MFC:: Week 1

Mid-week Favorites Collection

Despite a sinus infection (me), an ear infection PLUS bronchitus (my son), and an as-yet-undiagnosed major health concern (my MIL), I am taking this opportunity to acknowledge that which I am thankful for this week.

I'M GRATEFUL

~ it's one day closer to a weekend spent at home (so I can catch up on laundry and finally begin the first phase of the great household purge project)

~ for coconut cake and herbal tea

~ for Vintique, DistressedFX, DeluxeFX and the new PicTapGo iPhone photo-editing Apps

~ a little rain is on the way this weekend (to keep me at home to accomplish number 1 on this week's list)

~ for Martha Beck and her magically inspirational books

~ to still have a full season of Downton Abbey to catch up on

~ and last but not least, Pearl Jam

What are you giving thanks for this week?

Just Breathe

A new day has dawned

Let go of the past
Be open to possibilities

Find solace in nature
Capture the moments

Drink the sun's energy

Embrace change 
Listen to your soul
Follow your heart
Trust your intuition

Turn mistakes into gold

Above all else, Yield

2013: Yield

Abbreviated definition (ref. Dictionary.com)

— vb  (often foll by up ) (sometimes foll by to )  (often foll by to )
1.	to give forth or supply (a product, result, etc), esp by cultivation, labour, etc; produce or bear
2.	( tr ) to furnish as a return: the shares yielded three per  cent
3.	to surrender or relinquish, esp as a result of force,  persuasion, etc
4.	to give way, submit, or surrender, as through force or  persuasion
5.	to agree; comply; assent
6.	( tr ) to grant or allow; concede
7.	obsolete  ( tr ) to pay or repay
— n
8.	the result, product, or amount yielded
9.	the profit or return, as from an investment or tax
10.	the annual income provided by an investment, usually  expressed as a percentage of its cost or of its current value

Wounds in the mirror waved

Saying goodbye to the desert is usually bittersweet. I don't get there as often as I would like, and in the past six years, it's been my place of refuge. 

This time, not so much. For once, I was ready to leave the desert, as well as leave the memory of the internal wounds that unexpectedly re-opened far, far behind. 

I kept my phone out to document the drive home. I wasn't sure as to why at the time. But now I know. I found a muse. A sea of arms upraised an open toward the sky. I shot the windmills from the speeding car, awed by the storm clouds hovering off in the distance, the sun setting the sky ablaze and the vast nothingness between both mountain ranges. All the while, silently vowing to return in the near future to spend quality time with a quality camera. Maybe even that Polaroid that is en route to my house...

And then my used Polaroid camera bought on eBay arrived the following day, and I shot my very first test photo on expired film (also bought on eBay)...

I have a feeling this quest is going to be a long one. Quite possibly an expensive one as well. And I am going to relish every minute of it! 

Mistakes and all.

14 days and counting

In just 14 days, I'll be taking Bug to his very first concert. But it's not just his "first concert"...

It's eV

I want nothing more than to witness this show with my son. Expose him to the power of this artist and his music; someone who has influenced my life in countless ways through powerful, sometimes emotional lyrics for over twenty years. It's humbling to have the opportunity to share with one's child an experience that is bound to be both moving and life-altering. But most of all, I have the privilege to introduce my son to an amazing community of people - those I am fortunate enough to call my friends - who have really become more of a family than a fan-base.

But Bug is only eight and I wonder how much he will truly appreciate at this very tender (and immature) age.

Regardless, he's still my Bug. Yes, I actually DO call him that in real life, not just in the cyber-world. 

"Bug" grew out of his pet name as a baby: Boo Boo...then Boo Bear...which turned in to Boo...which morphed into Bug-a-Boo...Ugg-A-Bug...and finally Bug. 

Now that he's 8, "Bug" sounds a lot like "Bud" (as in buddy), which is probably a hell of a lot more socially acceptable (and less embarrassing) when I inevitably slip-up in public. 

Even when he's grown out of pet names entirely, and refuses to let me call him anything but his given name, he'll always be my BUG.

And, yes it may be wishful thinking, but considering eV played "Bugs" at the Amsterdam solo show this past summer - there's a shot (albeit slim) at hearing Bugs at Bug's first show. 

Bugs for my Bug. This proud mama would certainly SMILE foEVer if that happened.



The waiting drove me mad

Damn. All that hype and anticipation. Banking on a miracle. Something, anything to make me gasp in wonder, and know deep down that there is more to this life than meets the eye.

Yea so, apparently it was all for nothing. 

I sat there on the patio for over an hour, watching the moon and the stars and the planets, the flashing lights of the airplanes and the bats swooping overhead. I listened to the wind rustling the palm branches and the distant howl of coyotes. While the cool breeze ebbed and flowed, it swirled about me carrying the scent of wet grass; skimming my face and exposed skin, tussling my hair.

I should have just been appreciative of all that in and of itself. And I was for a moment. It just turns out it was a very brief moment. 

Until my mind wandered and began to over-think things. Instead of enjoying the solitude and being grateful just to witness the sights and sounds and smells of the desert, the introspection turned sad and ugly and ultimately depressing. The void inside deepened and I began to question if I will ever find inner-peace. If I'll ever be in a place where it's enough just to be alive. I know every day is a gift and should be treated as such. I think maybe it's because I know this, but never actually feel it, causes me to feel insignificant and ungrateful.

At one point, I actually found myself praying. Well, not exactly praying, more like having a conversation with...SOMETHING. I'm not even sure who or what. And no, not out loud! (I'm not quite that loony.) But internally admitting that I'm not in a good place and asking for help in figuring out why I feel this way. So lost and pathetic. Questioning my life and my path and my worthiness. And then I began to feel frustrated and angry and disappointed. But only with myself and my false expectations. After all that waiting and watching and mental turmoil, I was intellectually and physically exhausted. 

Worst of all, I fell asleep before I got to witness any stars fall from the sky.

I honestly don't know what I was looking for last night. What I had hoped to find or learn or realize. I do know nothing happened - nothing changed. All I have to show for this exercise are a few bug bites, a kink in my neck and a shitty attitude.

Feel the sky blanket you

If ever there was a time in my life when I needed to believe in a Higher Power, it would be now. At a time when I struggle with so many demons, questions, doubts; feeling lost, powerless, hopeless. 

It would be nice to have a little faith to fall back upon at a time like this. 

But I don't. Have faith, that is.

Somehow I lost it somewhere along the way. And I so desperately need to recapture it. So desperately WANT to recapture it. Grab a hold of it and never let it go again.

Tonight the Orionid meteor shower, the result of dust from Halley's Comet hitting Earth's atmosphere as the planet travels through space in its orbit around the sun, is scheduled to be visible from about 11:00 pm pacific time. This is the kind of stuff I read about a long time ago. Many moons ago when I was just an innocent, living a carefree life without heavy problems or the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I have one hour to go. I am determined to make it. I'm beat tired and running on empty. But damned if I am going to miss it. My first meteor shower. My chance to witness a true wonder.

Maybe I am foolish to believe that such an event will have some profound, life-altering impact. Maybe I am grasping at straws. Maybe I want something to believe in so badly that this is just a last ditch effort. A pathetic attempt.

Maybe. But what if?

What if witnessing something extraordinary at a time when it is most needed really does shift my thinking? Watching something powerful and moving, and altogether ethereal can do that, you know. What if it brings with it some glimpse of a Greater Power? And along with that, a renewed sense of awe for Mother Nature. 

Certainty. Assurance. Peace. But I'll settle for just a spark of hope at this point.

What if...

Wouldn't that be fucking great?

Bugs in the way I feel about you

My Lil' Bug just turned eight. He has yet to discover girls, so for the time being, I'm the queen bee of his world. 

I know this de facto reign is limited. The sand is moving through the narrow passage of that metaphorical hourglass all too swiftly. And there is no way for me to freeze it.  

But I can capture it. 

Both literally and figuratively. I have the power to create something as a memento of a time in our lives when life was simple. 

Uncomplicated. 
Secure. 
Safe. 
Sheltered.

For him, anyways.

Someday soon I won't be the one he seeks out for comfort. I won't be able to smooth back his bangs and rub his forehead when he has a bad dream. I won't be the one he turns to when life gets complex and confusing. As he grows and changes, I'll be needed less and less. 

I know this. I accept it. Yet all the same, I dread the day when I won't be his Mama. Or even his Mommy. 

I'll simply be MOM. 

But for the time being, I'll hold onto this age of innocence with the fierceness of a lioness, for I know firsthand how easily the bond between mother and child can erode. I'll cherish every butterfly kiss and spontaneous giggle fit. I'll remember dancing around the living room to a certain band with wild abandon. I'll smile at the memory of off-tune sing alongs in the car, and the times we didn't hit mute fast enough when eV drops an F-bomb. 

I'll smile. Just smile. Because Bug makes me smile. 

forEVer.   

Euro-phoria

Continuing the theme of what I love, and what I love to do, today I want to focus on my passion for Europe. Prior to turning thirty (almost 11 years ago), I had never left the country (besides Cananda and Mexico, which really don't count for Americans, in my humble opinion).

For my honeymoon, I went to Ireland. It was the catalyst for my complete addiction. Since then, I have been back to Ireland another two times, Italy (three times), France, Corsica (technically also France), the UK, Germany, The Czech Republic, Sweden and The Netherlands.

If I could sell everything I owned and move to Europe with only one suitcase, I would do it in a hearbeat (well, sell almost everything - I'd definitely need to keep a 10x10 storage locker for precious items like my favorite band's memorabilia and my record collection).

But since that is not realistic (today), I'll continue to venture yonder across the pond as often as I can, and dream of a day when I can finally rehab this cottage in Ireland. Or this farmhouse in France.

I don't need much, really. Just an old building with good bones, loads of character and charm, a decent reno budget, access to flea markets and antique shops, a contractor...and possibly an interpreter.

*Sigh*

Thrifty Thursday: Goodwill Hunting

I am taking to heart some recent feedback from a fellow Blogging from the Heart participant who wanted me to explore the "I Know" bullet points from my last post. 

I'll start with...

I KNOW WHAT I LOVE, AND WHAT I LOVE TO DO 

Back in early September, I wrote a post that included one particular thing that I love to do. Granted, the post wasn't all about this activity, it was what I did to find some semblance of solace in the midst of a particularly stressful day. For the record, I've also made mention of this hobby here and here.

At this point, you are probably saying: "Get to the point already?"  

Okay. I admit it. I'm a total junkie. I'm a junk junkie. I love perusing thrift stores and flea markets (and *eh-hem* maybe an occasional yard sale or two) for objects that intrigue me and aesthetically please my eye. I'm a particular sucker for empty frames, shabby paintings, mason jars, vintage linens and anything feminine, faded and floral. I'm not so much into clothing or collectibles. For me, it's all about the home and pretty elements of decor; and sometimes turning something ugly or broken into a beautiful treasure. I lovingly use a stolen lyric for this process - "turning mistakes into gold". (I'll go more into this some Sunday very soon, when I begin a Salvage Sunday series).

Lately while on these lunchtime excursions, I've taken to photographing objects that catch my eye. This is much friendlier on the pocket book, and if I bought everything I wanted, I'd be featured on the next episode of Hoarders. I may pick up an item here and there, but it's mostly just browsing and taking snaps. Yep, I might just be that crazy lady you've noticed at the Salvation Army staging vignettes in the collectible aisle, positioning myself for the right angle and lighting.

I may not do this Thrifty Thursday feature every week. My schedule is far too erratic and my travel days are unpredictable. I don't always get to escape to do a weekly dose of retail therapy, but I thought it would be fun to highlight some photos of beauties found during my adventures in "Goodwill Hunting" on this inaugural edition of Thrifty Thursday.

This wicker fan caught my eye on the back wall of the junk room. I love the soft tones and floral pattern. I can see this in a beach cottage set against a very pale aqua painted paneled wall.

Just think of what this antique loom must have produced in it's glory days. I could write a whole fictional story about the woman I envision crouched over this loom, weaving her heart and soul into every fabric.

{CAUTION: If you're a germ-o-phobe you may not relate on this one.} 

I want to know the conversations, drama, secrets, lies, jokes, tall-tales and celebrations that took place day after day at the dining tables' of these utensils. If only spoons could talk! Perhaps another story developing...

This one just reminded me of my grandmother and her love of all things gold; from her lamps, to her mouse lighter, to her bible book-ends to her picture frames and mirrors.

She is just so ethereal and nymph-like that I wanted to capture her on film.

So, I admit that I did make a small purchase today. However, in my defense, I needed something lovely to hold all my shells from last weekend's beach-combing.

Tell me, what do YOU love to do?

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life

I don't think anyone who knows me would argue that I am a dreamer. Some may go as far as to say I'm a fantasist. And a small few who are closest to me would say I’m completely delusional (but that's a whole other topic). 

Here’s the thing…I am rapidly approaching my forty-first birthday, and while not a monumental year, I feel it's time that I finally begin to lay the foundation of a plan.

A plan for a complete life change. 

Admittedly, this may be a "mid-life" crisis of sorts. Yet I am beginning to realize that more than a few women of a certain age experience similar feelings of "what do I want to be when I grow up?" 

In fact, I had a conversation about this with two friends over the weekend, and we were all nodding our heads in agreement. But not one of us knew what to do about it. While it is comforting to know that I am not alone in this mindset - that by forty it’s Okay to not have everything figured out - it’s still unsettling. 

My fear is that, knowing myself and my “grass-is-greener” tendencies, what I think I want may not actually turn out to be the case. Or that it’s not realistic. Or it’s just plain selfish. It’s this fear, and the possibility of failure, that hold me back. Well, that and a lack of a plan. To be honest, I don’t even know where to start. So, I’ll start with what I know…

·         I know I need a change.

·         I know what I am doing now is not sustainable.

·         I know depression, anxiety, & exhaustion are signs     of danger.

·         I know what I love, and love to do.

·         I know what motivates me.

·         I know my strengths and my weaknesses.

·         I know situations in which I thrive.

·         I know that when I am at my best, I am energetic and excited. 

The problem is I just don’t know how to take all of that and make a living from it.

Parting Ways

The hours of my last night on the gulf coast passed slowly as I tossed and turned, waiting for daylight to come. Anticipating the last moments to savor an all-too-short stint in this paradise; my toes itching to feel the powdery soft sand seep between each crevice; my ankles thirsty for the warm salt waves; my skin longing to soak up every ounce of energizing Vitamin D; my hair begging for a respite from the humidity. 

One last time.

I awoke from my fitful sleep at 5:00, but lay still waiting for another hour to pass before daring to tip-toe through the bedroom to make my morning coffee. Half-blind, fumbling for my glasses, I managed to stumble my way to the balcony with my journal.

I spent over an hour watching the beach both go to sleep and come alive at the same time. All-night revelers wandered, entangled with one another, laughing, kissing; clothing damp and rumpled. Treasure hunters combed the sand for hidden treasures; coins and valuables left behind in the wild shenanigans of the previous night. Gulls pecked at the sand searching for bits of left-overs. The pool cleaner piled towels in a mound of blue and white stripes and swished his brushes along the edge of the pool.

I managed a mere half-page in my journal during this observation time; my final moments to capture the calm and serenity before departing for home:

"The words don't come. They stay swirling in my head, trying to formulate into coherence. 

Around and around,

a funnel cloud of thoughts, words, emotions building up - 

but never touching ground."

Given to (Dragon)Fly

I was all excited to find this little guy in my hotel room while visiting Pensacola Beach this past weekend. Until I found out a dead dragonfly doesn't symbolize the same good luck as a live one (which also apparently has to land on you to have any good karma rub off).

I'm just glad I didn't follow my initial instinct of preserving him in one of cosmetic tubes and packing him in my suitcase to take home. Maybe that bad luck stayed back in Florida.

Footsteps

First light of day 

life unfolds along the gulf

white sand shimmers

soft as snow

a breath of a breeze 

kisses the shore

as gulls dance with the waves

nature whispers sweet nothings

my soul listens

 my heart tentative

my mind quiet

if only for a moment

 

 

So sad it's sickening

I've come to realize that I am a damn good cheerleader. Not so much for myself, but for others.

If only I would heed my own advice once in a while. Or just once, for that matter. Maybe then I wouldn't be, feel, think, act so erratic. 

Dishing out advice or positive motivation to others? Oh yeah, no problem. 

Acting on that advice and internalizing it for my own self? Not so much.

Why is that? 

Why am I able to provide thoughtful, meaningful and actionable feedback to others, but when it comes to myself, all I do is ruminate on the negative. I'm paralyzed by my own self doubt.

I can't do this.
I can't do that.
I'm not good enough for this.
I'm not talented enough for that.
She does it better.
He says it so much more eloquently.
If only I could do it this way.
Why didn't I think to do it that way.

Negative. Negative. Negative.

The radio interference is deafening. And these poisonous thoughts and feelings are draining every ounce of my being.

Maybe it's time for someone to just tell me for a change. Someone to take me under their wing and show me my worth. Tell me it's okay. Kick me in the ass and tell me to stop whining. Teach me how to find that place, hidden way below the scarred surface, that can motivate and support my own damn self for a change. Maybe I need someone to enlighten me on how to truly focus inward. 

Practicing self-kindness is so hard for me. I really don't understand it. For the life of me, I don't understand why I find it so hard to have an ounce of compassion for myself. 

If not me, then who? 

Garden of stone

Something occurred to me today. Something that should have been blatantly obvious quite some time ago if I would've pulled my head out sooner. But that darn control freak, over-achiever, "good girl", perfectionist, self-proclaimed martyr in me has slowly, relentlessly overtaken every aspect of my life. Like a poisonous weed whose roots have ruthlessly penetrated the fertile garden of my mind.

But, you know what? 

I can't do it all myself.

As much as I may want to, need to, feel as if I should. (Don't ask me why I have this compulsion because I'm not ready to face any those demons quite yet). 

It actually feels a bit liberating to finally admit this. I realize it's OKAY to let go sometimes. Delegation is key. My mental health is more important - maybe the most important thing for me to concentrate on right now. I can't please everyone all the time. I can't take on more projects, tasks, commitments. And, do you know why?

I can't do it all myself. 

Finally, after months, I feel like I can breath without hyperventilating. My head isn't spinning out of control worrying about all the plates I have to juggle. I'm not paralyzed with fear and distress; mentally ready to explode into a million pieces.

One more time for good measure.

I. Can't. Do. It. All. Myself.

I need help. And, that's okay too. As much as it frightens me to write this, I know I need to ask for help. Because if I don't...well, if I don't...then I haven't learned anything from this realization. I'll be back to square one, and well on my way back to the frightening chasm between sanity and the cruel alternative.

The weeds would have won.

Scorched

We are experiencing an extreme heat wave where I live. Yesterday the temperature topped 108 degrees. This kind of oppressive weather, this late in the season, has drained me. That, coupled with the inflammation of my chronic back pain, seems to have literally sucked the life right out of me. 

Drained my spirit.

I need rain. Not a few sprinkles of morning mist; a hard, driving storm to hydrate the earth and replenish my soul.

WASH {Pearl Jam}
Oh please let it rain today. This city's so filthy. Like my mind in ways.
Oh it was the time. Like a clean new taste.
Smiling eyes before me and tears from my face.

Wash my love. Wash my love. Wash my love, yeah.

Sin for sale. Buying just a need. O who planted all the devils seeds?
And what's the truth? And the truth that lies at home.
It's on the inside and I can't get it off. Yeah.

Wash my love. Wash my love. Wash my love, yeah.

What's clean is pure. But hey, I'm white on the outside. Though I stray.
What she don't know today might kill us both tomorrow. Bring it back someway.
Bring it back, back, back... to the clean form. To the pure form.

Wash my love. Wash my love. Wash my love. Wash my love.
Wash my love. Wash my love. Wash my love. Yeah
Wash my ...wash my...wash my love....yeaaaaaaahhhhhhh

Release me

Today is one of those days when my back pain is making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the invisible knife stabbing me along my left side. Right where my lower ribcage meets the muscles that support my jacked-up spinal cord.

I have no patience.

I'm irritable.

I'm whiney. 

I'm flat out pissed off at everyone and everything.

Even the thermometer in my car has set me off on a tangent.

 

"108 degrees?! Are you kidding me?"

It's not a good day to answer the phone. Or send emails. Or sit in marathon meetings that require concentrating on anything other than shifting my body weight every two seconds. It's probably not a good day to blog, for that matter.

Maybe tomorrow this agonizing pain will subside, and I will be more tolerable (read: tolerant) - to myself and to others.

Maybe.