No rest for the eternally distracted...

What I've discovered at the ripe old age of 65 is that the 'been there done that' mentality that has ruled my entire life without me even realizing why I could drop a perfectly good job/behavior/art/husband, etc, (you get the picture) hasmorphed because I became aware of the brain spasm that occurs just before I switch gears and learn how to change the oil in my car(this is only an example, I would never change the oil in my car). It is now a stealth response. I kid you not; I haven't changed one bit except now after the spasm occurs, I rationalize it by forgiving myself for dropping what I'm doing to go do something else. And that masks the truth....the truth being I haven't learned anything in 65 years, I'm still hopping from one foot to the other, but now I'm nicer to myself when I realize that I've done it again.


 No rest for the eternally distracted.

a stitch in time....

 it is so breathtakingly frightening when one wears one's heart on one's sleeve for everyone to see....and poke....and pick off pieces...like lint from the dryer...all we can do is remember the good times....the love.... and learn to duck....when someone reaches for a touch...or with gleaming intent in their eyes....rips the sleeve off. All you can do is sew it back on....and in the process... learn a new stitch.

City forest

‎4 am, the middle of the city is as silent as it can get. The air is warm, even though it's january. I can hear, far from my building, the low, ominous rumble of a city bus; stopping and starting at corners and kiosks, complaining and empty. My sleep dumb mind is searching for reasons to stay awake....or slip back into the nest of sleep. Sleep wins, and the next thing I hear, as I surface again, is the morning call of city birds, chirping and singing with a sense of abandon one rarely hears in this place of deep cement and brick canyons. I am at once charmed. My happy bell starts to chime and wakefulness takes hold. I lay there thinking about those birds who mistakenly think they live in a protected, warm forest of plentiful nesting spots and safety from storms. The parking garage birds. Sometimes one even lands on my windowsill and blesses me with a private aria.

..Petitions of the Heart......The Mountain.

Day turned to night and night to day.  And still he sat upon the mountain.
     "What does he hope to discover?"  thought the angel who sat by his side, unseen by the man.
"Does he know that there are endless endings?"
     "Does he know that he is master of his own fate?"
"Does he think the answer will show itself to him in some sort of magical way?"

The man sighed and the angel relaxed and looked out to the horizon where the man was staring.
   "Dear God," spoke the man.  The angel said Amen and turned to the man to hear what he was going to say to God.
"I am only a man," he paused and cleared his throat.  "I thought that what I was doing was right and so I continued to do it.  And now I am suddenly older and I am no longer sure.  I thought I had all the answers to all the questions.  But now I have questions for which my usual method of finding answers doesn't work.  My patterns are so tightly formed.  I don't know how to get beyond this point.  I am asking for something from you."

The angel nodded his head.  "Good," he thought, "This man really does know the answers; time will help him to see.  Time, faith and truth."

The angel wrapped his wing around the man and the man felt its warmth.  And a gentle thought entered his mind, "Follow your heart.  Wherever it takes you is the right place."

And the sun broke through the clouds and the man left the mountain.

...turning into our mothers.....

In response to Amy Ferris realizing rather suddenly that she can, with no conscious forethought, turn into her mother .......

oh gosh, Amy. That must have been such an abrupt, neck damaging 'hold up there girl' moment. It makes me realize that within me/you live many women; some exquisitely beautiful, some...not so much. Thankfully that whiplash woman doesn't show her face too often; my cats would pack a duffel and move next door. But, I think we can take heart in the true and honest fact that for the most part, we're pretty good people to be around. Forgive yourself, precious woman who, at times, is a bit high maintenance. 

http://www.marryinggeorgeclooney.com/blog/2011/12/21/to-bea-or-not-to-bea/

The spirit that lives in all women can, at times, explode in the faces of her captors, and it's probably a good idea to stand back.


http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/21/world/middleeast/violence-enters-5th-day-as-egyptian-general-blames-protesters.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all

Temporary Blindness

The most recent posts on FB concerning the callous disregard for the most vulnerable Americans caused me temporary blindness. No wonder our so-called 'government' is in such a ball of knots. Sometimes, at least in my experience, when a skein of thread/yarn becomes so entangled as to be impossible to untangle, it just flat needs to be tossed. Some areas where you can extract usable lengths can be salvaged, but others are knotted up with lint and cat fur and are so disgusting and 'furball' like ya' just gotta' toss em'.