Keeping your nose to the grindstone will only get you so far. You’ll never advance if you can’t socialize. Start small, then learn to work the crowd, today.

Even my horoscope is yelling at me. Slow the freak D. O. W. N.

I’m trying. I’m trying. I’m trying.

I am grateful for the boyfriend, who by being in my life, is keeping me from becoming a complete hermit crab. I never thought that I would be the kind of person who wanted to have a set-in-stone, weekly-date-night. But I do. I am really appreciating it right now. Even though not all of our dates are full of romance and passion, with fairy-tale kisses and firework-displays; they are perfectly suited to where I am right now, and what I need.

Last night was the perfect example of this. I had nothing planned, other than him coming over, and cooking a meal, maybe watching some of the TV show that he is introducing me too. He shared with me that he wanted to go out with this group of friends, for pizza. A group that he is slowing getting to know and enjoy their company, and I as well. They are all nice people, and of like-minds; so its nice to get to just be ourselves with them. It was a low-key, outing, where we got to see each other face-to-face, and hold hands, and talk about our days. All the while, sharing some food and good company with nice people.

So, to the Universe – I’m working on it. And Zack is helping. 🙂

Very well actually. (*shocked*)  Even when I’m not trying to grow stuff.

I had planted some eggplant seeds, back when I planted all of the other seeds. Back when the peas, the beans, the squashes, the tomatoes, the cucumbers and broccoli, collards, celery, and lettuce all came up; the eggplants barely showed their sweet faces.  The few little seedlings that came up, I gave half of, to my Momma.  Her’s grew, tall and strong.  I even was blessed with some of her crop.  I enjoyed those 2 yummy fruits.  My plants hid under their neighbors.

She told me how she tended to her’s.  She thought that if I did the same things, then my plants would flourish.  She was trying to get more from her plants, but they had other plans. She gave them back to the earth a few weeks ago. I took time to pull out the dead plants, in my planter, as well.  Giving gratitude for the lessons, that I am capable of growing plants.

I found 2 wee eggplants, still shyly hiding in the undergrowth.  Along with a brand new  squash, that had decided to sprout up, from a previous fruit, I had not harvested. I told them that, they could stay as they wanted.  I didn’t expect them to grow.

I was wrong.

They Grew!!!!

They Grew!!!!

They grew big and full of leaves.  Momma told me that if I snipped off bits, here and there, that I could get some fruit from them.  I just left them alone.  I have never been very good at tending to the garden.  Then 1 day it gave me a beautiful sight.

Flowers!!!

Flowers!!!

Dozens of pretty lavender colored flowers.  I have been enjoying their beauty for a couple of weeks now.  Last week I saw this.

Eggplants!!!

Eggplants!!!

Yes.

Yes. I am the proud mommy of a dozen baby eggplants. They are so cute.  So happy looking there, on the plant.  Soooooooooooooo Purple. 🙂

Happy Eggplant.

Happy Eggplant.

I’m soaking up their happiness.

My pretty foot.

My pretty foot.

All the way around to my ankle.

All the way around to my ankle.

These were done by Daphne.

Yep. They were among her first attempts at even doing any sort of henna tattooing.

This all came about because of my sweet sister.

At the beginning of our Sisters Retreat Weekend, we are asked to stand up and announce to the Circle who we are, and what we bring to the community. Some women respond with, I’m a massage therapist. Others say, I’m really good at listening. I spoke of my own truths and talents. Daphne’s response was: I’m Daphne, and I’m not good at anything. I don’t have any talents.
😦

My sisters strove to change her mind on that. And Saturday morning one sister asked Daphne to put a mandala on her belly. She, like many of us, know about Daphne’s talent for free-handed drawings of mandalas. She brought some henna and told Daphne to decorate. So she did. After all, even Daphne knows not to speak back to one of her aunts. LoL

Beautiful henna - made even more so by the little boy inside.

Beautiful henna – made even more so by the little boy inside.

I am so grateful to her, and the others, who encouraged my child. To the ones who complimented her talents. To her for decorating my own foot and ankle. I feel so ubber pretty with my decorations. The only direction I gave her was to start at my big toe, and end around my ankle area. I think that she did an amazing job. I am looking forward to more of her talents being displayed upon my body.

At the end of the weekend, we are asked to give our thoughts on our experiences. Daphne said, “I’m grateful that I now know what my talent is.”

((*BIG MOMMA SIGH*))

Good morning Slimey!

Good morning Slimey!

Yes this is what I just found, creeping across the arm of my Grandfather’s chair. The chair that I have placed in my office, for sitting in and relaxing, as I look over pages, read up on new stuff, and plan out my day, week, month.

Obviously I have been “Doing” too much and not “Being” enough. Hence this slimey, creepy-crawler, who is very very slow at moving off of my chair – and doesn’t seem to have any plans for picking up the pace, any time soon – slithered into my path this morning.

He is not the first person to notice this, and bring it up to me. I am getting brow-beaten by my Sweetie into going to bed earlier. It turns out that I am not 19 years old any more, and cannot function in a beauteous way, when I stay up past midnight. Again and again and again and again – for nearly 2 weeks now. (*Please note: Last night I did make it to bed by 10pm – and slept until 7! I clearly needed the rest.*)

I also look back on my Sister’s Healing Weekend Retreat and the ways that Spirit was talking to me, through my Sister’s stories. I see a sweet sister working herself to death. She is suffering physical bodily problems that are directly related to burning the candle at both ends. I watched as another sister, who is Western medically trained, listen to her chest, for signs of heart-attack. I don’t want to work myself into a state where I feel a vise-grip around my chest. I know that she doesn’t either. She is looking into ways to find more balance in her life, between her work, that she loves to do and is very good at – and her home life which is suffering, along side of her body. I can take a lesson from her experiences.

But first: I am going to gently thank Mr. Slimey for the reminder, and carefully put him back outside in the yard – where he belongs. Message received. In gratitude.

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grateful vs resentful

I struggle with this one a LOT. More than I would ever like to admit to anyone. I find it hard to be grateful for what people choose to give me, and seem to become resentful towards them, for when they choose to withhold from me.

I can remember resenting my Momma, when she flat-out turned me down, at my offer to have her babysit Rebecca. Rebecca was an infant, and I was a tired brand-new mother. Momma was still working full-time as a teacher. After teaching 135 children all day, coming home to a screaming kid, was not her idea of a good time. I can’t say that I blame her. Yet, I do remember resenting the fact that I had no help in those days.

As the babies kept coming, Daphne just a year later. Then Bronwyn 3 after that. Each time asking my folks if they wanted to attend the baby’s birth, or to be there to help out, I was told, “No thank you.” By the time Russell came along, I didn’t even make the offer. Resentment settled in as I watched them traveling 672 miles to my sister’s side each time she gave birth, yet couldn’t travel the 23 miles to my home.

I used to joke that I could count on 1 hand how many occasions my parents had babysat for my children. 1 hand. That’s less than 5. Over the course of my having 4 children spaced 8 and 1/2 years apart. Yes, there was a lot of resentment built up there.

In recent years though, my parent’s attitude towards grandparenting changed, as well as their commitments towards being teachers of children. They have taken care of my children on so many occasions I can no longer keep the count. I know that it must look strange to outsiders, and feel even stranger to my parents when I gush and gush and gush my gratitude towards them, each time that they help me out. Phone calls, texts messages, even taking one or both of them out for a meal, to show my thankfulness. I know that had I not spent those years being turned down, I would not appreciate it half as much, as I do.

Along with that lesson I think that is why it is so very hard for me to actually ask for things. I’ve become so accustomed to being told, “No.” that I don’t feel, that I deserve very much in life. Instead I find myself just trying to do everything on my own, and having to work twice as hard, because of these chains.

Maybe the lesson isn’t so much as to be grateful for what I get, but to also keep in the forefront of my mind — don’t ask, don’t assume, just accept what you get and be thankful for that.

A friend, Darrin, contacted me over the weekend, let me know that he was in need of a Mental Health Day, and did I want to tag along. Hell, Yes!!!

I am all for taking a day off for your mental health. I think that more and more employers should recognize this need and then people wouldn’t need to lie so many times about being ill. Mental health is as important, as physical health. There is even a whole post I could write on the ways in which mental health is closely tied into physical health. “Mind-Body Connection” The internet is full of articles on this; so I won’t add another one. Let’s just say that I not only believe in the phenomenon. I have experienced it. Hell, any woman who has birthed a child into the world, has experienced it.

Darrin arrived on time… (*I love that about a person, j/s*) his transmission down-shifting, as he glided into my driveway at 7:45am, waking up any neighbors who thought that they might sleep in on a summer’s morning. A bit of leg stretch for him, and a bit of double-checking of my home and needs for me… and after stopping to grab a bit of breakfast, to fuel our tanks.

We were packing up, and heading north, for the day’s therapy.

There is something that clears my head about a road trip. The kind that happen in a car. A train. A bike. Doesn’t seem to matter. So long as the pavement is moving beneath me, and the world is passing by; I am clearing out the junk that accumulates in my brain. My thoughts can go from one to another, without stopping. The back n forth. Back n forth. Back n forth, about any, and every subject, that is rattling around in my head. Almost the way that journaling does.

I appreciate that this friend can relate to this need for an open road and a full tank of gas.

Which is sorta funny that we ran out of gas on our journey. Yep. The classic, ran-out-of-gas, story. LoL

Hey, I think its funny. I even thought it was funny at the time. Darrin, not-so-much. He claims that in all of his life, he has never so foolishly run out of gas. Which makes me feel a bit bad for the fellow, though not for the situation we found ourselves in.

We off of the road. Coasted, since the engine stopped, and therefore we had no brakes. I figured that we were about 2.5 miles from Momma and Daddy’s house. So I called them. After I got Daddy to stop being upset at me for not being home, when he randomly stopped by to see me; I got him to confirm that Yes, there was a gas can, that I could use at his home. AND, it had fresh gas in it. 🙂 Score!

We pushed the bike further off of the road. Packed up the gear we didn’t want to haul on our trek. We got about 1/4 mile down the road, several cars and trucks passing us by, when a pair of bikers showed up. They slowed down. Stopped us. Questioned Darrin about the situation:
Was that your Such-n-such back there?
Run outta gas, huh?
Going down for some gas?
Got a tank?

I let them know that my Daddy had a tank, with gas in it, about 2 miles down the road. They offered us a lift down to Daddy’s home. I’m the only one who got on. Darrin decided to go back and stay with the bike. LoL Some men refuse to ride, on the back. Double-LoL

Al, an old-gnarly-seasoned biker, rode me down. I picked his bike, over his friend, John, because he had 2 foot pegs. John had lost one somewhere, and confessed that had he known he would be toting a pretty passenger, he would have made sure that it was on. Al didn’t seem to mind the way that I rode, squeezing with my legs and gently holding his waist with one hand. I’m grateful that my hair was up in a braid. The wind was making it fly around, a lot. I had left my helmet back with the bike, so this was a new one for me.

They patiently waited for me to fetch the gas can, and even rode me back down the road, to Darrin. They were kind to Darrin. Helping his bruised ego. Talking man-to-man; biker-to-biker, in ways that were not condescending; but understanding. They made sure that we were up and running. They even followed us down the road, but weren’t hounding or hovering.

True gentlemen.

I’ve said it before, I will preach it for decades to come – Bikers are some of the BEST people you will ever be privileged to meet, in your life.