Don't try to fill yourself up with too much of what's around you. You'll find you start to sink. Be true to yourself and who you are inside already. Do that, and you'll float along through life with no problems.
PPP win
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
The Beach
What is it about the beach that calms people so? What is it about the heat, the salty scent, the warm sand, the slight breeze?
What is it about the beach that makes people smile? The sun wafting up across the sand and the air with its slight crisp? The sound of the water crashing down at the edge? The feel of the damp cool sand between your toes?
Why is it that even the mentioning of the beach sends me into a euphoric state and I long to go? I long to sit in the sun or under the light shade of an umbrella. I long to stretch out lazily on a towel or beach chair. I long to close my eyes beneath the sunglasses and dream.
The beach holds a natural power: the power to refresh a soul, to rejuvenate a life.
Sitting there on the beach in paradise I knew what had to be done. I have to come back more often.
What is it about the beach that makes people smile? The sun wafting up across the sand and the air with its slight crisp? The sound of the water crashing down at the edge? The feel of the damp cool sand between your toes?
Why is it that even the mentioning of the beach sends me into a euphoric state and I long to go? I long to sit in the sun or under the light shade of an umbrella. I long to stretch out lazily on a towel or beach chair. I long to close my eyes beneath the sunglasses and dream.
The beach holds a natural power: the power to refresh a soul, to rejuvenate a life.
Sitting there on the beach in paradise I knew what had to be done. I have to come back more often.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Waiting for the Light
He stood in the shadows waiting-
Waiting for the light.
For so long he stood watching-
Yearning to be lifted-
Waiting for the light.
The sun would rise above him-
He'd still stand, watching and waiting-
Yearning for the light.
The sun would pass him by-
He would stand angry again-
Wishing, for once, the light would come-
Come and envelope him.
He stood in the shadows waiting-
Waiting for the light.
Yet one step forward and he'd be there.
One step forward and he'd find it.
If only he would notice-
The light was waiting for him.
Waiting for the light.
For so long he stood watching-
Yearning to be lifted-
Waiting for the light.
The sun would rise above him-
He'd still stand, watching and waiting-
Yearning for the light.
The sun would pass him by-
He would stand angry again-
Wishing, for once, the light would come-
Come and envelope him.
He stood in the shadows waiting-
Waiting for the light.
Yet one step forward and he'd be there.
One step forward and he'd find it.
If only he would notice-
The light was waiting for him.
MaryLou's
Have you ever met your guardian angel? Really met her? I have. I have always remembered that place and longed to return to it ever since.
It was back in my college days. I was in the middle of nowhere and my stomach was growling. I had been on the road since the previous morning, on the way across the states to visit a friend back east. It was a sparatic decision I'd made to go. One day I was sitting around in my apartment feeling lonesome, and the next my bags were packed and I loaded the car up with my belongings and headed out on the open road.
My last granola bar was eaten before noon that day and I knew now was the time to break out my stash of cash. I'd been saving this wad of bills for about a year in anticipation for a rainy day. I thought about the rolled-up bundle in the glove box. I'd added to it almost every day if I could. Honestly, I hadn't even thought to count it yet.
My stomach growled and I remember looking around at the sparse view. I thought I would have to wait awhile before getting anywhere I could spend some money on something to eat. I was still lonesome. Somehow I thought driving across the states would make me feel better. It only succeeded in making my heart hurt more.
But then something down the road caught my eye. A shack? No, it was a little store. I wondered what was it doing way out there. As it got closer I noticed a sign that read "MaryLou's" in big red letters. "We've got everything." That's quite confident, I thought.
When I went inside I was greeted with a lovely warm mixture of scents, somehow familiar. I closed my eyes, it felt natural. I picked out some of the scents I recognized: cinnamon, apple cider, new leather, cedar, and some other kind of spice... rosemary?
"Can I help you?" a woman with a curly, unruly hair was approaching from the back of the store. She wiped her hands on an apron she was wearing and had flour smeared across her face. I smiled at her unconsciously. It felt like home here in a way. I had missed the feeling for too long. She watched me for a moment and then asked, "You want a piece of fresh peach pie?"
"Sure."
The hours slipped by there in the store unnoticed. I'm not sure what kind of spell I was under, but the store had some magic to it. So did MaryLou. She chatted with me about several different things, her children, long grown and gone, her love "passed to a better place" as she called it. I was mainly quiet, but comfortable. She never prodded me for information about myself and I liked it that way. I shared things with her when I wanted to. It was a new freedom to have a conversation like that. I didn't want to leave and she didn't make me. It grew dark and I slept there in the back of the store where she made up a cot for me. It was so kind of her.
The next day she helped me load a bunch of things into my car. She insisted. I handed her some of my cash and she accepted graciously. But then after driving about an hour, I spotted the cash I'd given her sitting on the seat next to me. I shook my head in awe. How did that woman survive?
That's a question I've had on my mind ever since. On the drive back home I took the exact same route, to be sure to stop in and see MaryLou again. But her shop wasn't there. I never came across "MaryLou's" again. I've wondered about it and longed for it ever since.
Yet somehow it didn't surprise me. It was a magical place. That's why I say my guardian angel's name is MaryLou, the one that's got everything.
It was back in my college days. I was in the middle of nowhere and my stomach was growling. I had been on the road since the previous morning, on the way across the states to visit a friend back east. It was a sparatic decision I'd made to go. One day I was sitting around in my apartment feeling lonesome, and the next my bags were packed and I loaded the car up with my belongings and headed out on the open road.
My last granola bar was eaten before noon that day and I knew now was the time to break out my stash of cash. I'd been saving this wad of bills for about a year in anticipation for a rainy day. I thought about the rolled-up bundle in the glove box. I'd added to it almost every day if I could. Honestly, I hadn't even thought to count it yet.
My stomach growled and I remember looking around at the sparse view. I thought I would have to wait awhile before getting anywhere I could spend some money on something to eat. I was still lonesome. Somehow I thought driving across the states would make me feel better. It only succeeded in making my heart hurt more.
But then something down the road caught my eye. A shack? No, it was a little store. I wondered what was it doing way out there. As it got closer I noticed a sign that read "MaryLou's" in big red letters. "We've got everything." That's quite confident, I thought.
When I went inside I was greeted with a lovely warm mixture of scents, somehow familiar. I closed my eyes, it felt natural. I picked out some of the scents I recognized: cinnamon, apple cider, new leather, cedar, and some other kind of spice... rosemary?
"Can I help you?" a woman with a curly, unruly hair was approaching from the back of the store. She wiped her hands on an apron she was wearing and had flour smeared across her face. I smiled at her unconsciously. It felt like home here in a way. I had missed the feeling for too long. She watched me for a moment and then asked, "You want a piece of fresh peach pie?"
"Sure."
The hours slipped by there in the store unnoticed. I'm not sure what kind of spell I was under, but the store had some magic to it. So did MaryLou. She chatted with me about several different things, her children, long grown and gone, her love "passed to a better place" as she called it. I was mainly quiet, but comfortable. She never prodded me for information about myself and I liked it that way. I shared things with her when I wanted to. It was a new freedom to have a conversation like that. I didn't want to leave and she didn't make me. It grew dark and I slept there in the back of the store where she made up a cot for me. It was so kind of her.
The next day she helped me load a bunch of things into my car. She insisted. I handed her some of my cash and she accepted graciously. But then after driving about an hour, I spotted the cash I'd given her sitting on the seat next to me. I shook my head in awe. How did that woman survive?
That's a question I've had on my mind ever since. On the drive back home I took the exact same route, to be sure to stop in and see MaryLou again. But her shop wasn't there. I never came across "MaryLou's" again. I've wondered about it and longed for it ever since.
Yet somehow it didn't surprise me. It was a magical place. That's why I say my guardian angel's name is MaryLou, the one that's got everything.
My Giveaway
Hey! If you're interested in this lighthouse border, whether it's for home decor, crafting, scrap booking, etc. hop over to my Daily Drop to sign up for the drawing of my giveaway!
I'll be drawing the winner(s) on this next Tuesday! Make sure and tell your friends!
Monday, July 20, 2009
Giveaway! Check it out!
Oh gosh! A great blogger over at Laughing Through the Chaos is hosting a giveaway that I really want! It's a potty training guide~ and as you know, I've had a few issues in this department.
Head on over to her blog here to read about her giveaway and don't forget to read some of her other posts! She's awesome! One of my favorite of her recent posts is about friendship and it's here. Check it out!
Head on over to her blog here to read about her giveaway and don't forget to read some of her other posts! She's awesome! One of my favorite of her recent posts is about friendship and it's here. Check it out!
Friday, July 17, 2009
Tossed-Aside Teddy
His fabric once bright and new, now faded and worn so one could see the stuffing inside. His seams, tattered and coming apart. The fullness has been lost in his shoulders from being carried around, squeezed tightly in that little hand. His button nose is missing and his eyes have lost their shine.
He sits weakly now, flopped to one side, contemplating the life he's known. Contemplating the flashes of color he's seen. The brightness in the smiles, the rosy-cheeks, the laughter and hugs.
Inside he felt a hole where his heart used to be. It seemed to grow deeper within him and if he had the ability to produce tears, he would have. Anything to release the pain inside.
But all he could do was sit and think. It eased the pain a bit to recall the happier times. Yet once in a while he again became aware of his current residence and once again the hole in his chest would ache.
He went over his happy memories with ease, running through them in his mind. But once he would come to the time he was left behind by the one he loved most, his mind would jump over it like dancing over hot coals. He didn't wish to relive this memory.
Now he waited for whatever else was to come. Now he waited for what he thought was inevitable. Yet deep inside him was a sliver of a bright shining hope. Hope that once again, he would be loved.
He sits weakly now, flopped to one side, contemplating the life he's known. Contemplating the flashes of color he's seen. The brightness in the smiles, the rosy-cheeks, the laughter and hugs.
Inside he felt a hole where his heart used to be. It seemed to grow deeper within him and if he had the ability to produce tears, he would have. Anything to release the pain inside.
But all he could do was sit and think. It eased the pain a bit to recall the happier times. Yet once in a while he again became aware of his current residence and once again the hole in his chest would ache.
He went over his happy memories with ease, running through them in his mind. But once he would come to the time he was left behind by the one he loved most, his mind would jump over it like dancing over hot coals. He didn't wish to relive this memory.
Now he waited for whatever else was to come. Now he waited for what he thought was inevitable. Yet deep inside him was a sliver of a bright shining hope. Hope that once again, he would be loved.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
The Last House on the Right
My house was the last house on the right before the cow pasture. Then if you followed the road you would come to the local reservoir. I remember the times we would walk down the road to go wading, or simply to watch the sunset reflect off the water.
I recall that time a bunch of girlfriends accompanied me to the reservoir, but when we got there we noticed people were camping and fishing. It was a group of men and they started calling to us and swimming toward us.
So we left, jittery and linked at the arms, singing comforting songs to relieve our jitters. I was the only one that looked back at the vehicle that approached behind us. They were still calling to us and waving. I was the only one tempted to wave back. The others kept me safe from that piece of me.
If I were to walk the opposite direction from my home, I would pass an old trailer home, a white house, and then I would come to the scary broken-down brick house. This was the half-way point between my house and my best friend's that lived down the road. We would agree by phone to meet and then each walk down the road and meet in front of that house.
It was a comfort for us to know that we wouldn't ever have to pass that scary house alone. It's dark cracked or empty windows seemed to watch us as we traipsed passed. Usually we would talk of other things, avoiding the subject of the dark house. But our eyes always watched those windows as if waiting for some kind of creature to appear.
This was the street where I grew up. Now someone else has moved into my old home and then left it vacant and for sale once more. They tore down our precious trees and left our property like an empty casket. My friend's home also now belongs to someone else. Her parents built a home behind it down another road. Somehow, although those walls are new and different, it still feels like home there.
Whenever I visit, I am pulled to the street- to walk along that road again, pass the scary brick house with the dark windows that now seem to be some kind of historical monument, and down the dusty road to the drained and empty reservoir.
I would sit on the cement there to watch the sun go down again. Now, only imagining its reflection on the water.
I recall that time a bunch of girlfriends accompanied me to the reservoir, but when we got there we noticed people were camping and fishing. It was a group of men and they started calling to us and swimming toward us.
So we left, jittery and linked at the arms, singing comforting songs to relieve our jitters. I was the only one that looked back at the vehicle that approached behind us. They were still calling to us and waving. I was the only one tempted to wave back. The others kept me safe from that piece of me.
If I were to walk the opposite direction from my home, I would pass an old trailer home, a white house, and then I would come to the scary broken-down brick house. This was the half-way point between my house and my best friend's that lived down the road. We would agree by phone to meet and then each walk down the road and meet in front of that house.
It was a comfort for us to know that we wouldn't ever have to pass that scary house alone. It's dark cracked or empty windows seemed to watch us as we traipsed passed. Usually we would talk of other things, avoiding the subject of the dark house. But our eyes always watched those windows as if waiting for some kind of creature to appear.
This was the street where I grew up. Now someone else has moved into my old home and then left it vacant and for sale once more. They tore down our precious trees and left our property like an empty casket. My friend's home also now belongs to someone else. Her parents built a home behind it down another road. Somehow, although those walls are new and different, it still feels like home there.
Whenever I visit, I am pulled to the street- to walk along that road again, pass the scary brick house with the dark windows that now seem to be some kind of historical monument, and down the dusty road to the drained and empty reservoir.
I would sit on the cement there to watch the sun go down again. Now, only imagining its reflection on the water.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Dedicated to the Fat Cat
This was actually based on an actual cat I grew up with, but he was male. We named him Hercules. He wasn't actually very fat...just big- but he did all the things that I describe in this writing, so I'm dedicating it to him. I hope, from heaven, he sees the intent and doesn't take it as an insult that I wrote about him describing a fat cat. RIP, Hercules!
Her head looked disproportionate from the rest of her body. It seemed so small. But no, her body was just big.
She would run down the hall with a thump, thump, thump every time my sister screamed for help when she spotted a mouse. Her belly would swing back and forth beneath her and she would pounce, always narrowly missing the rodent as it dashed away.
This was our cat. This was my cat.
I'll never forget the way she loved to come sit on my lap when I was trying to do my homework. Or the way she would always come put me to bed. But everyone said she slept with them at night. Because she always put everyone to bed. She was that kind of cat.
I remember waking up one morning because I found I couldn't breath. It's because she was sleeping on my chest. Once my sister woke up to find her sleeping on her face! That was a moment she never would forget.
We'll never forget our cat.
She was a fat cat.
Prompted by Pictures, Poetry, and Prose.
This amazing photo was taken by Jeannieblue from DeviantArt.
Her head looked disproportionate from the rest of her body. It seemed so small. But no, her body was just big.She would run down the hall with a thump, thump, thump every time my sister screamed for help when she spotted a mouse. Her belly would swing back and forth beneath her and she would pounce, always narrowly missing the rodent as it dashed away.
This was our cat. This was my cat.
I'll never forget the way she loved to come sit on my lap when I was trying to do my homework. Or the way she would always come put me to bed. But everyone said she slept with them at night. Because she always put everyone to bed. She was that kind of cat.
I remember waking up one morning because I found I couldn't breath. It's because she was sleeping on my chest. Once my sister woke up to find her sleeping on her face! That was a moment she never would forget.
We'll never forget our cat.
She was a fat cat.
Prompted by Pictures, Poetry, and Prose.
This amazing photo was taken by Jeannieblue from DeviantArt.
Best Friend
A wet, black nose to sniff you and tickle your fingers and toes making you giggle and scream in delight.
A bright pink tongue to wipe up your tears and kiss that tender place on your knee.
Warm soft fur to touch, warm soft fur to hug, warm soft fur... to give a belly rub.
Big brown eyes that listen quietly and intently to all your dreams, all your fears, all your hopes.
That's his best friend. A boy and his dog.
Prompted by a wonderful photo at Pictures, Poetry, and Prose.
This adorable picture was taken by Wirikos from DeviantArt.
A Moment of Revelation
And there was a truth...
There before him was the truth. His fingers trembled as they outlined the phrase on the page before his eyes. This scribbled-n line was a phrase he'd read before many times. It was written in the margins of his grandfather's favorite book. But suddenly it overwhelmed him with its truthfulness and struck deep to his heart. He became aware of its beating within his chest.
"I have it because I did it."
His eyes welled up with tears so he could no longer read the simple yet powerful words. Closing the book, he raised his head and began to walk. Now he knew what he was going to do. He would go to her. He would look her in the eyes. He would finally share what was in his heart. For now he knew without doubt. He loved her, and she should know it.
There before him was the truth. His fingers trembled as they outlined the phrase on the page before his eyes. This scribbled-n line was a phrase he'd read before many times. It was written in the margins of his grandfather's favorite book. But suddenly it overwhelmed him with its truthfulness and struck deep to his heart. He became aware of its beating within his chest.
"I have it because I did it."
His eyes welled up with tears so he could no longer read the simple yet powerful words. Closing the book, he raised his head and began to walk. Now he knew what he was going to do. He would go to her. He would look her in the eyes. He would finally share what was in his heart. For now he knew without doubt. He loved her, and she should know it.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The Earth, The Bulldozer, The Tree, and The Rock
My mother once talked to me about how I resembled earth. I was nourishing and loving. I could help things to grow. But at that time I was dating a bulldozer and he pushed me around wherever he wanted me to go. He spread me thin and rolled over me.
He needs a rock, she said. Someone that will stand strong and immovable so he cannot push her around. He may not find her right away and he might not like her right away, but he needs a rock. And you aren't a rock. You are like earth.
Time passed and I found myself a tree. He stood tall and strong and I could nourish his roots and he dropped his leaves to nourish my soil right back. This was love.
Someday I hope that bulldozer finds his rock.
He needs a rock, she said. Someone that will stand strong and immovable so he cannot push her around. He may not find her right away and he might not like her right away, but he needs a rock. And you aren't a rock. You are like earth.
Time passed and I found myself a tree. He stood tall and strong and I could nourish his roots and he dropped his leaves to nourish my soil right back. This was love.
Someday I hope that bulldozer finds his rock.
Monday, July 6, 2009
The Pansies
Pleasant faces smile brightly
Between the purple petals
Their warm glow from deep within
Makes me settle into the green
And quietly listen to their charming whispers
They seem to burst with a gentle happiness
And that happiness is contagious
As they rock gently in the breeze
I feel like dancing with them
Between the purple petals
Their warm glow from deep within
Makes me settle into the green
And quietly listen to their charming whispers
They seem to burst with a gentle happiness
And that happiness is contagious
As they rock gently in the breeze
I feel like dancing with them
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
She
Sometimes I forget what she looks like. Because it really doesn't matter.
I go about my day, doing everything I need to. Taking care of my children. Taking care of my house. Sometimes I can go a full day without even making eye contact with her.
Then when I do, it's like a reminder. Sometimes it can even be a slap in the face. It's like she is screaming to me "PAY ATTENTION TO ME! I'M IMPORTANT TOO!" and I decide to take a moment with just her. She gets put on the back burner too often.
Sometimes I forget what she looks like. I haven't memorized the curves of her face. I don't know exactly how many freckles she has, or how many gray hairs she has. I just know the obvious details and the picture in my memory.
Then when I see her it hits me again that she's aged a little more. It hits me again that she has weathered a few storms. She's important too. She needs my attention now and then.
So I close the door to my bathroom and give her that time.
My reflection.
I go about my day, doing everything I need to. Taking care of my children. Taking care of my house. Sometimes I can go a full day without even making eye contact with her.
Then when I do, it's like a reminder. Sometimes it can even be a slap in the face. It's like she is screaming to me "PAY ATTENTION TO ME! I'M IMPORTANT TOO!" and I decide to take a moment with just her. She gets put on the back burner too often.
Sometimes I forget what she looks like. I haven't memorized the curves of her face. I don't know exactly how many freckles she has, or how many gray hairs she has. I just know the obvious details and the picture in my memory.
Then when I see her it hits me again that she's aged a little more. It hits me again that she has weathered a few storms. She's important too. She needs my attention now and then.
So I close the door to my bathroom and give her that time.
My reflection.
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