Category Archives: Tradition

the truth about leaves

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I think it’s pretty arrogant of people to think they’re superior to other living things.  We’re all part of nature after all.  Maybe it’s just ego , but maybe it’s something more basic and widespread like social and religious indoctrination/orientation that bloat our sense of standing on planet earth.

Personally I trust dogs more than I do most people these days.

I’m not particularly fond of squirrels but if I see one lying dead in the street, my stomach still drops to my feet, and I feel an emotion akin to lose for the rest of the day.  Make that a dog or cat, and I retch.

So this morning I’m drinking coffee in my favorite rocker on the front porch watching trees sway in a rather brisk breeze, and my brain starts doing its thing.  All of the sudden, I remember having had a light-bulb moment about twenty years ago when I had a moment of absolute awareness concerning leaves.  That’s right, leaves.   I usually keep a running dialogue inside my head with my spirit guide, so I asked DreamWalker if there was any significance to the presence or sequencing of leaves growing on trees or bushes or plants in general.

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It’s not like I can hear any voices or anything, it’s just suddenly I become aware of something or another; and in this case, it was an answer to my question about leaves.

So, leaves are the emotional expression in the plant world, it seems.  In spring everything is still a little bit hungover from winter’s sleep but starting to get worked up.  By mid-summer, everyone is singing.  Fall brings a blush of warm emotion as plants remember carefree days of warmer weather while preparing for a long well-deserved sleep.  (Hey, you bake in the sun for a couple of months and tell me how you feel.)  Winter is pretty obvious; it’s about resting and restoration.

So this morning I took it a step further by comparing myself to the trees I was watching.  And within a few minutes I could see another similarity, this time concerning the seasons of trees.  Spring is to a tree what childhood is a person; it’s that amazing time of life when everything is beginning.  Bud by bud, we begin to expand the perimeters of our world.  Sometimes we find bees or spiders, scary, but that’s only a tiny bit of what turns out to most often be flowers.

leaves 2

Summer is late adolescence through the latter part of mid-adulthood.  By then life has proliferated beyond our wildest imagination and we are bursting with emotions, positive or negative.  By fall, later life, we’ve grown quite reflective. This is definitely a time of beauty and preparation.  By winter, we need more rest so we spend time watching sunrises and sunsets, being thankful or remorseful, depending, and waiting for whatever comes next.

bare tree

Ahhh, it was a good cup of coffee.  And so enlightening.

sweet innocence

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After some pretty significant health problems the past few years, I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to find a good balance between what I want to do and what I can.  I’m more Fall Chicken than Spring Chicken as an aging Baby Boomer, but my bucket list is still pretty long.  And while I won’t see the Aurora Borealis in person, there are many other goals I’ve made throughout life then set aside for whatever reason seemed pertinent at the time.

There are promises I’ve made myself and then dismissed as too grandiose.  Even worse, from time to time I find I’ve limited myself using the excuses that some of the dreams I dream are selfish or silly.  Just thinking that makes me nauseous because I’m not one who buys into the Selfish Guilt Trip Philosophy society sometimes uses to restrain us from reaching for the stars, rather than keeping our noses to the grindstone, asking no questions.  Also to say a goal is silly is to diminish personal potential and only shows I have more work to do in regards to self-esteem.

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Maybe no one out there knows I’m a somewhat of philosophical rebel; if not, that’s because I haven’t spoken up.  What I have done is share one aspect of my life, keeping the rest under wraps because it’s easier that way.  That’s a back track on my behalf.  In 2000, I quit approaching life from a non-adversarial vantage point, deciding direct attack was a more effective choice.

It was during that particular revolt I changed my perception of the word selfish, exchanging the word with the more gentle term: self-is.

Things got a lot easier for me after shifting that perspective.  By ditching an overused word and altering its definition, I removed the negative implication.  Although a rather simple concept, it was necessary for me to overcome my overwhelming tendency to make choices dependent on pleasing others, rather than considering my own needs and wishes.

Like any habit, practice is involved.

I recently received notice from WordPress it’s time to decide whether or not I want to renew this account.  I’ve given the question a lot of thought and decided, Yes, I do want to continue Aunt Bea Me, but I want to come at it from a different point of view.

It’s almost as drastic as Betty Crocker saying she’s decided to produce shoes.

I have another WordPress site, ittymac, it presents a different side of me; but without realizing it, I seem to have been sharing a tamer side of myself there too.  I think I slipped into such a good place after marrying Richard and experiencing unconditional love, I got a little lazy.

No one likes conflict.  Well, maybe some people do, but I’m not one of them. And as I mentioned before, I waver a bit when it comes to issues of self-esteem.  Even so, I’m stepping out of line and drawing a bit of attention to myself.  I’m not trying to save anyone.  I’m not trying to steal the spotlight either; I’m not trying to do anything.  I’m just opening my mouth and letting all the stuff inside come out.

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Home

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It’s so easy to get lost.  You don’t have to be running errands or traveling for it to happen.  Actually, you don’t even have to “know” for certain you really “are” lost to “be” lost.  Mostly it’s a suspicion you have that something’s not quite the way it’s supposed to be, that things, or you, seem sort of unsettled.

lost sign images

Being lost is different from being confused.  You know that feeling you get when you walk into a room, or open a drawer and can’t remember ‘why’ you did it?  Well, being lost isn’t like that.  It’s more subtle, not as obvious.

Sometimes being lost is so imperceptible you don’t even know that you are.

Being lost is a sentence without a period.  It’s morning without coffee.  It’s incomplete.  Rationalization is an excuse we use not to have to look at something too closely for fear looking means you’ll end up having to deal with unpleasant things.  Often we rationalize the sense of being lost with explanations like “I didn’t sleep well last night”, or “anyone would feel like this if they lived here”,  or “I’m just stressed out like everyone else is.”

Trying to figure out why we feel the way we do isn’t easy. Sometimes looking past the surface requires full-on-excavation.  Reaching the bottom of anything can mean a lot of work. But what if it didn’t?  What if we could resolve most of our feelings and fears without making ourselves miserable during the process?

All anyone has to do is to be a little observant to see the world is pretty much in chaos on one level or another.  And all we have to do is practice a little empathy to understand the grief and misery of others.  Unfortunately, we can’t heal the wounds of the world easily, nor can any of us do it alone.  But maybe we can change the way we respond when bad things happen.

Like charity, most everything begins at home, inside of us.  Our hearts and souls and minds are the most powerful tools we have at our disposal.  Our egos and inflated, self-important opinions are garbage, just more junk in an already overwhelming pile of useless stuff.

When we focus too much on the details of all the “bad” things we can’t change, or we compulsively “react” to them with anger or profound sadness, we throw away our power and common sense.  That’s never good.

lost in woods.download

I got lost for a while.  It took time to figure out that was what was going on.  When I finally “got” it, I was too tired to dig for solutions.  I’m old.  I savor my energy for things that hold purpose in my heart, for things that make me smile on the inside.  Going through another inner journey was too much to undertake.

I had to be smarter this time; I had to be careful with my time, I had to respect the realities of my health and abide by stamina restraints while still looking for a way back to the innermost sanctuary of my heart.

Every day I worked to maintain emotional strength and positive energy, especially when I heard bad news.  Every day I asked God to help me find an “opening” in the resistance that disguised the entrance to the way “home”.

I practiced patience, which isn’t my strong point.

I waited.

I asked again and again.

I waited some more.

I was observant, watching everything around me, listening to everything everyone said, and even those things intentionally or unintentionally left unsaid.

I watched for signs, striving to connect what happened day-to-day with a bigger, more comprehensive, more compassionate vision.

The first reward I received was an amazing sort of peace that settled on me as I worked making a Christmas gift for my sister.

That sensation proceeded other incredible instances of grace on ensuing days.

On Christmas Eve, riding in a car, on the way to visit family, suddenly I felt as if a cloud moved from the inside of my head passing into the landscape outside. Although foggy and gray, the sky unexpectedly shone with phenomenal clarity; and without warning, I understood that through some sort of inexplicable mercy, I had found my way back home.

I was at peace on a level that had been missing for far too long.  Memories of battles I’d fought that seemed to have depleted me faded away and I felt strong and capable again.  I felt light and full of hope.  I was a helium balloon free-floating through clear, fresh air.  I felt safe and sure of my place in the world.  I felt needed and valued.  I was in love with life again.

Maybe someday I’ll lose my way again, I hope not; but if I do, I won’t pretend nothing is wrong.  I won’t waste precious time again.  How I see the world and what I hold in my heart is up to me.  And then, of course, there is grace.  And God.

sweet innocence

Under my Skin

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The face staring back from the mirror looks as perplexed as the one peering in; both convey a deer caught in headlights expression.  Confusion verses the well-oiled gears of an efficient woman, hesitation challenging certainty, and a few lingering questions that can unnerve even the most self-assured person.

another kitchen failure

While it’s difficult to accept the premise that I remain as self-assured today as I was twenty years ago, it is impossible to pretend I feel incompetent in any way in spite of the aftereffects of time.  While the burden of physicality has required a definite down-shift in energy and stamina, the resulting changes have done nothing to deter my positive senses of self-perception and attitude.

In all honesty, I must admit that when Rome first began to crumble and fall, the tendency was to bemoan my losses; however, because I have spent a great deal of time developing a healthy level of self-esteem and self-love, I weather the storm and resist any urge to wallow in self-pity.

crumbling with time

I’ve fallen and I can’t get up: that’s a load of dirty laundry!  I may need a helping hand from time to time but I can still manage.

What lies beneath the skin is the essence of the soul and the soul is circuitously wired to the brain whether or not that brain functions at preferred levels of activity.

Gratefully my brain appears to be in sync with expected norms for my age, but that hasn’t always been the case.  When my brain fell far short of scientific/medical neurological projections and measurements of expected activity, my soul persevered, and its presence and influence perfectly reflected the embodiment of my true and unique identity.

So here I am, still, and always, Aunt Bea in my heart of hearts.  And while I may have had to exchange those cute little granny shoes with the 2 ½  inch heels for a pair of supportive flats, I can still move forward.  No one can be a better me than me.  No one can hold a candle to the intention of my heart and the determination of my hands.

sensible shoes

I know I came into this room for something…what could it be?  Oh, now I remember!  I wanted to look in the mirror and thank myself for being the best I can be today, under the circumstances, knowing what I know and being who I am.

Thanks old chick!

Now I can lose the goofy deer in the headlights look and get back to doing whatever it was I was doing before I decided to drop by my beloved blogging site and do a bit of light housework.

Maintenance, you know, and timing.  And pearls and a nice jersey dress.  And clean underwear.  Always.

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Waiting for Leisure to Begin

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Waiting for Leisure to Begin

I never saw Aunt Bea in a pair of fuzzy pink slippers but I’ve got to believe she owned one.  Here in domestic Nirvana, I’ve given mine a real workout of late.  These slippers are not the dainty feathery type with pointy, sharp heels, (I’m no Elizabeth Taylor), or the casual flip flop summer variety, but more an over the ankle combat boot lined with molten hot flannel wrapped in thick batting, and finished in a flurry of heavy duty fleece.

As I pad along creaking oak floors in these beauties, I’m also wearing hefty wool socks patterned with stripes, plaids, little yellow ducks,( the print doesn’t matter), because its effectiveness I’m looking for.  What I really want is a compact pair of energy efficient ovens for cold, arthritic feet, but I can’t find any anywhere in retail.

boots meant for walking

I generally love frosty weather, but this year my brain seems to have dropped the ball because my body never got the message.  As a result, I’m moving through the house with the silhouette of a Green Bay Packer, (undershirts, long johns, sweater on sweater), muddling through work that suddenly is more chore, less delight, and the sheer weight of heavy clothing is getting me down.  Now add grey, overcast sky and ice with an attitude and you can see where I am. We’ve had so many ice storms this year, I’m tempted to throw away every piece of crystal in the entire house just to get rid of any reminder of the brutes outside beating up the shrubbery, torturing naked trees, and mauling finicky power lines.

Then there’s the fact that I blew out a tire in a couple of appliances and the budget isn’t having anything at all to do with my sobbing pleas to replace them; as a result, I’ve found myself grounded to a complete halt on the frozen surface of the proverbial creek.  I might have a good case for self-pity:

Blues, despair, agony on me,   Deep, dark depression,    excessive misery.   If it weren’t for bad luck,    I’d have no luck at all.     Blues, despair,    agony on me,  (Lyrics courtesy of Buck Owens and Roy Clark for this verse of their little jingle  from Hee-Haw, circa 1969 – 1992), but I don’t think so.  If Aunt Bea wasn’t already ‘homesteading’ in earnest, she is now.

The problem with actually living life means there isn’t as much time to write about living life, so from time to time in passing, I smile at the computer, wiping a near-tear away with designer cleaning gloves, as my furry combat slippers carry me from one chore to another.

Dietary news is much brighter than what comes out of Maintenance these days, what with dark, heavy skies and flurries of flurries, I am inspired.  Soups, stews and rich warm casseroles have found their way through last season’s maze of light entrees and green salads, kicking ass and taking names.

winter squash

The cabbage looks a little droopy in the market so Rich gets a well-deserved break, but the aisles are literally bursting with colorful, mysterious looking varieties of winter squash and root vegetables!  Aunt Bea Me has tried them all, some more successfully than others, but each a winner in its own humble way.

With Rich’s A1C level hovering safely around 6, it’s good to go at our house, and both of us are eagerly awaiting the lull we plan to transform into a virtual festival of rest and relaxation!   The puzzle boxes are stacked neatly on a corner game table and the remote control is properly situated between the two sections of a double recliner we share.

puzzles boxwd

Yes, Mission Control is a-buzz with anticipation as these two old space cadets giddily wait for leisure to begin.

mission control

Unfortunately, to this point, by the time the day’s work is semi-complete, neither has the energy for lift-off.  And although it’s not exactly the scenario either had imagined, it still beats the pants off anything we had before we teamed up.

hands holding hands

Happy New Year, my friends, and may the Force be with you. 

The Agony and Angst of Competition: Cupcake Wars

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this is war baby

I’m a huge fan of the television reality show Cupcake Wars, so when our local bakery, Fat Bottom Girls, was asked to participate, I was ecstatic!  Actually, no one in town except the girls at the bakery even knew about it for the longest time, apparently like most wars, details are illusive, very hush-hush.  But when an airing date was finally announced, Aunt-Bea-Me did a little happy dance in the middle of her kitchen and then bounced to the laundry room to mark the calendar.

Well, I can tell you, the weeks drug on and on, my anticipation growing proportionately; and when the viewing date was so close I could almost taste one of Fat Bottom Girls Salted Caramel cupcakes burst in my inner mouth, I visited their cute, little pink bakery on Central for luck.

I’ve always heard that Hollywood was fickle, and now I can attest to that truth, because on that late day, mid-summer, I was shocked and disappointed to find that the Food Network contacted the Girls to let them know their show had been postponed, a future reschedule date to be announced some time later.

Well, I never….

The harshness of the outer world was mind-boggling.  Here in small town Arkansas, a person is only as good as his word, or the goodies she bakes, so a complete change in war strategies and rules came as a hard blow, shaking my faith in the entertainment world quite a bit.  But like any confident woman, Aunt-Bea-Me knows the true value of a Tim Gunn “Make it work” moment, so I made a plan that would facilitate another mandatory adjustment to change.

In true warrior style, I attacked the challenge using hands on combat, (baking therapy), to hasten and ensure a complete recovery, inventing cupcake after cupcake, each sugar free and more than a trifle dry or redundant.  But like any good soldier, I was steadfast in my determination and committed to the task ahead; that’s when the moist, delicious sugar free Banana Cream Cupcake with Cranberry Compote and Light Fluffy Cream Cheese Frosting was born.  This cupcake was a hero!

It wasn’t long after the Sugar Free Banana Cream Cupcake with Cranberry Compote and Light Fluffy Cream Cheese Frosting culinary success had led me to recovery from Hollywood’s brutal betrayal, that an announcement went out that our own Fat Bottom Girls had, at last, been rescheduled for national debut!

Will they win or will they go down in flames alongside countless other cupcake geniuses?  I can only guess because that whole war secrecy code thingy is still in full force, in spite of set backs and betrayals.  But pretty soon we will all know!

Turn into the Food Network tonight, Saturday, December 7th, at 7 pm central standard time, and find out!  You can bet your best apron Aunt-Bea-Me will be watching alongside her best friend-husband, Rich, in their basic beige love seat recliner!

 

 

Victorious and Bragging after Yesterday’s Yard Sale Marathon!

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salt and pepper has its consequences

 

Need I say more?

This is my favorite find from yesterday’s Yard Sale Adventure!  A family argument immortalized in salt and pepper ceramic art!  I think it’s classic, and I’m counting on it to elevate my small salt and pepper shaker collection to near-great status.

On another note, Aunt-Bea-Me received a nomination from the Empathy Queen today for the Versatile Blogger Award! Many thanks to her Empathetic Highness for the gracious nod.  ( I  hear IttyMac is celebrating at her house too since she’s been nominated for the same award!)

Now just a note to the follower who asked for my Mexican Black Bean and Corn Relish Recipe:  Thanks for asking!  I took it as a compliment!    I have to say, Aunt-Bea-Me is very bad about writing down the ingredients she is using when she’s caught up in her own creative juices, but I think she remembers this one!

Ingredients needed:

1 can of black beans, drained and rinsed * 3-4 small cloves of shallot, finely minced * 1 ear fresh, uncooked corn, cut from the cob * freshly chopped Cilantro, 2 teaspoons, or to taste * juice of one fresh lime to bring it all together.  (You may substitute 2 teaspoons of bottled lime juice if needed) Start with 2 teaspoons but add a 3rd if needed *

Mix all ingredients together, letting them sit in a bowl or serving dish for a minimum of a half an hour ensuring the flavors meld well.  May be served at room temperature or chilled.  (Aunt Bea prefers it chilled.)  This Mexican Black Bean and Corn Relish is great with baked tortilla triangles, baked pita strips or baked flat bread, and sliced avocado.

Well, I’m rolling down my garters and putting my feet up while I enjoy a nice cup of Camomile and Lavender hot tea on the deck!  Here on the mountain, it’s a delightful 70 degrees today!  Aunt-Bea is in paradise, for sure.

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