Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Éirinn go Brách

Happy St. Patty's Day...

Though I have red hair, my folks are of more Scottish descent than Irish.

Doesn't matter today though,  when everyone wears green and well, we redheads look great in Kelly Green... anyway... as my mum would say, "In the end, we're all Celts," or something to that effect.

Have some green beer, or a car bomb, or whatever if you're of age to do so and wear green (originally blue was the color, but who's keeping track) if you don't want to get pinched.

In other news, the beloved Sir Terry Pratchett passed away March 12, 2015.

He was one of my absolutely favourite authors. Here is his final sentiment, typed by his daughter:

Fellow author and friend Neil Gaiman was among those paying tribute to Sir Terry, writing on his website: "There was nobody like him. I was fortunate to have written a book with him, when we were younger, which taught me so much."
Gaiman added: "I will miss you, Terry, so much."
Niel Gaiman is another of my favourite authors... both of these excerpts were taken from the BBC News site.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

A List of Lovelies.

A few things that I take gentle pleasure in at the moment:

The deep green of fresh dino kale and its grassy smell.

The orange sunrise filtering through the window shutters and filling the room with liquid gold.

 The sound of good, dark chocolate breaking into pieces and its aroma as it melts.

The delightful weight of a sautée pan handle on the palm and the glint of silver as it lands on the stove.

The sound of my son laughing as he splashes water in his bath.

The way my family drinks in the sight of my son and his little aura.

The feel of a freshly laundered cotton t-shirt after a shower.

The cool feeling of evening breezes on the skin and the fresh smell of night.

The rich, smooth taste of hot coffee with warmed foamy almond milk.

The smell of my partner's skin just after he's shaved.

The fresh green and nutty aroma of brussels' sprouts roasting in the oven.

The friendly feel of the well-worn pages of a book I've read a hundred times.

The promise of green shoots signaling spring through the melted puddles of snow.

The hint of summer in the lengthening days and glowing mornings.

The dream of a new kitchen and repaired space of home despite the plaster dust swimming around our floors.

The warmth of my husband's family gathering this weekend to share a meal and catch up.

The knowledge that though this great experiment of ours is far from easy, the work it takes is worth doing and I'm becoming a better person for it.

Monday, March 2, 2015

Good Bye February

Snow keeps falling. Normally dry as fluffy, dancing, swirling dust. Lately, wet as a thick floating blanket. 

Heavy, slippery soft and cold, cold, cold. Winter is going out with a flourish. Spring has not sprung.

At home, the great experiment continues. Not enough time for oneself. Not enough time to write or read.

Learning to say "no," again as well as to sign. Seeing the whispers of exhaustion floating off of every body within.

Difficulties with communication all around and loud, loud, loud expressions followed by silent, and harsher feelings.

Bright, aching and startling sun flashes through the windows at times. The grey, calm, deep and cloudy moments follow. 

My favorites, are the gray days. The times with sparks of silence, cups of hot beverage. Snow silently slipping through the clouds from the sky.

Colds and sneezes have come and gone. Haggard faces laugh and merriment entails loving words. Back and forth ticks the clock counting the seconds of the minutes of the hours of the days into nights and weeks and months.

Not yet years, but soon enough. How to measure the changes of the internal seasons? How to weather the outside family's struggles and need for support? How to express our love to those that need it beyond ourselves while striving to maintain the rocking balance of peace and working through at home?

There could be enough time in the day if those silent would speak to those willing to listen. There could be love enough in the air if those closed would open to it. There could be compassion and patience for all if those rigid in their expectations could bend a  bit, but for now, we make do and move along.

Change, change and more change is on the horizon that floats out in the distance; hovering as the pinks, reds, golds and blues of sunset mingle with the purples, oranges and greens of sunrise. 

A wise person once said, 'Everything in moderation,' but what about the days when drowning feels inevitably to be the only option?

Happiness streaked and marbled through with frustration and tension.  Sadness touched lightly with warmth and hope and desperate will to work through things.

Sacrifices of the soul made up in new time that flows from the choices of necessity. Gibberish that drips from the lips of babes will soon make sense when we learn the ancient art of translation.

Share the burden, spread out the tension and it becomes thin and more pliable, or breaks and disintegrates all together. Work with each other's strengths; remember that this too shall pass and that the demolition of the easiest parts have already begun. Soon, new and better spaces and places will be revealed if we can simply, hold, hold, hold - on.

What are we missing? Fond thoughts of friends and relatives seep through the cracks and by acknowledging them, they are satiated and spread back through the ether with energy signatures. Say it aloud and it gains power, so make sure you speak what needs to be said for the situation.

Destiny is afoot? Perhaps. Or perchance we make our own fate our own future's stars are designed  and hung with our shining hands alone. Life right now, is at it's most alive. Spinning in the melee, the calm at the center of the storm is this delightfully and heartbreaking mess that we call existence.