Monthly Archives: November 2012

Seven Steps to Organizing the Garage or Losing Your Sanity

So, tomorrow is the day we follow through with AnClOuGaSoMo.  Annual Clean Out the Garage Sometime Month, number 4 from  Top Ten Reasons November is the Best Month Ever.

I know, I know, tomorrow is also the first day of December.  We put it off as long as possible to the point of procrastinating into December. You’d put it off too, if it were your garage.

I’ve toyed with the idea of sharing a photo of the disaster zone, but I don’t want FEMA, DES, HUD or PETA or any other government acronym  getting involved in our cleanup project.  (The only critters involved would be scorpions or other six or eight-legged creatures, no worries.)

Just imagine a storage unit, fully packed top to bottom, front to back with a narrow winding path in the middle.  That’s our garage.  A year ago we could almost pull a car into the space that now barely accommodates a small human body moving stealthily. How does this happen?

not a garage saleIf our kids are wise they’ll have their day fully booked so they don’t have to participate in the ritual rearrangement of our stuff.  They might show up briefly just to taunt us, but that’s treading awfully close to actually getting involved in the process, which is not fun.

Here’s how it will go:

1. We’ll take everything out of the garage and set it in the driveway.

I’m thinking of just making a sign that says, “NO! THIS IS NOT A GARAGE SALE!  WE’RE JUST CLEANING UP!!  Even with the sign we’ll have overloaded trucks, trailers and cars stopping to ask how much item X is, or offering to take the whole load off our hands for a stellar price of two hundred bucks. Tempting, but no.

2. Every person in the neighborhood will walk or drive past.

Embarrassing!  Don’t they have something better to do than gawk at how much crap we have accumulated?  I’m sure I’m just being paranoid here.  The garage door gets left open occasionally, they’ve all seen the chaos, the potential for disaster that lurks in there.

3.  A six-hour unmoderated debate ensues about what gets donated, what’s trash, what’s recyclable, and what we keep.

The question WHY? will emerge from my lips every forty seconds or so.  Why do we still have this?  Why don’t I let this go.  Why am I still digging myself out of piles?  Why can’t I keep it organized all year-long?  Why don’t I run away and live on a desert island with a volleyball and a loin cloth?

4. We’ll sweep out the garage and briefly revel in the joy of empty, usable space.

Then we’ll look out into the driveway and wonder where the matches and lighter fluid are.

5. Someone will get angry.

It’s inevitable.  No one wants their hoarding idiosyncrasies challenged.  No one wants to deal with the things we can’t manage to get rid of.  That’s why we don’t get rid of it.  One person’s trash is another’s treasure, or obsession, or neurosis.  I wonder if Dr. Phil is available tomorrow.

6.  An oversized, non electronic version of TETRIS will ensue.

If I think of it as a game, fitting in all the boxes and odd-shaped items (i.e., a papasan chair belonging to a daughter, the behemoth TV the size and shape of the first manned spacecraft) it might make it less aggravating.  Maybe I can devise a point system!  Now, if I could just figure out how to get the first couple of layers to magically disappear into the concrete I’d still be sane by evening.

7. I’ll think about creating the female equivalent of a man cave in the freshly organized space.

A writing desk up against the tool chest, a lamp hanging from the bike hooks, a bright-colored outlet strip to plug-in my computer, a comfy oversized… oh wait.  That would require more stuff. I could  just unfold one of the camp chairs when I want some privacy.  Set my mug on one box, kick my feet up on another, use the ugly orange extension cord, and write to my heart’s content.

That is, if I survive tomorrow.

Wish me luck.

Categories: Humor | Tags: , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Small Things That Get Us Through

The last four months of last year I was working two part-time jobs.  Added up to about fifty or sixty hours a week.  They were physically demanding, on my feet for much of it.  A lot of lifting and carrying involved.  The exhaustion was formidable.  After all, I’m not a spring chicken, as my dad used to say.  There were days when simply getting out of bed seemed like a major accomplishment.

One of the jobs, in particular, was the sort of position that  can make a person feel invisible and maybe even small.  There are a few jobs out there like that.  I’ve had a few of them over the years.

There are advantages to that invisibility.  Being disappeared allowed me to observe with unabashed curiosity and clarity.  I watched all sorts of interactions between people that I filed away for future inclusion in a short story or a scene in a novel.

Most of the time I didn’t mind not being noticed.  I was doing my job, which, if I didn’t would be noticed and create some big problems.  Maybe that’s the way most jobs are.

Occasionally, a tough day would rear its ugly head and getting through the first job of the day was discouraging and weightier than normal.  Moods can do that to me.  On just such a day, nearing the holidays, I was the recipient of a gift.

I’m sure that the gift giver didn’t realize how significant her gift was.  I’m sure she didn’t even consider it a gift.  She’d be shocked if she knew I thought of that gift a year later, that I still have the package the gift came in.

Here’s what it looked like:

Yes, she offered me a cup of hot chocolate in this very cup, which I’ve kept.

Suddenly I wasn’t a disappeared person.  I was me, a fellow human being, like her, just trying to get through the day.  The invisibility cloak slipped off my head and fell to the floor around me.  I felt cared about.

Somewhere in the universe, some cog clicked into place that settled some ache in my heart that day.  I felt lighter.  I felt lifted.  I felt love.

Her gift to me was more than hot chocolate.  It was acknowledgment, personhood, a hand of kindness, recognition, friendliness, caring.

Reminds me of this quote:

I can do no great things, only small things with great love.“
– Mother Teresa

Here’s wishing  you a month filled with small things, received and given.

Have you had anything like this happen to you?  What was the gift?  How did it help you? I’d love to hear about it.

Categories: Gratitude, Love | Tags: , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

A Taste of Wisdom and Insight

 

Today I’m sharing some quotes that resonated with me when I read the book, “Let’s Take the Long Way Home” by Gail Caldwell.  This is a book I recommend to anyone.  In fact, I think it’s time I reread it myself.

Cover of "Let's Take the Long Way Home: A...

On Being a writer:

“If writers possess a common temperament, it’s that they tend to be shy egomaniacs; publicity is the spotlight they suffer for the recognition they crave.”

“…not without reason did an old friend refer to me as the gregarious hermit.  I wanted the warmth of spontaneous connection and the freedom to be left alone.”

Insight about Relationships:

“It took me years to grasp that this grit and discomfort in any relationship are an indicator of closeness, not its opposite….we had great power to hurt each other, and because we acknowledged this weapon we tried never to use it.”

“dying doesn’t end the story; it transforms it.  Edits, rewrites, the blur and epiphany of one-way dialogue.  Most of us wander in and out of one another’s lives until not death, but distance, does us part – time and space and the heart’s weariness are the blander executioners of human connection.”

The Real Reality:

“…the world as we see it is only the published version.  The subterranean realms, whether churches or hospital rooms or smoke-filled basements, are part of what hold up the rest.”

About Dying:

“Suffering witnessed is a cloudy and impotent world: The well, armed with consciousness, watch a scene they cannot really grasp or do much to alter.  Suffering is what changes the endgame, changes death’s mantle from black to white.  It is a badly lit corridor outside of time, a place of crushing weariness, the only thing large enough to bully you into holding the door for death.”

Enduring Loss:

“Caroline’s death was a vacancy in the heart, a place I neither could nor wished to fill.”

“like a starfish, the heart endures its amputation.”

Categories: Books | Tags: , , , , , , | 1 Comment

It’s Gratituesday! Booking It Big Time.

It’s Gratituesday!  Today I am thankful for school librarians and bookmobile drivers/librarians.  These are the people who helped me find the already written words that would shape the person I would become.  The results of their labors would probably surprise them.

Bookmobile

Bookmobile (Photo credit: revger)

One of my most vivid memories of the bookmobile which came to our elementary school not often enough, in my then young opinion, offers evidence of the twists a guiding hand can take.

The general guideline, the bookmobile driver/librarian said, was that books at your eye level were the books you would be able to read easily.  My eyes scanned the shelves running the length of the bus-sized van, and my body turned to look at the back of the vehicle filled floor to ceiling with books.  I wondered if I could ever read them all.  Then my body turned a bit more to follow the rows of books toward the driver’s seat and found bookshelves even tucked in near there.

I read some of the titles at my eye level.  Thin books, with chapters, large printing.

I let my eyes wander above eye level and saw fat spines, bulging with words in small print. I swear I could almost hear voices saying, “read me, read ME, choose ME!”  But then I had a vivid imagination.  I let my hands run along the base of that shelf, fingers brushing the spines of the above eye level books.  That touch was a promise I was making to them, that I would be back, soon, to take them off their shelf and home to mine for a visit, a get to know you week, a sleepover.

That first day I was a dutiful student.  I selected books at my eye level and envied the tall kids in the class.

Next time!  Next time the traveling library pulled in beside the artesian well water fountain and opened its doors to me, I would be ready.  I would write my name and stamp the card for one of those bigger kid books and I would read it all. I would practice what to say to the driver when she protested my book choices.

I wanted tall stories, wide vistas, big characters.  I would have them and so much more.

How grateful I am for those additional choices the bookmobile brought, especially when the school library had exhausted itself on me. The salvation of a bookmobile visit over summer break was sometimes all that got me through those long summer months.

Well, that may be exaggerating it some. But then, it seems I’ve always wanted more than the average.

I am thankful for that mental meals-on-wheels filled with books, filled with other worlds, filled with wonders.

Categories: Books, Gratituesday | Tags: , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Connect The Light Bulbs

Lately, I’m only partially aware, only half-awake, my eyes shaded to most of what’s going on around me. It’s like part of me in is the room and the other part of me got left somewhere else.

Is it intentional?  No.  It’s probably lack of quality sleep and being off my routine. Or, maybe it’s hormonal. Or not. Maybe I need more chocolate. Or less.  It could be I’m dehydrated most of the time, since I don’t think diet Pepsi and hot chocolate count towards daily water intact.  Or could they?  Maybe I’m lacking a specific mineral in my diet, so I’m taking a vitamin supplement.  Perhaps I need more exercise. (My daughter doesn’t need exercise. She chases an 18 month old energizer-bunny toddler around all day while her med school husband is off slaying dragons.)

I digress.  I digress a lot lately.  That thing you do when you go to get something but can’t remember why you are in the room you’re in, so you walk back to the spot where you had the thought that you needed something in order to help you remember what you were doing?  I do that far too often lately.  Like, hourly. Like, way too much.  Slows me down, ruins my groove.

I sit down with paper and pen in hand to create a menu for the week and from there a grocery list. I come up blank. The connection from point A in my brain to point B in my brain has a short.

English: Closeup of a string of decorative Chr...

Closeup of a string of decorative Christmas lights (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Actually it’s probably more like those strings of Christmas lights my son helped me hang on the house yesterday.  One bulb missing or broken is okay.  The string still manages to stay lit.  Two bulbs out, half the lights won’t come on. Replace the missing or broken bulb and voilà a whole string is working again. It’s a little miracle to me, since I don’t understand electricity.

Now the house looks great and thanks to the stellar design of outside plugs under the eaves and indoor switches, all I need to do is flip a switch and the house is lit up all red and green and cheerful.

I need a “brain on” switch. My brain probably needs a loose bulb snugged into its socket a little tighter.  Or maybe one of my neurons cracked and needs replacing. Maybe a few mental bulbs are out along several different strings.

If only a brain fix were as easy as those lights from yesterday’s stringing exercise.

The energy required to make my brain work more effectively isn’t, unfortunately, something I can plug into with a wire and socket.  It’s something much more elusive than that.

When I let myself be in nature, breathing fresh air, that’s one of my electrical cords connecting me to the energy of the earth, to beauty, to life.  I try to plug into that often, but that’s slipped lately. I’ve been busy!

Magic in a Bookstore

Another power source for my brain is reading, usually.  Although lately, reading has been of the audio type and requires less brain power and perhaps less of the written word is absorbed. But  I don’t know.  I’m rambling now.  Rambling happens often lately too.

Maria

This is someone named Maria.  I don’t look this good in a fedora, or anything else for that matter. (Photo credit: tamara.craiu)

Recently I was in a bookstore as part of a treasure hunt.  Dressed in a fedora, sunglasses and a trench coat, I was to wait until being located by a gaggle of girls, then hand over a clue to each group that found me.  Very few people looked at me oddly, which I found strange, since I’m certain I looked questionable.  The best part of this was having an entire hour to peruse bookshelves filled with newly minted books. It was nirvana, bliss, heaven and grace all packed into one hour.

When my assignment was over, I ended up buying a book.

It was a real book, not an audio one. Hard cover, with a dust jacket.  I took it home and read it that night.  Yes, I concentrated long enough to read it in one sitting.  Short book. But packed to the brim with wisdom and insight that I’ve needed to learn.

It’s a keeper. It’s one of those books I’ll end up writing in, with exclamation points, underlining, commenting, question marks, maybe even cross-referencing. No, I won’t be lending out my copy.  Well, maybe, but you’d have to promise not to read all the margins or make any of your own notes.

The book is Anne Lamott’s “Help. Thanks. Wow.  The Three Essential Survival Prayers.”   This one sentence speaks to my current need for brain-power and clarity.

“In paintings, music, poetry, architecture, we feel the elusive energy that moves through us and the air and the ground all the time, that usually disperses and turns chaotic in our busy-ness and distractedness and moodiness.”

Some of the energy I need is in the created world, not just the natural world.  And the energy in that is readily dispersed by my overly scheduled, multi-tasking, transmission-challenged but driven life.

Perhaps if I slow down, notice the beauty around me in the architecture of a wall, the care in the moulding of a door frame, or in the design of a freeway bridge,  I might touch some of that energy.  If I take time to hear the poetry in a song, or the music itself, or actually read a poem, I might connect a loose bulb in my head.  The lights may reignite mentally if I allow myself time to experience art in diverse places and ways.

String Light

String Light (Photo credit: felixtsao)

Energy is captured in the beauty and art in my life, just waiting for me to plug in to that brain enlightening power.

What better time of year than now to look for the light and energy that surrounds us, to gather it in instead of pushing it away. Maybe I can do that.  Maybe I’ll get all my mental light strings lined up and glowing again. I can try.

Categories: Books, Wondering | Tags: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Many Years Ago, Or Just Yesterday

I slip away from the house after school is over but before the pre-dinner chores start-up.  A walk at the park feels like what I need to sort through the weirdness of the day, to think for a few  minutes without a crush of noise and piano music in the background.  There’s too big of a chance that a bunch of little kids would come screaming down the big hill racing each other to the woods, so I figure I’ll head over to the park boundary, near where the orchards and alfalfa fields meet up.

So far, not another person in sight, not even the usual random high school couple parked in the far corner of the parking lot.  Makes me breathe easier to feel like I have the whole place to myself.  At the big hill I’m feeling kid like, so I lay sideways and roll down as far as I can before my lopsidedness rolls me off at a right angle.  I’ve never figured out how to make myself roll straight to the bottom, arms up over my head I go crooked, arms by my sides I go even more crooked.  Dang.

Grasses

(Photo credit: Matt Ohia)

Shaking my head I clear my hair of grass and leaves.  I love this time of year, not really summer, not really autumn yet.  Still warm days, the leaves mostly green.  My allergies aren’t even bothering me the past few weeks.  Nice not to have a runny nose and itchy eyes for a change.  I kick out a couple of cartwheels.  I go so fast it feels almost like when you spin a bucket of water really fast and the water stays in even when it’s upside down.

Suddenly I feel like I’ve got this extra burst of energy from somewhere and I take off running.  I don’t just run straight, but zoom around like a rabbit or something.  I dive forward into the grass and roll into a ball and somersault to a stop.  I jump up, cart-wheel a couple more times to the edge of the grassy area.  I look behind me, and scan the circumference of the park.  No one here still.  Good.

I step off the grass and onto a barely noticeable path sloping through what looks like tall, pale wheat stalks.  Maybe it’s just wild grasses.  I don’t know.  I just know it doesn’t get mowed and may not even be park property.  It’s probably the boundary for the farmer’s land.  I’ve never seen anyone out here, although there is a tractor parked in different places out on the fields or the dirt road in the distance.  This piece of land I’m on is up above all those cultivated, irrigated, neat rowed areas.  This is like a forgotten little dry hillside that the farmer just ignores.  There’s a small bunch of scrub oak off to the left and a lot more tall grass off to the right leading to the big wooded area of the lower park.  I’m close enough to the park that if Mom sent someone down to the park to holler for me, I’d probably hear them.  But I’m far enough away, that no one can see me where I am.  It’s a cozy little spot of quiet.  I like it.  I like it a lot.

Grass

(Photo credit: DBduo Photography)

All that running and rolling and silliness has made my heart race and I feel a bit sweaty.  A breeze would be nice, but it’s not too warm either.  The grass thins out some on the left and I find a spot to sit down.  I all but disappear in the tall grassy wheat stuff.  If I lay down, for sure I’d be as good as disappeared.  That actually sounds nice, so I break off a piece of grass, put it in my mouth and lay back with my arms behind my head as a pillow.  I know you think I’m gonna say, “this is the life,” or something like that.  But I don’t think that.  I don’t think at all.  I just breathe in deep.  I inhale  that dusty dry grass smell, the green smell of the alfalfa, the heat of my own sweaty body.  I breathe all that in because I’m still a bit out of breath.  As I breathe my body relaxes like I’m on a soft feather bed.  My back melts into the ground below me, my legs soften and stretch and ease.  I feel just a bit drowsy but not sleepy.  Actually, it’s more like feeling hypnotized like you do when you’re in a rocking chair on a porch after a game of freeze tag in the evening.

Looking up, the sky has a few little brushes of clouds, nothing really fluffy.  But enough to have not just blue, but white too.  The blue is really something else.  I look at it harder and think, there are stars out there that I can’t see, but they are there.  If I look toward the mountains a couple of miles away I can see the clouds moving, or is it the earth moving.  Or is it both?

Just as I’m noticing the earth moving, in a slow big way, but fast at the same time, I notice the strangest sensation.  It’s like I can feel the ground beneath me breathe ever so slightly.  Like a deep sigh, only warmer, and barely noticeable. I know, you think I have a pretty wild imagination.  You’d be right, I have a really good imagination, but this is not imagined.  This is real.  As real as it gets. I’ve never had anything like this happen before.  This is surprising, but so comfortable and somehow not as strange as it sounds.

I sigh, just as the ground sighed a moment ago and relax deeper still.

The odd thing is that I don’t feel tiny and insignificant.  I feel melted into it all, like I’m part of the sky, part of the earth, part of those grass stalks, part of the smell of green and blue and gold. The earth is me and I have become her.

Categories: Joy, Memory Lane, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Give In? Give Out? Give Up?

This post is from a fellow writers group member. Please enjoy her talents and check out her other posts as well. You’ll be happy you did!!

Elizabeth Willis Barrett's avatartheotherelizabethbarrett

 

My Journey To “No, No, No, Not I!”

Elizabeth Willis Barrett

I jump on my bike early in the morning to beat the sun and the school kids who pointed at a friend of mine not too long ago with the exclamation, “Look at that old lady on a bike!”  Since I am at least twelve years older than that “old lady,” I am eager to be on my way and back before any school kids point at me.

Old lady.  I genuinely dislike that term.  My son-in-law used it regarding an associate who is at least three years younger than I am.

“She is not an old lady!” I protest. But in his eyes and those of many others, she’s an old lady and so am I.

“I don’t want to be old,” I think as I ride along the canal. Aging has captured my mind excessively lately.

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Categories: Humor, Wondering | 1 Comment

I’m Always Learning Something New, This, For Example

Portrait of the first president of the United ...

Portrait of the first president of the United States, George Washington (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

[New York, 3 October 1789]

 

By the President of the United States of America. a Proclamation.

 

Whereas it is the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor–and whereas both Houses of Congress have by their joint Committee requested me “to recommend to the People of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.”

 

Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be–That we may then all unite in rendering unto him our sincere and humble thanks–for his kind care and protection of the People of this Country previous to their becoming a Nation–for the signal and manifold mercies, and the favorable interpositions of his Providence which we experienced in thecourse and conclusion of the late war–for the great degree of tranquillity, union, and plenty, which we have since enjoyed–for the peaceable and rational manner, in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national One now lately instituted–for the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed; and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and in general for all the great and various favors which he hath been pleased to confer upon us.

 

and also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech him to pardon our national and other transgressions–to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually–to render our national government a blessing to all the people, by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed–to protect and guide all Sovereigns and Nations (especially such as have shewn kindness onto us) and to bless them with good government, peace, and concord–To promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the encrease of science among them and us–and generally to grant unto all Mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as he alone knows to be best.

 

Given under my hand at the City of New-York the third day of October in the year of our Lord 1789.

 

Go: Washington

 

Categories: Gratitude | Tags: , , , , , | 1 Comment

Oh, Delicious Indecision!

Pumpkin pie, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki...

Every  year as the Thanksgiving holiday approaches, I have to ask my family this crucial question.  What kind of pie are we going to have this year?  Seems like a simple question, with a simple answer.  But, no.  Not for our family.  My husband says “Pecan” and my son says, “Pecan.”  Then my middle daughter says “Apple and Pecan.”  My youngest daughter says, “Chocolate… and Apple, and I get to help make the Cherry pie this year.”

Then the short debate happens wherein daughter 2 and daughter 3 both claim the other one made the cherry pie last year.  Weaving the lattice top crust is a lot of fun and it looks pretty cool.  Not to mention the filling is the easiest pie we do, open can, dump into unbaked pie crust.

Photo of a slice of coconut cream pie. Taken a...

Coconut cream pie. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Doesn’t anyone want Coconut Cream or Banana Cream?” I ask imploringly.  Silly me.  I’m the only one who likes either of those kinds. If I want to, I can make a cream pie.  A bit of whipped cream and a sprinkle of coconut or some slices banana. Nice.

Then someone always says, you should probably make a Pumpkin pie, since it is Thanksgiving.  “But no one likes Pumpkin!” I counter.  “I’ll eat some, says my husband, “And I’ll have some too,” says middle daughter.  “I might,” says my son with little commitment in his voice. A few years ago we acquired a son-in-law who loves Pumpkin Pie.  So if he’s in town, that debate settles itself.  A pumpkin pie goes on the “yes” list.

What about Daughter 1, what kind of pie does she want? Someone invariably asks. That’s my oldest daughter who doesn’t live at home anymore.  Sometimes, I actually call and ask her what kind she wants, but she says, “oh whatever you make, Mom, will be great!”  When she did live at home, she liked to eat some of the apple pie filling before it got baked.  We don’t get to see her for Thanksgiving this year.  Dang.

So I count the votes, “Okay, so that’s one Apple, one Pecan, one Cherry, one Chocolate and one Cream pie.”

“Can’t we have cheater cheesecake too?” My husband asks.  “That’s not really pie,” I say, “it’s cake.”

American cultural icons, apple pie, baseball, ...

Then he reminds me that we always run out of Pecan.  And Apple.  So I add another one of each of those to the list. And, he reminds me that the chocolate sits forlorn in the fridge, untouched.  Chocolate being ignored is a strange phenomenon.  I’ll have to investigate that some time.   So maybe I won’t do the chocolate pie this year either.

I like to fantasize about other flavors; Lemon Merengue, Strawberry, Peanut Butter, Key Lime, Blueberry, Peach. Mmmmm.  But those are for another day.  Maybe a Sunday treat sometime during the year.  I should make a list and magnet it to the fridge so I don’t forget.

The final pie count? 2 Apple, 2 Pecan, 1 Cherry, 1 Cream and 1 Pumpkin.

I like to think of pie as the topping on the whole Thanksgiving day.  A symbol of the richness, the sweetness, and the abundance of my life.  We don’t have everything, but we have all that we need.  Family, friends, freedom, work, meaning, hope.  Life is stuffed full of goodness even when it feels otherwise.  Especially on this singular day of  giving thanks, I celebrate all that is right and good and delicious about my life.

Categories: Food, Joy | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

A Side Road to Gratitude

It’s Gratituesday!  Today I am thankful for National Parks, State Parks, Preserves, Wildlife Refuges, and all those other places set aside and protected and cared for.

There are a few road signs I’ve noticed over the years that point the way to a nearby point of interest, or state park, or other like-minded place.  You know the ones I’m talking about.  Odd named places that you have no idea about.  Or places you’ve heard of, or maybe even seen on TV or looked at photos of, but have never visited.  There are many like that around here.  Some close, within an hours drive, others maybe three or four hours away.

I’ve lived in Arizona for fifteen years and haven’t visited the Grand Canyon yet.  I know there are people from around the world who go to great expense and effort to see something I live so close to. All I need to do is get in the car and I’d be there by lunchtime.  I’ve seen it, when I was thirteen years old.  Blew me away, with its incomparable size, beauty, color, mystery and timelessness.  Perhaps I’m afraid that original experience will somehow be tainted, or changed by another visit.  Maybe I’m just lazy, or busy, or afraid of heights now.  Maybe a little of all of those reasons or more.

I recently took the left hand turn into a small state park I’d seen the sign for.  Sounded intriguing. Finally followed through and visited. It’s called Tonto Natural Bridge. It’s “the largest natural travertine bridge in the world. The bridge stands 183 feet high over a 400-foot long tunnel that measures 150 feet at its widest point.”

I took over one hundred photos.  Most of them didn’t do the place justice, mostly because it’s much more than a two-dimensional experience. MSH and I took the time to really explore, notice details, stop and think about what we were really seeing.

At one point we found a flat rock midstream and sat down, ate an orange, rested, had some water.  Then we let ourselves lie back and look up and felt transported.  I know that sounds silly.  But the way the clouds swirled in a kind of mimicry of the opening above us felt orchestrated and serendipitous.  A bird flying through the camera shot seemed unlikely, but it happened and felt like more than great timing or luck.

It felt like a sacred place, as such hidden gems sometimes do.  I felt blessed, rested, lifted, rejuvenated, lightened by having been there.

I think now I’m more likely to take a detour next time I see a sign for one of these preserved places.  Hurrying less brings its own reward, but sometimes, it can lead to something truly rewarding. Slowing down and turning off the main road can offer a reason for gratitude.

 

If you’d like you can click on a photo to see a closer view.

Categories: Gratitude, Gratituesday, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

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