Tag Archives: don’t worry/be happy

Summer drop-out

Standard
Summer drop-out

Ho-kay; done with the dreams.  Moving on now.

summer beauty

Its summer, the time of year we follow the sun running like fools until we drop in front of the BBQ pit at 8 o’clock at night in our best imitation of Wonder Woman.  No matter it’s not dark for another hour or so, the clock is still ticking and there’s fun to be had.

crazy summer

Well this year I’m opting out.  In honor of my grandmothers’ legacies, I’m going more Southern Lady in the Shade, sweet tea in one hand, sewing needles in the other.  I’m done trying to reach marketing geniuses ideas of summer fun.  I live in south Texas where temperatures are still hovering around 100 degrees at 10:30 at night. Nuff said.

 

Climate change or cyclical anomalies, whatever, never seem to be factored into TV commercials; and it’s a crying shame manufacturers are trying to sell uncontrollable joy and the ultimate outdoor gladiator experience in this kind of heat.

Greed is the sweaty little merchandise king with the leather whip driving this maniacal ship, and I want off!

I’m headed back inside my tortoise shell with the air blasting.  I’m going to OD on Discovery ID Crime and Food Network Cooking shows.  I’m going to sew until Charlotte, my Bernina, screams.  I’m going to quilt until my fingers bleed.  I’m going to make about 1,000 salads and learn my way around Cool Whip cakes and Jello Fluffs.

I’m not going to try to keep up with anyone.

keeping up with summer fashion

I don’t care what anyone else thinks.

aunt bea whatever look

I’m pulling the plug on social politeness.

dont cross me

Stand back girls, I’m going in!

Advertisements

What if eve had really big bones?

Standard

My dad was a bit of an odd ball; we shared several peculiar habits.  Once he told me he always counted when he climbed stairs.  I was slicing a cucumber; I had 28 pieces already cut when he began talking, had to stop counting to listen.

I write poetry nearly every day.  I always have.  Every so often something comes out of left field.  Most often irreverent work gets published.  That amuses me.  I thought today I’d share a silly poem because it’s something Daddy would appreciate.

And oh, yeah, it was published.

Eve

 

 Original size

 

Some pictures make it look like Eve wore a Size 6.

I wonder if she did.

I wonder if Adam might have expected more for the precious price of a rib.

     What if Eve wore a 16 or 56?  Would it have mattered to the snake?

Do you think he would have gone all slack-jawed and ended up forked-

tongue-tied?     Or maybe relax and lose the mean streak?

What if he had?

My bet is we’d all still be sitting there in that big old lush garden with

everyone getting email at the same address

     and about a ka-zillion relatives would be killing time in a chat room at

www.thisisallthereis.com

What if Eve wore an 18 or 44?

What in heaven’s name does that mean anyway?

Just for fun let’s imagine Adam coming home from another long day hanging with

the Lord to find his little woman trying on leaves,

   and all because silly old Satan let the C-A-T out of the B-A-G   and got Eve all embarrassed

about so much naked flesh.

I don’t believe much would change in the story If Eve was full figured,

          expect maybe she’d drop the fig leaf      for size banana.

another kitchen failure

 auntbeamephoto

the truth about leaves

Standard

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.

leaves 1

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

auntbeamephoto

 

Home

Standard

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

Sitting with myself….

Standard
Sitting with myself….

OK, so it seemed like a good idea at first…I saw it on Pinterest.  It had worked for the pinner.  How yucky could it really be?

So I sent Rich to Walmart to buy duct tape.  He came back with two rolls…that should be enough, but it was glow-in-the-dark YELLOW!  What-ever.

yellow duct tape

So I dig through my drawers and find the perfect skin tight sleeveless tee shirt…it’s black.  I put it on.  Rich is taking his part in this little project quite seriously; I knew he would, it’s the meticulously compulsive part of his personality.

So now he’s in charge of everything… What-ever.

I’m glad I’m wearing my old lady orthopedic shoes since I have to stand in the same place for a good hour.

“Can you breathe?”

“Of course I can breathe!”  Okay, maybe I snapped a little when he asked, but in my defense, I was trying to stave off this creepy claustrophobic feeling that was building.

When Rich leaves to find a pair of scissors, I inch my way across the room to a mirror.   OMG! I look like the Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Truck.  I’m wrapped chest to hips in glow-in-the-dark YELLOW duct tape, I look ridiculous but how else would I look?

hot dogs

He’s back.  “Okay,” he says, “now comes the tricky part.  Stand still while I cut this down your spine.”

“OH MY LORD! WHAT are you using to cut me out of this electric mummy wrap?”

“A utility knife”, he says, as if it’s EVER okay to cut your wife out of glow-in-the-dark YELLOW duct tape sausage skin with a utility knife.

He looks serious but he’s laughing.  I can’t imagine anything remotely funny at the moment, but I bite none-the-less. “What’s so funny Vincent?”

“Huh?”

“Vincent, Vincent Price.”

vincent

“Oh,  I get it.  Well, it’s just with those black shoulder straps sticking out you sort of look like a bumble bee.”

“Ha. Ha” I say, knowing  it’s true.

“Couldn’t you find the scissors?”

“Yeah, but they’re not gonna cut through three layers of duct tape, honey.  You’ll be okay; I promise.”

The next five minutes were excruciating and twice I felt the tip of that torturous utility knife touch the surface of my skin.  And you’d better believe I made a real show of it!

“All done”, he said, relieved to be leaving the room.

So here’s the story; this is how it began, and why.  I wanted an exact replica of my body to put over a dress form that in no way resembles my body any more.  How can I expect to make clothes that actually fit without a non-subjective method of perceiving the raw truth?

This project wasn’t a decision I made blithely; no, actually I was quite terrified.  Through the years I’ve grown comfy with looking at myself from the chin up…all the other parts seem woefully unimportant to me these days.  But sewing patterns aren’t what they used to be.  They never match actual dress sizes, so I had to find a way to start.

I can sew accurately for anyone but myself. Everything I make to wear is either pixie tiny or circus- big-top.  Repeatedly I fail self-perception, miserably. I think I need a precision aid to help find my way across my bountiful ego into the brutally difficult realm of reality.

So now I’m sitting with myself, literally, in the sewing room.  I shift uncomfortably in the chair.  Headless mannequin stares straight ahead wearing a long sleeve tee.  When I find the courage, I’ll stuff one of her arms till it matches the scary dimensions of one of my own.  (I’ll have to involve Rich in that measurement process, because I tend to cheat.)

blobby dress form

I breathe in deeply through my nose, exhale purposefully from my mouth.  Silence fills my brain until my head feels stuffy and light at the same time, like a cranium crammed full of popcorn.

“Far out”, I whisper.

“That’s an old lady in front of me.  Whoo-eeeeeeeee.”  Slowly the sound of my voice disappears in the void the sewing room has become.

I can’t say how much time passed, but I found myself smiling at the nonmistable me across the room.  And feeling a real kinship.

“Can you remember”, I asked, “climbing those trees with Sue and Dale when we were a little kid?  Their legs were longer than we were tall”….Then I remembered dancing with a nice variety of young men, my hair trailing in the air as I swirled in ever widening circles.

girl climbing tree

In time I was walking down the aisle in the church chapel, Father at my side, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear the organ playing.

And now I’m having one baby and then another, and there is so much love I can barely breathe.

I can see myself playing in the park with my daughters, experience the radiance of their bright, beautiful shining faces; and remember how I knew from the inside out that nothing would ever be more important to me than they were, and that the cycles and patterns of all my life would shift around their own, and that in the end, after having had children of their own, they would share the same amazing feelings as me.

mom and daughters

Even the darkness, as it came, was surreally beautiful, divorce and tragedy, death and endings, because the silver lining was quick on its tail, whisking tears away, replacing them with understanding and peace.

Then Rich was before the two of us, and all the joy he brought to our lives burst in brilliant colors, and when I laughed aloud, I wondered if mannequin me had laughed too.  Then each of the grandchildren, my siblings and parents all walked into the room, but before I could say anything I was tubing down the river with my children.

There was fishing in the Gulf of Mexico and bursts of wonder at the fourth of July fireworks over Clear Lake.  There were friends and amazing relationships.  And the paunchy body across the room had shared all of this with me, each perfect step juxtaposed serious gravity while time took its toll on human flesh.

What a beautiful evolution my life has been, and how many more miles I plan on walking, or skipping.  How many days I plan to hug my grown daughters and marvel at the good work they’ve done.  How many more times will I hear a grandchild ask for Nonnie?

Oh, this was an excellent project.  It healed scrapes and scratches I acquired along the journe, although that wasn’t the reason I’d done it.

profile dress form

All I wanted was a decent fitting blouse,

and yet, I got so much more.

A New Chapter in an Old Book

Standard
A New Chapter in an Old Book

Heelllooo!  Having circled the drain for months, I am back as strong and stubborn as a Borax and liquid Dawn resistant stained shower stall!

dirty shower stall

 

Let me start by saying I’ve absolutely NO intention of returning to health-worry purgatory ever again!  As miserable as it’s been, I must admit I have learned a great deal about myself, and others, while suspended in the goo of uncertainty amidst approximately a million gloom-and-doom predictions from a team of expert bearers of bad news. 

grim reaper

 

I won’t try to fib here; it wasn’t easy trying to find a way to turn this level of manure into something less offensive, but long story short, we did it, and almost as soon as we did, we discovered Rich DOES NOT have ALS, in spite of about a million and one contradictory diagnostic indicators, and a million and two test results supporting that miserably serious contention, and about a million and three earnest specialists working diligently to prepare us for the fact that he did.

 

And, oh by-the-way, that coronary artery of mine, the one the cardiologist punctured during a stent insertion three days before Rich’s tentative diagnosis, is healing nicely now, and every day I feel a little more like my old self, (except that now I’m living 100% in the world according to itty).

burst pipe

 

When the whole drama began I was living life through a lovely filter, and during the Four Month Wars I came to appreciate the benefits of having chosen to do so many years ago.  Throughout the ordeal, I successfully fine-tuned the comforting perimeters of my mental Mayberry existence by using the greater world’s insensitivities and arrogances that spin like tornados as motivation.

 

Surprisingly, I discovered real peace in the horrible truths that scalded Rich and I almost daily, realizing and embracing there was nothing, absolutely nothing that anyone could say that could change the time we spent together.  Whether time is spent playing or meeting the physical needs of one another, it remained time spent together.

 

There are consequences to every life lesson, and Rich and I have emerged with a short  list of Things to Do resulting from this slight twist in our path through life, (and beyond), together.

loving old couple

 

Morgan, our granddaughter who lives with us, is moving into an apartment on her university’s campus to finish her senior year, and Rich and I are down-sizing for an eminent move to Texas where our children are waiting with open arms.  Morgan will join us all later, doing her graduate work there.

 

I am so excited to get to share this new adventure with my readers!  I’m even more excited about life in general these days.  Back on the home front, Aunt-Bea-Me is comfortably sitting on half of the double recliner, rose-colored-lenses in place, the Food Network murmuring softly in the background, as she compiles a list of details necessary to pull off yet another glorious life-style change.

 

In the kitchen for tonight, a new diabetic friendly recipe for Orange Chicken!  And two loaves of wheat bread rising.

 

Lord-of-mercy, my friends, it’s good to be back.

 

happy face

 

Aunt-Bea-Me’s Pearl of the Day:  Sometimes it’s necessary to deafen your ears to the roar of the storm, and instead to appreciate the soft breeze slipping through imperfect window panes.

 

 

 

Waiting for Leisure to Begin

Standard
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.