Prone To Puddle

There is a puddle on the chair next to me.  The chair that’s more in the shade.  The chair I chose to sit in, but then went into the house to get cool water for the dog.  When I came back my chair wasn’t available.

A slightly wilted human was in my chair declaring it was too hot to do much.  So the limp human had taken my chair, the one in the shade and was sitting trying to read a book.  What appeared to be a rather limp paperback to be exact.

Minute by minute by the wilting got a bit more severe until there was just a puddle of a person.  An immovable puddle.  One that barely responds, not even to the dog coming over to investigate.

It’s  strange how the heat affects different people differently.  I hadn’t really thought it was all that hot out, certainly not to the point of wilting.  Not yet.  But I need the shade because sun seems to feed lupus and give it more strength.  I don’t need lupus to gain strength, frankly a weakening would be welcome relief.

Of course when the hot part of the day kicks in, the dog and I will head into the house and cool off as needed.  As for the puddle, well since the puddle cannot move now I suspect that once the heat kicks in the puddle will simply disappear.

It does make me wonder how people long ago dealt with the heat.  Did the puddling prone people just not go where it was hot?  Did they evaporate?  How did the other people manage the heat pre-air conditioning days?  Pre-electrical fan and ice house days.  I’m talking the days when summer and heat just hang heavy and smother everything in their blanket of stifling air?  When people mostly worked out on their land, farming and what have you.  How did people manage?

How would the puddle beside me even hope to cope back then when now there are fans and air conditioning to revive the puddle to become a wilted person and then back to whole again?



Party Performance

Oliver is hanging on the arm of my comfortable chair.  Rufus is passed out on the floor.  Lucy is balled up in a corner and Bonnie is nowhere to be found.  Sounds like a wild party right?

It was, just not in the way you were thinking.  Yes there was some serious dancing, well body slamming at any rate.  Loud tunes?  Yep.  Food?  Sure.  But then the dog always eats food off the floor.  As for the body slamming, well that was him shaking and bounding around with his toys.

Bonnie is his tiny bunny and she easily gets lost because her squeaker stopped squeaking.  Lucy is a lamb with long dangling legs, floppy ears and a noisy tail.  Rufus is the dog’s first toy, the one who kept him company during those strange nights in a strange new house.  He and Rufus are almost inseparable and we’ve learned that he treats Rufus differently.  Rufus is treated with kindness and gentleness so he just kind of hung out while the party was going on.

Oliver is a bit of a wild child.  He’s an opossum who loves to fly, hang and get into all kinds of mischief provided dog is around.  Dog loves how Oliver is ready for anything almost as much as he loves the loud squeaky toys  in Oliver.

I’ve learned that after a wild party it’s best to just let the pooped party participants stay where they are.  If I attempt to tidy up before the dog is ready for that to happen he will drag his friends back out of the toy box.  And then he will make a huge mess with toys everywhere in the house.  Frankly that’s a small price to pay for a happy dog who loves me unconditionally.

Lessons in Drifts

I put my boat into the water, grabbed my paddle and headed off to wherever the current decided to take me.  So far it’s taken me to many places, places I never thought I’d go to.  It also afforded me the opportunity to meet new people, to learn new things and discover more about myself.

Has my journey  to date changed me?  Of course it has.  I’m not the same person I was five years ago, two years ago or even a few months ago.  Priorities change, focus shifts and at times it can be frustrating as heck for me and others in my life.  But at other times it is a huge blessing.

Do I regret any of it?  I wouldn’t call it regret, but sure there are things I miss, from my life that once was there.  But when you chose to go on a journey like this, when you allow the current to alter your course of travel you have to be open to these changes.

I’ve left behind people who I hold dear in my heart.  Some of them I’m not even in touch with anymore, but that doesn’t alter how I hold them in my heart.  i realize I have changed, so have they and sometimes if our paths were to cross again it would be very different.

I’ve left behind placed that I hold near to my heart, places I’ve dreamed of and thought would always be home.  I don’t regret moving on from those places either because it has always brought me some place new to explore.  Each new place has taught me something about myself, and shown me how other people live.  It’s also shown me how to enjoy what there is in each place.

Most of all, my journey has taught me to enjoy the simple things, trust in myself and be okay with being on my own.  You can’t take everyone with you, you probably don’t even want to do that anyway.  But it’s nice to enjoy them while they are present with you and then carry them in your heart as you need.  And I can’t wait until Beloved and I find another current take us somewhere, to something else.


Lost Lessons

When I was a young child one of the lessons I remember being taught, one that was “very important” mind you, was about how I won’t always like everyone I meet, but I still need to be able to get along with them.

this was a lesson countless people were taught and had reinforced while in school.  So I’m not sure what happened, or when it happened.  I’ve tried to out my finger on it, but it slips off into a hazy blur and I’ve no answer for it.  What the heck happened?

How did we get to the place where it’s okay, acceptable even, to resort to lethal violence against those people we don’t get along with?  When did we stop seeing people as people and instead just objects that can be removed if they cause us issues?

What gives us the right to end another’s life and at the same time destroy the lives of those left behind?  I understand that when we fear something we demonize it.  Once we can demonize something we justify, to ourselves at least, certain actions.  I just don’t understand how we go from deciding we don’t get along with a person or people to taking their lives as a means of getting our voices heard.

Perhaps as adults we all need to revisit the lesson of getting along.  If not perhaps our weapons/toys should be taken away until we can learn to behave.  Maybe we just have seen enough innocent people killed yet simply because another person didn’t like something about those s/he killed.  Maybe there is some magic number that turns it all around…we just have to wait until we reach that number.

Maybe once we reach that point ever life will matter again.  Maybe then we will be able to agree to disagree without violence.  But I’m not holding my breath.

Loving Forever

Beloved and I have a routine.  Or rather we had a routine until we read  this article which made our routine seem, well silly.  I must warn you, if you chose to click on the link and read the article, it won’t be easy.  Never one of us made it through with dry eyes, but that’s not always a bad thing.  Was it a hard read?  Yes of course, but in our experiences most things worth reading aren’t easy.

You see until we read the story of how the groom proposed to the bride and their subsequent wedding, Beloved would routinely ask me to marry him.  Like clockwork he would ask and like clockwork I’d politely decline.  It was, to an extent, a bit of a joke between us.  It isn’t that we don’t love each other, I just see no need for a piece of paper.

I also doubt that Beloved and I would have such a beautiful ceremony.  What I can say is that we’ve had the talk about when it’s time to say goodbye.  No one wants this conversation and it isn’t easy, but it is very important.  And friends no matter how much time you think you have, when it comes down to it, time gets small and you never seem to have enough.  So if you love someone, please let them know how much you love them, but also discuss the harder part, the parting when it comes time.

If you will excuse me, I need a tissue or two.  Oh and a few moments with Beloved.


Tripping Towards Knowledge

A cup of tea, that’s what he held as he bid me to sit down on a cushion.  In the market he had offered to show me the doorway to knowledge.  Now, in a small house, he offered me a colourful, plump cushion and a muddy looking cup of tea.  Judging from the decor, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a magic lamp and flying carpet tucked lovingly away somewhere.

This tea, I knew, would be all the magic I’d need.  In theory the genie that would be set free was from my inner self instead of a lamp.  My soul, or was it my mind, would be the only thing going off on a magic carpet ride.  My body would remain firmly anchored on the cushion.  At least that was how I understood it before I took my first sip of the tea.

After two cups of the most foul-tasting brew I’ve ever had, it was very evident that my carpet was like a bucking mule in the most turbulent of air.  It was as if I was handed a magic carpet with no lessons or instructions provided.  And like my typical cocky self, I just jumped on and took off.  And of course the carpet has no steering mechanism nor does it have safety belts.

How long and far I travelled I couldn’t tell you.  I couldn’t even say where I traveled to or whom I interacted with.  All I know was Disney has no ride at all like this, and it’s probably a good thing.  For this trip had horror, paranormal and I’m not sure what all else in it.  I do recall a laughing head that seemed highly amused that I sought knowledge.

A large bat that kept its head tucked in its wings told me that knowledge might hold the key to some things, but it would also destroy some things at I held important.  The bat cautioned me to scan my heart as well as my ego before seeking certain pieces of information because once something was displayed, it couldn’t be taken back.

The journey ended long before I gained any information from the beings I encountered or the places I visited.  And it’s just as well because I was exhausted and unsure of what had happened.

the man who offered me the tea told me we had travelled the first road and onto the path of enlightenment.  If I came again in a few days I could venture further into knowledge.  But he felt the need to caution me.  He told me I should spend the next few days asking myself what I wanted out of life as well as what I was willing to give up.  He told me the tea would take everything I held dear in exchange for the answers I sought.

I didn’t return, although I wanted to.  I became too ill to carry on and headed back home.  I’ve always wondered if the magic carpet and my inner genie would welcome me back.  I’ve also wondered if the tea had been made to taste better!

Tides of Milk Along The Way

There is a saying around the spilling of milk and tears.  I’m not sure why people say there is no use crying over spilled milk when I’ve shed tears over spilled milk.  After I dropped the cartoon on the floor and spilled it all over my freshly washed floor.  The floor that I had spent a fair amount of time scrubbing just before I decided to drop the cartoon on the floor.  Did I mention that the cartoon was virtually full?  And that I was expecting company?

If I was a small child and I spilled my milk I’d probably cry as well.  I think that would be the appropriate reaction.  Heck I’ve known adults to cry over spilled milk, well adult beverages, but you get the idea.

Now I understand that in the grand scheme of things milk spilled on the floor is not the end of the world, or really all that horrible.  But when you are adrift on the waves of escaped milk sometimes gears are the answer.  Because sometimes the spilling is the last thing to go wrong and it’s just too much.

And on the topic of spilled milk, the dog apparently has a limit as to how much he will consume in a set amount of time.  He also shows no fear to wade through the tides of milk to pick and chose his spot for optimum licking and then spread the milk elsewhere in the house.  And that, my friends, is yet another reason for tears over spilled milk.

Kitchen Assistance, A Plea For Help

The kitchen is currently awash in high seas of tomatoes, beans, squash, carrots and leafy greens.  Competing with this swell are peaches, nectarines, plums, apricots, grapes and berries.

I love this time of year for the bounty that it brings. And part of me also dreads this time of year due to my lack of domestic skills, which means canning, freezing, pickling and such aren’t in my forte and the produce knows this.

I end up consuming mass amounts because it tastes good and is right there.  Not that there is much wrong with this other than that a person can have too much of a good thing if she eats a giant salad followed by two peaches and one nectarine within the matter of five hours.  The body demands pacing after all.

If you have suggestions, ideas, help or tips to save me, please share otherwise I can’t be held responsible for what might happen!

Best Gifts For Getting Well

In my life, over all my illnesses and hospital stays as well as bad news, I’ve received a variety of care packages or get well gifts.  Some times they come in the form of colourful, fragment flowers either cut and artfully arranged or potted to last for more lasting effects.  Some times they come in a form of baked goods, books or comfort items.

The gifts vary as wildly as the people who give them to me.  I’ve had homemade chicken noodle soup presented in a chicken mug from a friend who found her way to rural living.  I’ve had a fuzzy knitted blanket from a friend who discovered knitting calmed him down after a crazy day at the office.  Home made, hot chocolate kits in mason jars got me through a winter of pain and stiffness.

Worry dolls that are designed to slip under my pillow and take on my worries joined me for a week-long visit to a hospital in a strange land.  In the end I think the doctor needed those worry dolls far more than I did.😉

And my last bout of debating if I’d be spending far too much time with people in white was spent with a colouring book.  Yep a coloring book.  One for adults.  I never even knew about these before!

Now I’ve been assured there is something calming and zen like with a coloring book.  I do recall coloring as a child, in a book sometimes and other times on sheets of paper.  I’m sure ere were times that I enjoyed coloring as a child, it may have even soothed me some.  But coloring as an adult is a whole different game.  Rather than being stress-free I found myself stressing out over colors and lines from coloring.   How much shading should be used and where does one begin?

I’m going to need my worry dolls to make the coloring stress-free at this rate!  😉

If I’m asked what the best gift is I don’t even have to stop and think about what all I’ve received.  Because it is the gift of care, love, concern and relationships that are te best things in life, sick or otherwise!

friendly problem

The problem with friends is that sometimes they force us to confront real hard facts about ourselves.  Okay so technically not a problem so much as just a painful reality check that we all need time from time.

A dear friend whom I haven’t seen in a while insisted we have a visit.  I haven’t seen her in a few months due to health and schedule issues, but we’ve exchanged texts during that time.  So have a visit we did.  And the visit went like they usually do, great fun and sharing.

And as usual my friend pointed out that I seem to have a problem I’ve never really been able to fix.  I’m good at helping others, encouraging and supporting the, through their health troubles.  I suck at taking care of myself with my issues with lupus.

I don’t just suck at taking care of myself, I just flat-out don’t do it.  At all.  Not really.  Sure I want to live life to its fullest, squeeze life out of every moment, but to me it’s quality more than quantity.  My friend just does not understand this on my part.  To her I can have a good life, a full life and a long life.  If I just take care of myself.

But I don’t.  She doesn’t ask me how I’m going to change this.  She just asks in her gentle quiet way, why I do this to myself.  She doesn’t want an answer, she wants me to answer that for myself and see what I find.  The thing is, I know the answer to that question.  I just don’t do anything about it because well, if you knew the answer you’d know why I leave it as it is.

Prior to the first few times she asked me this question I never really gave it any thought. It was just how things were, shrug your shoulders and move on.  But after she asked a few times, I forced myself to think about it and find the answer, just for myself.  There is power in having that answer, but according to her if I don’t do anything with my answer then the power of the answer is meaningless.  To her maybe, but to me it is more than enough and I’m fine with that.

I’m grateful for her making me look at this question and even more grateful that she accepts that I have made my choice and my peace with my choice.  She has assured me this is a two-way street, although I’ve never seen it.  But I guess that’s the magic of friendship and love.