course you are dear. Who wouldn't be? Everyone is, it is a BIG job you know, and you do have to do it ALL ALONE. But that simply is the way it is, and the way it is done by everyone, so that is no reason for not pressing on.".
Which is a much better way of looking at it rather than assuming, that feeling that way means I am not up to the task, to the challenge (the way I often do).

I have been busy in the yard, but I find there is no way I wont be done today (matt and mulch around the tree, plant other package of tulips, plant ivy, possibly move two roses from back bank to side bed. To move or not move the peach irises?), and anyway,( it doesn't even matter) today must be the cut-off.
It is time.
Time to return to the notebooks, type them up, (which lord knows could take me all of next week), and then start the truly hard part, THE BIG JOB
And I am not a sissy to be scared of it. It is a big job, the story I wish to tell, and hope to tell well.
And though I am alone in the writing, I am not alone in the fear, and despite that feeling others have made this journey (great writers, bad writers, unknown writers), and do so, over and over, and in their courage, I can take courage too, for I wish to make this journey.
I need to make this journey.
In the end, I know that will matter to me more than how the story turns out, the knowing, that I did it, I started at the beginning, and kept going, through clear sunny days, through days of blistering heat, through rain, through wind, (snow?), come what may, to know that I saw it through to the end.

Now I must go finish the yard, which I would no doubt be done with, if I hadn't been seduced away yesterday by our Barnes and Noble, which is moving (to a bigger store) and thus has piles of books at 40% off. Oh but not The timetables of history. But still enough stuff to interest me. And inspire me to part with some of my money.

emotionally pensive

feeling a bit uncertain and insecure today.
Maybe it is the lack of sleep.
maybe it is a lack of other things.

Feeling like I keep making mistakes,
feeling like I don't know how to be
how to act
how to weave into the world like others

I remember when we were friends

When we spoke every day, sometimes all day, but we used less words to say things, because we didn't need them, we knew we understood each other. We felt comfortable and glad in each others company.
We didn't need to seek laughter out, it found us. It was us.
That was a long time ago.
That was college.
Now we live in different states.
We are both married and have kids.
We don't see each other for years at a time,
and when we meet, I am awkward and nervous.
I email you from time to time, wondering how you are.
And every once in a while, you will email me back and tell me.
And though I know I always will, I don't want to wonder how you are anymore.
Because I know there is no time, no space, physically or emotionally for me, in your life.

I remember when we were friends
and in my heart we always will be
I thank you for those days when you shared your world with me
and let me share mine with you
but now I know, it is time, for me, to stop knocking on a closed door.

a broken circle

broken circles,
our wedding rings.
We went to the jeweler, Bob dropped his ring off there, mine is in my purse in a small white envelope.
Bob's ring sliced itself apart, severed in a clean thin line. It will be put back together and returned to him.
Mine I had them cut off me, poison oak is swelling my fingers, and it was so tight, and binding I was in pain.
It is odd that neither one of us is wearing our wedding ring today, that they wont be on us for several days (at the very least).
We both have white bands now, from tan lines, in place of our rings, I suppose we look like cheaters, who have taken our rings off for the day. I think it is odd that it would happen like that, both of our rings off at the same time. Bob has taken his off from time to time, while cooking, working in the yard, painting, but I haven't, mine has always been on me.
The symbolism of his ring breaking itself apart bothers me.
A severed circle.
Without mine on, I thought I would feel comfortable and free, but my finger still hurts, still itches and is swollen, and the callous below it, from having the ring dig into my hand while I do yard work, still hurts too.

rose of sharon

I was listening to this song this morning

on my ipod, while I brushed my teeth, put my make-up on
it sung so sweetly into me,
I wanted to glide across it
the flow of feeling
like skating,
so free

*****
The Face of a Faith
by Nellie Mckay

You are the light I follow
You are the face of a faith I love
Oh my darling believe in me

You are the hymn I cover
You are the king of an indian dove
Oh my darling the fever in me
I wait for a while, I know
But I let it go, yes I let it go
My fear is gone

You are the hope I cherish
You are the care of a prayer I love
Oh my darling believe in me
In me

Believe in me

*****
It may seem odd to put my face with this. But I have my reasons.
I'm trying to see more when I look into me.
Physically, emotionally, mentally.
To hold more hope in who I am, in my abilities
See farther, and with a deep believing heart.
Rather than with an eye and mind to break things apart.

yep that is pretty much what I look like. I took it in the bathroom (not that you need to know that) I'm pulling my hair back that is why it isn't this great mass all around me. I told you I wasn't sleeping well. My head isn't usually that shiny either, and my lips usually look smaller, and my nose...dear me my nose..best angle I could get.
oh, yeah, that would be breaking things apart.
Breaking me apart.

Believe in me


( I have to say it is a little bit stressful having my photo up, I keep coming back and rethinking it, we'll see if I can leave it here. Or not)

update to posts

My third year of trying to grow morning glories, and as of Sept, they are here!!!!!
Usually the voles, and what not eat the seedlings. And even when earlier this year I would see a vine, it would just die in a day or two, but now here they are. I am so surprised, and so happy to see them.


Oprah made sure I cried and properly remembered on 9/11.

The soup? It is bad. I don't know why it is, but I will have to toss it out. My only regret is that I added more stuff to it in an attempt at making it more edible, which just made more food inedible.

The stuffed peppers? They are pretty good. I like the stuffing better unstuffed, so next time I wont bother with the peppers. Filling- diced tomatoes, paste, zuc, mush, red onion, garlic, spices, et cetera. I am very happy with this, because I didn't know how to make anything like it, so this adds something new I will be able to tweek and do other things with.

In defense of my cooking abilities, I did take some of the (white meat) turkey meatball mixture, I was preparing the other day, and without any recipe, added spinach, ricotta, feta, more fresh bread crumbs, basil, spices to it, and they actually turned out good. Bob even ate them over the other meatballs. It was shocking. ( It will most likely be nasty next time when I try to recreate it. But it was a pleasant whim that worked out, at least once)

While I was cooking yesterday, with my ipod on to steady my nerves (same thing I do while writing), I figured out why I was so nervous. I tend to freak out when I don't know what I am doing. (which sadly seems very often). Like when cooking the onions in the butter (for soup)- was I supposed to be browning them, or taking care not to? "These mushrooms don't look like the ones in the picture? The recipe didn't specify! Are those portabellas? How long do I blanch these? Am I cutting these right? Am I supposed to peel the zuc or just dice it with skin?" When I don't know, I get all anxious. I totally messed up in my attempt at crushing the garlic (looks easy when they do it on tv) (but I did finally manage to convince myself it didn't matter, as I sighed, tossed it in and hoped for the best).

Not knowing what I am doing, or how it is to be done, rattles me. Even with the (gardening/yard work) matting, tacking it down, "How do I do this? Should I cut it this way or that? Is this how I am supposed to be tacking it down?". I tell myself to just keep going, get the job done, that ultimately it doesn't matter. A general idea of what I am doing is good enough. But it really does stress me out. I hear myself sighing and feeling clueless. And tense.
Oh well.
It is rather pathetic ( I hate that word), I know, but I don't know how to not be this way. And it makes perfectly reasonable activites, seem intense and tiring. I wonder how I undo this? How can I get myself to look at things differently? Not worry over things that don't matter. Not stress over inconsequential things. Not feel all this pointless stress and pressure.
I know the feeling is unreasonable. But knowing that doesn't make it disappear. Just makes me feel like an idiot for feeling nervous, which makes me feel like a nervous idiot.

The yard is calling. No rain today, just wind. I miss going to visit other people's blogs, I am way behind. But I need to finish up the matting this week. (and have "conversations" with Bob over the fact that we need to buy more dirt)

Maybe this is just how I am, making it is the counter-balance to being so excited over little things like the morning glories blooming.

oh

and of course I am aware, that it is Sept. 11. Hurts to think about.

Hair

no not the musical, unless you insist
yes, I know it looks like it could use a trim, all thin and straggly on the ends, but sadly it will still look that way, no matter how many inches I take off.
No this post isn't about that, or about how incredibly bushy and frizzy my hair gets at the shore.
No, this post is about, GREY HAIR!!! AAAHHHHH!!!!!

I need help
First off let me say that we grey early in my family. We start at 16. (my 11 yr old son has already had his first grey hair). By nature we are a salt and peppery bunch. I pluck out my grey hair on top, have been doing that for years, I used to pluck it all over, but now there is so much grey in the under layers above my ears, that I fear I will be bald.
Which is essentially how my dear brother fixes this problem, he is shaved so close on the sides (with just a little more length center top), people always assume he is in the military.
Color the color
I tried one of those rinses ( a year ago) and it washed right out of my hair, didn't hold at all.
I once used a permanent dye, it dyed all my brown hair, a solid dark color, and didn't change the grey at all, so then the grey really stood out. (also I am afraid of dyes because my hair is so coarse and frizzy)
I guess I am still okay plucking the top layer out for now, but I still am concerned I shall have bald patches soon.
That is all, just sharing hair fun.
(but if you know of a solution, non-military or Britney, please do share)

by the bye,
I rotated that top picture. I don't know why it turned itself back.

raining

Can't believe I am still not done with the dreaded matting, and mulching. Honestly, wont this project ever end? Am I seriously that slow? There is weeding (again), and then cutting the matt, and then tacking it down (use mallet), and then putting black mulch in wheel barrow, and spreading it out. There is also taking out the cosmos, that don't belong there, and frequently spending time replanting them elsewhere, as they are in full bloom and pretty (in my o). And then there is all this annoying business of things that have over- grown, or divided, et cetera, and I have to move them, before I cut the matting and lay it all down, so that takes time too. Perpetual plant relocation (transplantation?) program.
But as it is raining, and hard, I have no intention of doing any such thing today.
I should make the homemade soup and bake the peppers, but my cooking is good only, oh let's see, about 1 every 30 times with things I make regularly, and 1 in every 65 times with new recipes. I so hate going through the whole process, if it will just be horrible in the end. My perpetual procrastination in attempting to make it, does help me see why the writing is so hard, if I am afraid a soup wont turn out (and really what the H is the risk here? an hour misspent, ruined vegetables, and some disappointment), than of course I worry about bigger projects that mean more to me. (though at least, a story can keep being reworked over the years. The meal is pretty much a one shot deal) (you may be able to unburn a plot, but not the food in the pot. Or maybe even with a plot you can not? Well anyway about my stories plot I am worried not. It is over just how it will be wrought, that I can become overwrought). Truth is though, that I am nervous, to make the food, a nutty nervous ninny, afraid it will all be a waste. (to nasty to taste, thrown out posthaste.) ( well I must pick up the pace, for spending my time whining about being afraid to try to do something, that is certainly a waste). Sorry, but I do so like bad rhyming (over rhyme, simplistic rhyme), ever so fond of it, we are great chums, the bad rhyme and I. (in-separate-able at heart, we care not for great art) (my how my thesaurus insisted I pull that word apart). Also in my rhyming defense, I am so not sleeping, and I am so tired of not sleeping, and my brain just wanders about aimlessly sleep walking through my days.

Oh, the beetles are almost gone!!!!! I am finding 1 to 3 a day now, instead of 100 or so. And my roses all have new growth on them, I am wildly optimistic that I may get to enjoy a gorgeous lush bloom before it gets frosty.

goodbye to summer

now I'm falling in to fall
no, I wasn't dreaming
wasn't sleeping
after-all

the world is turning
I am turning too

I feel the pull
the urge to dive

Thinking about

my half brother D. And my Nana (his grandmother, who died in 2000).
It is whipser down the alley, and I am at the end of the line.
From Step-mother, to Brother, to Sister-in-law, to me.
I guess D has some sort of mental illness. He is in his early 20's.
First whisper came to me in June, then August through now, quite busily whispering.
(step M, and Dad, and two half bros, live several states away, so we hardly ever see each other)
Sometimes in the past it has seemed to me, like my step- mother was exaggerating things (in some ways this is fair of me, and in some it is not. I am certainly not alone in this assessment) , so I am not truly sure of the degree of illness in this situation.
I feel like I should do something, but what does one actually do? He has been released from hospital and is staying with a friend. I should call them. I could talk to my Dad (though truth is mentally he isn't all there, he takes to remembering the distant past, and isn't so keen on the present, or the last 20 years). I do find him pleasant to talk to though, so much better than he was before. He is born again, and every chat used to feel like church, with the whole world being evil, including me, and his only interest saving us all. But now he listens when I talk, now that he won't be able to remember what I said, now he listens. Now we really talk to each other. It makes me feel bad that I prefer him this way, wrong, but...
Anyway, this had started before the last time I called and talked to them, and they sounded great, cheerful then.
I wonder if they will tell me about it, or if for some reason I am not to be told?
I wonder if they think that I know?
I was thinking about my Nana this morning, about how upset this would all make her (she would want me to call, to fling myself into it, but I am hesitating, hanging back, waiting to see how things settle. Waiting to see if someone calls to tell me, and if not, to wonder why not. To protect me? That is outrageously unlikely, but still it is my favorite theory.
I pictured Nana for a moment up in heaven (or whatever realm, or energy, it is that we next become part of), and of her looking down all anxious, and then I remembered what she said one day when we discussed it. She wont be looking down. She doesn't want to watch us. "That wouldn't be heaven, looking down seeing all kinds of things going on, and being powerless to do anything to help anyone. That wouldn't be peace. That wouldn't be heaven". So maybe I shouldn't worry about her, for she isn't watching over us, on pins and needles, seeing how things go. She is with Pop, and her daughters, walking with her brothers and sisters, and friends, through the skies of other views.
But still, I am here. And I do see, very unclearly, what goes on. I feel unsettled, but I have no wish to be more stirred. I shall have to call, I know I will, stating nothing more than "Hi", and see where they wish to go from there.

I guess I don't want to call, I wish to protect myself from drama, especially if I wont know what is real, and what is expanded.

And on another selfish note- I worry more now for my son. Bob has a brother with schizophrenia, and now it seems I may as well (they are both our half-brothers but still,) doesn't this increase the likelyhood for a child of ours to have a mental illness? And of course you could also factor in whatever it is that is wrong with my dad, plus a slew of Bob's relatives. Cheese is my only child and I love him more than I love anyone else. I can't know what the future holds, and even if I knew it would happen I couldn't prevent it. I wont spend much time worrying about this (too many other things to worry about), as that wont help anyone, or anything, but I can't deny it is passing through my mind.

(I do wish to add, I feel bad for my Step-mother, the situation has to be emotionally hard. )

plants at a glance 2

This is the rose that refused to die, so I replanted her (behind her is a monster zinnia)

This is the lavender that Bob carelessly ripped out (and I replanted). It is small, but doing well.

These foxgolves I considered ripping out, day after day, as before they bloomed I thought they were weeds.

Here are some transplanted cosmos. I call it the cosmo forest. They self planted themselves like crazy in my rose bed, and l keep taking them out and planting them elsewhere (some die, some do well). Bob hates them, but the finches love them.

plants at a glance

Found! Was there all along hiding. After a week of rain, he popped back up. I also found out what had happened to him, as some critter had clearly been taking bites out of his brother. They all look ok now though. Heritage looking best (at least I think the bigger one is her)



I have finally gotten around to cutting the matting, and laying down the mulch, I intend to be done with all beds by next week.

waiting still

drifting, drifting, awaiting winds shifting, mood lifting.
why am I waiting?
I feel left behind, I feel forever still, when the world goes on and on without me
why do I always wait, forever hesitate? Someday I know, it will be too late
still, I am still, even knowing this still I wait,
waiting for a shift of wind, before I shall begin

The last true summer sunday,
how did I savour it? Yard work, laundry, organizing son's clothes, bagging up all the too small clothes, getting ready for back to school. (oh and some really bad food). I will vacuum, or walk after I blog.

The stillness is rattling me, I feel like shaking myself "wake up" time flys by so fast, this summer didn't last, how quickly it came to pass. I like to linger, to walk slow, to touch to taste, to feel as I go.

but what will I ever do, ever become, am I happy to merely be, is that all I ask of me?

Labor day, for me, is like New Years Eve, it is a time beset (encrusted, each one a strange jewel, not harassed) with resolutions, new beginnings, a time I engage in new plans, and new visions for myself, back to school, pencils sharpened, notebooks blank ready to be filled, I come smearing off the old half written words, and chalk dust, and write new assignments, begin or re-begin quests. Who am I, how do I want to be in the world? I take up the question again, the journey I attend with purpose.

But today doesn't feel like a beginning, it feels like an end. The last true summer sunday (once school starts it doesn't matter that seasonally it is still summer, it doesn't feel like it anymore, it isn't true summer anymore. By next Sunday I will hear the forever clicking, tic toc ticking of a clock). Today I feel like I have sucked my breath in and am holding it, a pause.

so much I see undone, still undone. And I am moving so slowly, as if I had forever, how sometimes I wish I had forever, for it will take me so long to get wherever it is I am heading. I am so taken with the vista, so unsure of what direction is best, which path to take, and every passing cloud is worthy of watching.

The cat and I sit here, we look out the window, noticing the small flying insects among the flowers, and the tilting of the sun (like it is falling away, beginning a journey of leaving us for a time, though in truth it is us who are turning away) . And this voice in my head says "hurry, hurry". But I am still. The cat tucks his head down to sleep. I feel so many things undone, and all I will soon have to do, crowding around me, anxious flailing. And still I sit here, watching the leaves of the weeping cherry lightly swaying in the gentle breeze, sunlight shinning through them, shadows interwoven.

A Corinne Bailey Rae song on repeat. Cheese watcing cartoons and scampering around in the kitchen, begging me to rent him a video game; saying he needs a training dummy to beat up. It is time to switch the wash and put other linens in.
So much to do, so much needs to be done, I can sense it rushing toward me as words, as ideas, but I do not feel it.
I am knowing it and still, I sit here still.
Still, I sit here still.

I said I didn't do these things, didn't I?

trouble is I come across them on people's blogs and it only takes a minute and half to do
and whether all of it is true or not
it is true that I am a carousel
as that is about the only thing you can get me on at a carnival

You Are a Carousel

You are young at heart and a truly playful person. No one would ever accuse you of taking life too seriously. You are definitely in things for the fun. You find joy easily, and you are often building up anticipation for your next adventure. In relationships, you tend to want to be babied and taken care of. And while you may be a bit high maintenance, you are incredibly loyal. Your life is simple and satisfying. Each day you treat yourself to something you enjoy. You have a lot of emotional attachments, and experiences are extra vivid to you. You tend to be nostalgic and sentimental. The past is important to you. Comfortable around all living things, you have a special connection to animals and children. At your best, you are whimsical, free spirited, and creative. Even if your schemes seem a bit strange, they usually work out wonderfully. At your worst, you are spoiled, demanding, and impossible to satisfy. You've been known to act like a brat if you aren't getting your way!

What Carnival Ride Are You?

I like-a the cute horsey

oh and I am a Hufflepuff, no great shock there. What else would a carousel person be?
Cheese insisted on doing quizes too, he is a haunted house, and in Gryffindor.
strange way for mother and son to spend time on a Saturday, doing an over 100 word psych survey and discussing our answers.