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Here We Go Again

Feb11

This tiny video might not look like much

But please, let me tell you why I left it here.

You may have heard of 2019’s polar vortex?

Well, here in the mid-west, we appear to be right in the middle of it.

I’ll bet we’ve have had more snow in the last month, than in the previous ten years.

Snow is one thing. But then there’s the ice. Hidden discreetly underneath that beautiful layer of snow.

Here is what happened yesterday;

I went out to shovel an inch or two of fluffy snow off the drive. (It’s a long drive with quite a bit of slope)

Shoveling along, and forgetting there were long patches of ice on one side. (At the top)

Boom. Flat on my back. Standing up was a trick, because it was solid ice, and about a half an inch thick!

I finally got back up, determined I was unhurt, and proceeded shoveling where I knew there was no ice.

When suddenly, Boom. Down to my knees. (Half way down the slope) This time I couldn’t get up, so I had to slide further DOWN the hill, so that I could find a not icy spot to get UP the hill! (Glad we live where we do so I didn’t have an audience!)

You know, sometimes, if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. So laugh I did. And I quit shoveling for the day.

Now my husband, who hates snow, and just had shoulder surgery, thought it was all pretty funny.

Here’s what HE did;

He replied on Facebook to our daughters post talking about how thick the ice in her drive was. She was talking about wanting to make “snow angels”, he told that I was in the drive making “snow angels” of my own.

My reply to that was that it was more like “snow sprawl” and “snow crawl”.

This quickly de-generated into a much less flattering comment from him. Some about doing the “croppie floppie”. Oh. Brother.

Can I say that even for someone who loves snow as much as I do, that I am done.

Well done.

ANother batch of undetermined size is just beginning here now.

Complaining about it of course won’t help.

And if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.

Books That Changed My Life #2

Oct5

Part of Mary’s description on the back cover of her book says this; “Thin places are snatches of holy ground, tucked into a corner of our world, where we might just catch a glimpse of eternity. They are aha moments of beautiful realizations.”

Thin Places
For me, the book began stirring my heart on the very first page. I recognize this little one as a kindred spirit. A little girl in love with her Daddy. With his death at an early age, her life is changed forever. My heart is stirred.

The abuse begins early. She is threatened into silence. She is under the control of the choices of others. I understand, all too well. My heart is stirred. She learned to protect herself. Silence to the world, walls building on the inside, turning her pain into numbness. I know how to do that. My heart is stirred. 

The protection she gave herself, became a thin place for her, a place where she could “be somewhere else”. A place of knowing that people fail people, and that people take what they want at any cost. So she learned to hide. And I am stirred. But truly not gently stirred, but (violently) shaken.

In her book, Mary speaks of the longings we have as children. The ones that are very strong. The ones we cannot understand. The ones that make us doubt out worth. Longing for things that symbolize something we lack. Envying what others have, and thinking what they have will satisfy. I understand her very well. I don’t want to, but I do.

Throughout her memoir, Mary speaks of all the hidden emotions, locked inside. With searing accuracy she speaks of recognizing each one, as a Thin Place, and the healing that comes from that recognition.

I can only wonder, how many others like me there are out there. Like Mary. Those are the ones I long to be with, helping them to find and explore those Thin Places.

For me, This book was a Thin Place. Another place to see all that was hidden, and to make sense of it. A place to begin to heal.

Please feel free to comment, or message me.

 

 

Where a Poem Belongs

Oct3

“Where a poem belongs is here, in the warmth of the chest;
out in the world it dies of cold.” by Rumi

This was the introduction to a writing prompt today

The prompt itself was; What poem does your chest/breast/heart long for you to write. Give it voice now.

I am often surprised by the out come. 5 minutes. Who knew it would be enough to open up a heart?

I don’t know if it’s a poem just yet. It’s more a sense of belonging. Of safety. Of being right, even when you’re doing it wrong. YOU are right. The thing you did was not. You are free to express yourself without fear of someone’s critical retort.  As Rumi said, it belongs in your heart. In your breast. To stay warm. Not to feel the stabbing cold of … disappointment? No. Judgement. From ones who don’t understand. My poem will be of this. A safe place, where there is freedom to say what is real.

I am grateful I have found my hiding place. Peace now fills my heart.