Today

Today, I tried to distract myself so I learned to read football league tables.  Or maybe I’ve only begun to read them.   And I had a go at analyzing team scores and thinking what that might mean in terms of playing offensively and defensively against certain teams within a league.  I’m sure there’s a science to this (-ish), but I thought I’d take my brain out for a spin and see if she can still accelerate, stop, and change directions.   That’s good for distraction.

Today, I spoke to my Mom and to several friends about some of the things that are weighing me down –  these same things that are bringing about the need for distraction.  These people love me, so even though I had to think about and talk about hard things, it was a little therapeutic.

Today I had a good walk.  I did dishes, laundry, helped with homework, went to the pharmacy, dropped something to a friend.  All ordinary stuff.  Ordinary stuff can be downright embraceable sometimes.

Last night, I didn’t sleep, really, until it was morning and then dreamt of witnessing an axe murder of a troll.   Can you say stress?   Of course, it’s quirky stress, but that’s my kind.

Yesterday afternoon, I went for a consultation with a doctor who suggested a couple of procedures that require anesthesia – one, exploratory, the other, more purpose-driven.  There is much to consider.  Not real excited about any of it, but when something is staring you in the face, you should react.  If you can.

If you can’t . . . . distract.

 

Box people

I have to say it.  We have been really blessed lately with quite a few packages from friends and loved ones.   The tall guy who delivers our post daily is probably beginning to wonder what day he isn’t going to have to ring the bell and see me in my early morning half-pajama/half workout clothes ensemble.  Because he ALWAYS comes as I’m getting dressed.  I never thought my life was that predictable, but apparently, some segments of being me and pretty much the same day to day.  I open the door and there I am, old sheep slippers, pajama bottoms, workout top, glasses and hair pulled back.  Teeth brushed would be a bonus day.   What must he think – this hideously dressed woman receiving nearly daily packages – and what for?  He probably hopes there are clothes inside these boxes.   Today I felt a pang of remorse that he doesn’t know that decent people live here. I’m well behaved and polite enough, but I look like something out of a What Not to Wear episode.

To receive the parcels, I’ve always signed my name on paper, until today.  Now, it’s a gizmo, a gadget, a high tech device that the post man  (shame I don’t know his name, what am I like?) says is more difficult to use at first, but easier as you go.   He inputs things on it, I sign it, I type in my name with block letters with a stylus and then he does more things with the gadget.  Apparently, it is a phone as well.  And it has GPS, he said.  As in, his movements can be tracked.   No parcels lost, no parcel delivery people lost.   Gosh, some things are fancy.   I wanted to offer to clean off the fancy gadget with an antibacterial wipe to compensate for my sniffles and possible germy-ness this morning.  But I didn’t.  He would have said no worries, not a problem anyway.  Besides, who knows how one cleans these things?

These little people came in a box from some friends recently.  These little ones aren’t particularly sharp dressers, and there’s probably no need to clean them as they only stand and salute the harvest season.  They are uncomplicated.  But they remind me of who I am, where I come from, who I am to other people . . . and that somebody loves me.  Even if I look like I should be standing in a field of corn, scaring off the crows.

Grateful for these box people.  Also known as scarecrows.  Happy autumn everybody!

gems among the seaweed

I am a sea glass, sea pottery hunting fan. Not a spectator. An actual sea glass gathering athlete. Do you scoff at my athletic reference? There’s squatting, there’s squatting and there’s bending down. And systematic walking, stooping, walking, squatting, scanning. And more scanning with swiping, swiping, swiping and avoiding the doggie business on the beach. I was fouled last week. Told ya. It’s an athletic event.

Today, after 3 solid days of rain and big crashing waves, the sun came out and I sprinted to the beach to see what I could win. The beach was brown and mounded with seaweed from ages past and present. And all the gnatty kind of insects came to swarm. So I ducked and swatted and avoided and squatted and I cautioned my children five times not to throw rocks and not to touch what looked like a cow femur, recently separated from the cow. Ew.

And I think I won. I got lots of trophies. What do you think?

residential artist

There is an artist living in my house.  In truth, there are several, but this one in particular has been really busy being extra-arty lately.   Above, note the second painting ever done by my residential artist.  I think it’s lovely.  He tells me it’s trial and error, the color mixing, the shaping, the shading, the remembering what things actually look like.   Painting is an art, not a science.  Oh, and credit going where credit is due, this is a painting of a painting pulled from a calendar. Still, it is talent.

Once a week, he goes to help out with a family resource center art class and he gets to stay and take the class as well.  Bonus!  More than once, my artist has been surprised by how painting goes.   The trial and error aspect was a bit of a surprise.   He was surprised what colors give their hue to make up certain things, like red in the river.   Again, surprised at how little one needs to get started – paint on the back of wallpaper, use old jars filled with water and old plates to mix paint and clean off the brushes, just make do.   Surprised that certain brushes actually are annoying and others are favorites.   Surprised that one can overpaint – in fact, he has been told by the teacher to STOP painting because he keeps trying to correct, to blend, to make it more like the perfect thing it represents.   Now we know why Van Gogh’s Starry Night is so thickly laid with paint, eh?

My artist also sang recently at an event and was asked to sing a couple of things solo.   It’s been a while, but he worked that craft, practicing at home. Practicing, practicing, practicing.  And when it came time for me to sit and appreciate the performance, one that i thought I’d already had at home, it wasn’t at all what I thought.  No, it was better, stronger, more  beautiful, more powerful.  People cried.  And I’m people too.

It is hard, when you have a creative way about you, to go a long time without expressing it.

And it is the most natural thing in the world, that when an artist is squeezed, beauty comes out.   If you haven’t squeezed your inner or residential artist lately, you should do that.   Make beauty.

do i want to run in 15 minutes

there’s a time limit here, folks.  hubby says that it’s t- 15 minutes to runners and the huffing and puffing that goes with running.   i don’t have to run, but i want to run. and i have proper shoes for that.

i don’t have to think about asthma, but a good few in our little family seem to have it.  i’ve got  inhalers for that.

we didn’t have to step back from membership with the Community we’ve journeyed with in the last year, but it seemed like that was what God was calling us to do, even though it’s hard.  we’ve got reasons for that.

e doesn’t have to have a friend over after school, but i promised it, and we’ve got plenty of house and food to share for that.

i don’t have to allow my child to record a dvd to be sent to the local media, but her teacher asked  and she’s got the talent for that, even though we only have a couple days preparation.

the kids don’t have to play football, but it’s good exercise and they love it, so we will stand on the pitches and cheer them on.  we’ve got the desire and all the gear for that.

we’ve one rather introverted child and need to provide experiences that push out the boundaries, foster gifts and talents – we have a God-given responsibility to do that.

there are many people and places that I see and go to, many commitments that I make – and many of these bring me joy.  on a good day, i’ve got the energy for that.

there is homework and housework and a million billion things that lay before me like a long stretch of road . . . so do i want to run?  it seems that running is what i do, in my mind, in my life. . . one long stretch of road.  so much of it, I choose, and yet, i often feel pushed. pushed for time, for energy, for resources, for exellence, for a life without regrets.

this is definitely a marathon.

thankfully not a marathon for one.

but i might need to catch my breath.

 

three cheers

Just want to say that I’m really proud of my hubby for regularly running 5K for months now.  He looks great, he feels mostly great, and his energy level is fantabulous.   Granted, he is a little achy in spots, but the overall effect is good, good, good.

The other day, we took a hike together up one of the local hills, which is big and steep enough as hills go.  It’s a climb that near the bottom of the hill, you can feel the burn in the top of the hamstrings.  Closer to the top, you might need to do a tiny bit of “all fours” to safely ascend, especially on a rainy, wet day (it was).   We took the pace pretty briskly –  for me, that meant some significant huffing and puffing.  I don’t think Scott had a single labored breath.  Near the top, he was musing that he remembered that particular hill as more of a challenge, at which point I wanted to both hug him and thump him, what with my red face and occasional need to stop for a breather.  And I would consider myself moderately fit.  And no, I did not thump, I hugged.

New-found fitness is a beautiful thing.  Hip hip . . .

pit stop

Found it like this, a little car tucked into my personal toiletries shelf.   Cherishing these things, don’t even need to know why there is a car parked at my vitamin C tablets.