Paddling Along

There is something freeing about slipping a small boat into the still, dark water that could be almost glass it’s so smooth.  Especially after the sun has set and the stars are peeking out at you.  It’s more freeing than slipping through the water with the sun shinning.

The only thing that brings me to pause is that it can be harder to navigate in the dim light, but a bit of caution and it trust in your memory will keep you right.  The slow, silent movements of a paddle seem to whisper to the ghosts of time spent here before.  And I feel at home, at peace in this slightly different place.  And yet as different as it is, I find I fit nicely into these moments.

I don’t do this often.  Time seems to run short now that I’m older.  And when Beloved is here, he doesn’t like to throw caution into the wind, afraid it will drift away like wisps of smoke.  So we settle for slipping in either early in the morning or just a bit before the sun is starting to make its trip downwards.  To him it’s still magical, to move across the water so still, as if we are one with everything else found here on the water.

Beloved also doesn’t like to travel in the rain, not on the water.  The boat is meant to keep us dry. Rain is wet.  To him it feels wrong to be wet while trying to find a dry form of transportation.  Me, I don’t mind watching the rain drops dance across the water, changing it from polished glass to an energetic dance floor.  Truthfully I have never stopped marveling at the way the water rain ends up melting in to the larger pool of water and becoming a still, reflecting mirror again.

Sometimes when the water is barely moving, the light is low, I will dream of slipping the boat back into the water and heading off to the memories from before.

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Curiosity Layered Cake

Someone told me that if we all went back to the lessons we learned when we were little, everyone would be better for it. The idea is that if we learned to share more, nap when we were tired, get plenty of play time and find a way to be curious about things it would be better.

While I’m sure nap time was required, as was play time. I think I struggled with this whole concept of sharing as a young child. To be fair I still struggle with this concept even now, especially when it comes to cake, my technology, time with Beloved and space in the bed. And that’s just off the top of my head!

I think the one thing I’ve held most dearly to suggested list is the concept of curiosity. I think to go through life not getting curious about things, not learning and experimenting would be a rather boring existence indeed. I’m not sure a person could go through life with no curiosity, but perhaps there are a few people who can.

I cannot fathom being so bored, so disinterested in everything in life that I just kind of float through it all as it goes on around me. But is curiosity enough to make things better? I’m not sure. It gives me energy as well as exhaustion. Curiosity opens doors to me, but sometimes the timing of me walking through that door wasn’t ideal either.

I think we should add snack time to this list by the way. Cake specifically. Then with the power of cake and curiosity it might be the trick. For me.

The Dancing Works

We do this odd dance, Beloved and I. Sometimes he calls me to come, and when I make it there, he tells me he’s made a mistake about the timing because he needs to be on the road. And no this isn’t a new dance, nor is it the fading of love’s first bloom. It’s just our dance.

And sometimes I leave him standing alone after he is positive he knows exactly what I wanted. He probably wonders how he can ever figure me out, the way I wonder about him. Doubt sometimes creeps in as we both turn on our heels and go on where we need to be.

I feel like, at times, our hearts are stolen by each other and each of us leaves the other trying to figure out which foot we are both standing on. It isn’t a bad thing, it’s just our dance. And no matter how many times I believe I have figured him out, he surprises me with what he does, or doesn’t do.

But humans don’t come with instruction guides or user manuals. Instead we just kind of do our thing and see how that works with our partner, or even in finding a partner. And either way it’s okay. Some people always dance in sync, others are never doing the same moves. It doesn’t matter as long as it works for you!

When You Forget To Watch Your Language

I think my cell phone is out to get me.  Listen people have autocorrect fails all the time.  I understand this.  It’s happened to me before.  Except this time it was a spectacular mess.

I am almost 100% positive I typed the word small with a tiny error, so instead of being Amall my phone decided to change it to anal.  Yep anal.  Because an anal change is always fun.  Whatever an anal change is.  All I can tell you is that it didn’t take much time, however the effect is rather pronounced!

Frankly the only reason I even noticed the mistake was because it was a message  two coworker’s and one asked me if I really meant to type anal.  At that point there was no hiding the mistake and the only hole was the one I partially wanted to crawl into.  Except I’d still be found because I mean my inner fourteen year old found this to be al rather funny.  As in I still chuckle as I think about it.

This got me wondering how often technology messes my messages up without me even knowing.  Further more how often are things just lost because the wording doesn’t make sense thanks to technology thinking it knows what we really mean?  Will this be our down fall?  If so, it will be a funny time at any rate!

 

Memories Shared

Beloved went down to the water, which is typical when he needs to think or sort through items in his mind.  He was gone a while, probably pacing his way back and forth on the walking trails.  It’s a great way to get a lot of steps in without really focusing on that.

When he had done what he set out to do, he came home and asked me to go with him for a short drive.  There was something he wanted to show me he said.  And so we got in the car and drove for twenty minutes or so.  At the end of our journey?  An empty field with a tilting fence.

For a small moment, maybe a breath’s worth of time, I thought he was going to tell me he wanted to live out here.  Well not directly in the field, but somewhat in the location we were currently at.  Thankfully that moment passed very quickly.

Standing close to me, he raised his arm and pointed to a small mound in the field.  It was, he said a very important burial site.  Left undisturbed for many years, but not forgotten.  He said he had been wondering what the secret was to this place.  The way it could be known, yet left to sit in silence and dignity.

What had been on his mind, what he had been trying to figure out was the answer to the question of what happens after wards that you are remembered lo after your people are gone.  He was no closer to an answer he admitted,  it he knew it could’ve done and he was curious about the how and the why. He had decided to explore this strange and fascinating turn of events. And that was what he wanted to share with me.

What he really shared with me was not just what he was thinking, but also the next adventure he was going to be exploring.

Just Getting Ready

Beloved was standing before the mirror, getting ready to head out for a presentation.  I sat back and watched him adjust his shirt, decide his beard was okay and run his fingers through his hair.  I’ve watched him do this a million times if I’ve seen him do it once. And each time he will look at himself from all sides, stick his tongue out and then mutter “it’ll do”.  At which point he flips off the light and leaves the room.

This time, as he was turning this way and that, I asked him if he was aware of what he was doing.  He gave me a shrug of his shoulders and said “you can’t undo years of whatever”.  Because he’s done it for so long, he can “remember” getting ready for all these events, even though he has no recollection of each actual moment.  He is, as we all are, a creature of habit.

Before he headed out of the door, I knew what would happen next.  He’d find the jacket, well actually he’d look in the closet, take a step back and see which jacket he felt like wearing.  He would shrug into it, grab his keys and since I was sitting on the bed, he’d come over and give me a kiss.  He’d glance at his watch, realize the time, and hurry down the hallway to where he left his shoes.  And of course there would be drama over finding the pair of shoes (one always goes missing on him) and before I’d know it, he’d shout out “bye and wait up for me if you can luv” and he’d pull the door shut, locking it.

If I got off the bed and followed him down the hall, he’d fuss that I should be resting.  We’ve done this so many times, the two of us, it’s like an old routine.  But sometimes I surprise him, like tonight.  I sipped his jacket on for him, gave him a kiss and went with him down the hall.  He found both shoes waiting for him, only because while he was grabbing a shower I grabbed his shoes.  And it was I who closed the door, after he left my sight.

Will he remember this event any differently because he had a different send off?  Probably not, but I will.  I will remember the way the way his blue eyes twinkled with surprise at me helping him. The way his eyebrows rose a he found both of his shoes waiting.  And I will remember the playful smile at the corners of his mouth when I told him to hurry home.

Oooh Fire

I love a good fire. In the right place, like a fireplace or a fire pit. I love to watch the flames dance and flicker. I love the light they cast. And when it’s cool, I enough the heat of a nice fire.

There is something to be said about the crackling sounds of wood in a fire. The smell of wood smoke as it hangs in the air, just a bit before disappearing into a memory. These are things that I love about fire.

I do not love fires that cause massive destruction or damage. I hate hearing of animals or people hurt by fires. I cannot imagine what it is to lose my house and home to something that seems so enjoyable in one sense become an enemy in another sense. I don’t think I could ever view even a small flickering flame the same way again.

I don’t understand, nor do I enjoy the wanton burning of refuse and whatever people can get their hands on for the sake of burning something because it’s the time to burn stuff. To me that just seems foolish and wrong. And yet there are groups of people who feel the urge to burn things and fight for their right to burn things. No matter the cost. Typically when these people get in the midst of a good fire, it’s some innocent person’s stuff that is destroyed. But hey, they got their fire.

And so today I’ve come to the conclusion that a good fire is not good for everyone.