Today is the Day...

...that I drag this blog up from the depths.

I may have unintentionally set the record for how long one goes without posting on a blog.

Over 2 years.

Anyone want to check the Guiness Book of World Records for me?

Ah, well. Water under the bridge.

As I've considered whether or not to begin blogging again, I've done a bit of introspection and found how much I've changed in the last 2 years. Or maybe not exactly changed, but refined. I think I still have the same interests, especially in the creative arts and natural health; but I feel my interests have/are becoming more specific.

For instance:
 I am passionate about herbal medicine. I seek out alternative methods for treating sickness for our family, choosing to try natural remedies.
I was introduce to Young Living essential oils in May of 2012 and began using them for our family in June of 2013. I love essential oils because they are the strongest concentration of the plant form and therefore, extremely effective and versatile in application.

Regarding the creative arts, I still have far more interests than I have time to engage; and as seems to be my way, I get super into something and can't get enough of it for a spell, then I move onto something else. Never dropping it completely, but my obsession waxes and wanes.

Currently I am trying my hand at refashioning/altering clothing.  Love, LOVE, LOVE doing this.

In other news, we've been trying to incorporate a cleaner eating lifestyle since August of 2013.

We've gone gluten free and have cut out processed foods and refined sugar. We've definitely had many health benefits as a result; the largest being, weight loss and reduction of inflammation in the body. Win. Win.

I decided to blog again, not because I want to be popular or even noticed particularly. This go 'round, I'm doing this for me. To chronicle my interests. To journal. To have a holding place for my projects and interests. 

This I do for me.

Come along, if you like.

Who's Your Grammar?

I posted a status on Facebook today that sparked a record (for me) 18 comments.

What would incite such scintillating conversation?

Grammar.

Oh yeah. I live on the edge.

In the process, I learned of this website. (Herein is the link to the particular issue that plagued me.) If you want to learn some dirty little literary secrets, go take a peek.

Conflicted

I love to read. I read voraciously, which has given birth to a love of words. I love to put words together in a creative way to say something rather ordinary. (I practice this on my Facebook statuses which is the best place I've found to say something without saying anything at all.)

Somehow though, it's never occurred to me to BE a writer.

Then a friend tells me about her great idea for a book.

She asks me to help her write it.

Gulp.

I can't even string my own thoughts together halfway coherently; what makes me think I can translate someone else's ideas into a story?

She gave me an assignment to write a short story. Because, as she puts it, "we gotta get OUT there."

So I did.

And I love it.

But it scares me.

I think it's a good story. But I think I would be completely embarrassed if someone actually read it. Something that was supposed to be suspenseful ended up a little more sensual than I thought it would.

And now I completely get when a writer says their story took on a life of it's own.

Back to the storyboard.

Rolling Right Along

I'm on a roll.

And given the dedication to my current exercise regime, I'm growing them too.

This morning I arose at (say it with me) 5:20am. I felt remarkably alert and ready to head to the gym.

I breezed through getting dressed. Until I opened my lingerie drawer. Oh, who am I kidding... There's nothing in there racier than a pair of flower-dy panties. I shuffled around the first layer digging ever deeper as my quarry eluded me.

NO! NO!!

I ran to the latest pile of clothes waiting to be folded and pawed through them trying to fight the train of thought my brain began to board.

Too late. That train was leaving the station. Everything ground to a halt.

Reverse engines.

Look at the clock. Wow. I could get a lot done...

So I searched high and low (see a theme here?) for some receipts I could deduct for taxes and made chocolate/butterscotch chip cookies for my hubbie to take on a trip.

All for the lack of a sportsbra.

Worry Threads

Fingering the threads of worry on the fabric of my day,
all it will take is a gentle tug--
and I will come undone.

(written 3-5-09 after a stressful day. I found myself overwhelmed and once the day was over, looked back worrying that my interactions with people during my workday.)

Defamiliarization

The heat surrounded me. My eyes felt gritty and it seemed light was coming from everywhere. I squinted, trying to think some sort of coherent thought. Where do I go from here?
I could feel sweat trickling, tickling. "Odd." I remember thinking. "The very process that is designed to cool me is only making me feel hotter." I gasped for breath, licking my parched lips which only served to make them sticky.
How did I get to this place?
On the horizon in the shimmering distance, I thought I could make out some sort of shelter. I pushed on. My body felt liquid. I dragged my limbs along feeling as if I were slinging them ahead of me as I pulled my body to join them.
There was a pounding in my ears; part maddening, yet serving to drive me on. I tried to take each step on beat. Bam. Bam. Step. Step. How much farther could I go before I collapsed?
Faintly, I heard a sound. I tried to sort out what I had heard. There it was again. Was that a voice? What were they saying? I made a supreme effort to concentrate. The pounding in my head was overwhelming. I paused.
Yes. It was unmistakable now.
My name.
I heard my name.
Startled, I turned.
I see a figure standing beside me.
I'm disoriented for a moment, then my eyes regain their focus.

"Oh, hi." I say smoothly, turning to snatch up my water bottle. The pounding ceases abruptly as the music overhead changes and I slow to a walk.

Will This Be The Year?

Will it be this year?

Will this be the year that I accomplish the dreams I hope and wish for daily?

Will this be the year that I "get the lead out" and get things done that I have procrastinated over thus far?

Will we have our financial house in order by the end of this year?

Will there be a difference in me as a person? What spiritual lessons will I learn?

I'm sailing from the harbor. I've charted my course, but I have no idea if storms may blow me off my carefully planned itinerary.

But I'm looking to the horizon as 2009 begins.

Let's go!

I'm Not Here...A Travelogue

You may observe me going about my day to day life, but I am not here...here is a portion of my daily travelogue....
***********************************************************
Outside the door of the inn, I pause, squinting in the bright sunlight. First order of business: a big, floppy straw hat. I observe the town; much the same way I watch movies--paying little attention to the action played out before me but watching the scenery behind.

Lush flowers trail from window boxes, colorful, handpainted jugs sit by door steps and hang near doors. Beyond the whitewashed buildings, I see cypress trees their edges black and jagged against the cerulean sky. I follow the cobblestone streets to the market area where there is an eclectic mix of items for sale. Some of the shops are clearly aimed at visitors looking for tourist totchkes to take back to friends and relatives--proof, I guess, that they were actually here in this spot. I bypass these, preferring to delve deeper into the city for the local wares. I do find the perfect hat, so my time spent is not in vain.

I wander through the streets breathing deeply of the sea air. I love exploring a town this way-- peering into windows, taking note of this shop and that. I could stop and leisurely browse through each one but the pull of the sea is strong. I vow to come back soon and shop to my heart's content.

All roads in this town, I discover, eventually lead to the water. The view literally stops me in my tracks.

The sea sweeps out to the edge of the world. the water sparkling like a beautiful blue topaz gem. I walk through sand almost as fine and soft as confectioners sugar, becoming firmer as I reach the water's edge. I slosh through ankle deep water then stop, marveling at how clear the water is. A flock of white birds fly over my head looking for all the world like a ribbon trailing across the sky.

The rest of the world comes into focus as I begin observing people around me. People of all shapes and sizes filter in and out of my view. I feel safe enough behind my dark sunglasses to watch unabashedly.There's a family with a cherubic child of about two years old. I laugh when the squealing child runs straight for the water arms outstretched as if to embrace the entire ocean. A couple of older ladies walk by heads bent in deep discussion clearly working to solve the problems of the world. I raise my water bottle in silent salute wishing them much success. I spot a scrap of white and make out a sailboat bobbing on the horizon. I sit for the next two hours watching and vicariously sharing snippets of other people's lives offering little in return for the privilege.

Finally, the sun begins to sag in the sky and I decide it is time to move on as I have fulfilled my goal...
To see, sit and soak in the sea.

I'm Not Here...cont'd

You may observe me going about my day to day life, but I am not here...here is a portion of my daily travelogue....
***********************************************************

I awoke to the sun streaming through the open window. I had no idea what time it was, nor did I care. I only knew that I was famished and in desperate need of coffee. I lay for a moment in the bed; piled high in a nest of pillows and sheets. I stretched luxuriously wiggling my fingers and toes. I reveled anew in my new found freedom and gave a little shriek of delight as I discovered it all over again.

I sat on the edge of the bed, letting my feet rest a moment on the cool floor. A glimpse out the window drew me--I pulled back the curtain.

I had been so tired and numb from travel the night before, that I had registered very little as I arrived at the modest inn where I am staying. It was twilight when I arrived and I had moved through check in functioning on auto-pilot.

Stepping out onto the narrow balcony, I survey the vista before me. I am in the heart of this little village. The inn is set up on a hill, the town spreads out before me, cobblestone streets weaving in and out among the whitewashed buildings. Achingly bright colors pop against this white canvas. Beyond this is a turquoise sea. I rush to dress, eager to begin the exploration of my new surroundings. Comfortable shorts, a soft cotton tunic top slipped on over my bathing suit will be my new uniform. Sturdy sandals comfortable enough for walking complete my ensemble.

I eagerly make my way downstairs, following my nose which directs me to the delicious scents wafting from the dining area. The coffee is hot and fragrant. I sit for awhile sipping coffee and eating breakfast while looking over brochures trying to decide what to do first. I was never good at making decisions, so I gather up the brochures and head out the door feeling serendipitous.

I'm Not Here

You may observe me going about my day to day routine, but I am not actually present. You see, I've left. I've left the city, the state--I've left the country.

I shall begin a travel catalogue chronicling my activities.

************************************************************

I decide to go. I had to have an escape. Unfortunately, one cannot just simply wake up one day and decide to go do whatever they want instead of take care of pressing responsibilities.

But that's just what I did.

Oh, I was considerate. I gave notices where notice was needed, but essentially, I walked away from it all. Technically, I flew, because one simply doesn't walk to the obscure island where I was headed.

I had come across this island in a book. I remember thinking it would be a lovely place to visit one day.

And here I am.

The process of travelling was an experience in patience--dealing with delays, layovers and long flights.. Fortunately, I'd packed rather lightly and managed to arrive without losing my luggage. A blessing. I could see the heat radiate in waves off the tarmac as I stepped off the small plane. the airport itself was a simple concrete building. I sensed there would be no Starbucks available here. Short work was made of security as I had very little to inspect.

I paused to gather my bearings and picked up a map. The island, although small, still required navigation and I like to get a "lay of the land" so to speak. After arranging for some transportation, I was off.

We drove for what seemed like forever, but I'm sure it was simply my anticipation that made the drive seem long. There wasn't much to see in the way of scenery other than craggy hillsides and a blue cloudless sky. I settled back in my seat breathing deeply...something I hadn't done in quite awhile.

To be cont'd....

snippets

"I know who you are," he wrote.
"How can you?" she replied. " I don't even know myself!"
***********************************************************

Their lives briefly intersected as their eyes met.
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I watch you as you sleep. The cares of the world temporarily flee and innocence returns.
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^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

I could never write a book. I have a problem with this little thing called:
A Plot.

Time Passes

Life is rather day to day right now.

Swinging in the hammock 0f tedium.

Work, home.

Back and forth.

Time passes.

Marked by the pendelum of me.

Ode To Billy Collins

Billy Collins was the Poet Laureate of the United States from 2001 to 2003. I discovered him on Prairie Home Companion recently and love his style of poems written with wit and interesting perspectives.


I started a poem last night
about my head being in the clouds.

I couldn't seem to get beyond that.


I thought about you and
your columns of artfully arranged words.
The same words I use, but not nearly so well.

I wondered how you write a poem.

Do the words flow easily or
exit your head in faltering stutters?

Do you write down fragments of phrases
that occasionally come to mind
praying that one day
they will compose themselves into a cohesive bunch?

With all the words in the English language at our disposal,
you would think that
we could pluck and choose with abandon.
Finding the right words would be
effortless.

I don't know how you do it
Billy Collins.

But I wish I could do it too.

The Ritual

I walk through the door feeling as if the day has spent every last cent of me.

The sound that greets me is jarring--My husband's motivational "music": some heavy metal monstrosity that pitches guitars against each other, the sound erupting in war.

After a perfunctory kiss, I make my escape to a quieter part of the house. Feeling immediately calmer, I officially release myself from my day, removing layers of clothing and unlatching underpinnings.

I pull on an ancient, yet soft-as-silk cotton shirt over my head then slide my legs into equally soft pants so loose they barely touch me. I feel my skin sigh a happy thanks.

I realize that although I perform this ritual every single evening, I've never stopped to realize the poetry in the action or the appreciation I feel for a before unnoticed restorative moment.

I sit on my bed, pen and paper in hand and begin to write...