What I Saw

Over the years I have had my palms read, my aura read and my tea leaves read. Today I had my coffee grounds read.  Yeah who knew this even existed, certainly not me.

The idea is you make a pot of coffee with grounds thrown into the bottom and of course when your pour it out, grounds end up in the bottom of your cup.  After you’ve consumed your drink the grounds stay there and a trained reader can educate you about your future.

I can tell you that this reading was much like all the other ones I’ve had, a lot of vague references about the future which can be interpreted in several different ways.  That way the reading is surely accurate, you see events unfold in a manner that is self-serving.  Or at least in keeping with the reading.

Regardless the idea that anything can offer us a glint of hope for the future or maybe just a small slice of what the future may hold is always fascinating.  Not because it will show the future, rather because it touched deep within our subconscious and laying bare our hopes, dreams, fears and such.  In other words it says more about us than the skill of the reader.  And in my case the vague statements revealed to me my anxiety, excitement and  concern about what the future may hold for career, health and general life.  I didn’t need a reading to know that, but it was intriguing all the same.

 

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I sat there on the hard plastic chair letting harsh medical smells invade my thoughts.  I’d given up waiting to hear the soft little noises letting me know the doctor was on his way, or at least the nurse, into the room.  There is something about waiting in a doctor’s office that makes time move in some strange way.  Time stretches to an incredible length and it remains that way.  Until.

Until the doctor or nurse is saying something serious.  And then  time zips by.  But I was just waiting.  Waiting for the doctor to tell me and go over lab results.  Waiting for the doctor to look at the newest round of swelling and maybe do something about it.  Waiting for the doctor to tell me he found a way to tame lupus.

The longer I waited the more I wondered what was going on.  And knowing me, knowing how my mind works, I opted to pull out a book to distract myself while I waited.  At least with a book I stop watching the clock, of course there is that wee issue of someone coming in when I’m not really ready to stop reading.

Finally the door opened, at a good place to stop riding, and my doctor came in.  Normally he has energy and a smile, but today that smile was forced and tired.  He made his way through my labs, looked at the swelling and told me that he didn’t know how anyone with a chronic illness keeps going.  Not after repeatedly bad labs.  The answer is that it’s tiring, but you keep going because there is always hope.  Always something just around the corner that may be the answer.

The Problem With…….Me

The problem with the beach is that in order to get to the water’s edge, I have to carefully make my way across the sharp stones, course sand and debris before I reach the soft, wet sand and feel the water gently caress my feet.

The problem with the beach is that in order to enjoy myself, I need to wear protection:  beach shoes to make my way down to the water’s edge, sun screen (enough to cover a large house, applied a million times over), a large hat, sleeves and an umbrella.  It’s a lot to carry or wear for a few hours of water and sand.

The problem with the beach is that Beloved adores it.  He needs to feel the water on his feet, he needs to walk the wet sand and let the gentle breeze that is always present blow his worries away.

The problem with the forest is that there are roots and branches on the ground, threatening to trip me up.  I have to watch where I place my feet which means I cannot enjoy the majestic beauty of the forest.

The problem with the forest is that I have to jump small pieces of shrubbery and try to avoid landing on sharp stones while my balance is less than stellar to go with my shorter legs.

The problem with the forest is that Beloved adores walking through it.  He feels as if he is apart of something magical when he strides across the secretive landscape, finding treasures along the way.

The problem with time is that it keeps slipping through my hands, far too fast for my liking, at least when Beloved is around. Before I know it, it is time for him to leave again.

The problem with time is each moment seems to take an eternity to pass when Beloved isn’t here.  A lifetime seems to pass from one breath to the next while I wait for his arrival.

The problem with love is that while it is a sweet thing, it is also a bitter thing.

The problem with love is that it is fickle and fragile.  It twists and it turns with no logic, leaving me behind and struggling to find my footing.  The problem with love is that I don’t understand it, not really.  It just sort of happens and you hang on for the ride, hoping the low parts zip by faster than the good parts.

For The Birds

The four-footed one decided she could fly today. I’m not sure what possessed her to think she could fly, but she gave it the old college try. Of course she couldn’t sustain her air time, but hey it’s the thought that counts right?

Don’t worry, she is fine. When she jumped off the chair she didn’t have far to land. You could see her trying to figure out a way to maintain her air time, she tried doing the doggie paddle of sorts in the air and then it dawned on her, she was going down, not up nor staying at the same level she started with. So she just hung on for the fall.

She got up and walked away as nonchalantly as she could. She had witnesses, so it was hard for her to walk away with her dignity fully intact. But she tried. And no she wasn’t injured at all, other than her pride I suspect.

It does make me wonder what goes on in her head. What is she thinking when she gives me that look, or when she cocks her head off to one side? Is she planning how to get more food or perhaps how to take over the house (technically she did that the day she came home)? Perhaps she is plotting on how to get dogs to rule the world. And then again, maybe she just wanted to give something new a try.

Plants Get The Best Of Me

The tomato plants have reached their end, the season is growing to a close, so I decided to pull them out today.  The tomato plants had other ideas.  Oh not about their season coming to and end.  They just didn’t want to be removed from their pots.

Now I know some of you are thinking how can a tomato plant get in the way of its very removal.  I don’t really know except to tell you that when I pulled it, it did not budge.  Not even a little.  So I dug out a shovel and tried to loosen it out of the soil.  And that didn’t seem to do much of anything either.

A neighbor came by either taking pity on the plant or myself, I’m not sure which.  He was made aware of my battle with this last tomato plant no doubt through my cursing of said plant.  With a quick tug of his arm the whole plant gave up its grip in the soil.  (My struggle may have pre-loosened it for him!). He also broke it down and put it in the garbage with no problem whatsoever.

He told me some beings will clung to the very last bits of life, even when it knows the time has come, just in case.  Because, as my neighbor said with a knowing grin, the weather always changes and hope rides in on even mildly warmer air. And as long as there is hope, there is a need to cling to life as long as you can.  I’m not sure if he was talking about the tomato plant or my health.

At any rate, I do believe plants always have the upper hand when t comes to me.

Some Days

Some days I’m pretty sure I’m my own worst enemy.  Some days I’m sure I’d leave without my head if it wasn’t attached to the rest of me.  Heck there are days that even though my head is attached it’s really just along for the ride so it might just as well not be attached.

Today was one of those some days…only this time it didn’t involve my head so much as my feet.  Well I guess my head is somewhat involved in that my memory failed me and it resulted in a case of unhappy feet.  Unhappy feet because they spent al day in shoes I normally reserve for when I need to be dressed all fancy like, not walking on cobblestones and pavement.

I realized my mistake shortly after my first few hundred feet on the cobblestones.  But hey I’m tough and so I decided I could tough it out.  Again my head is to blame for this because I decided that despite what my feet were telling me, my brain knew I could manage this for the day.

Fast forward to the end of the day when my feet absolutely hate me and my head, well my head has finally realized the smart thing to do is grab the required shoes for tomorrow now while I still remember what I want to do. Hopefully tomorrow will be one of those some days where everything goes well, almost according to plan!

Of Jars, Fireflies and Enlightenment

When I was young I used to catch fireflies in jars.  I thought they were the most magical things ever, they were like little flying flashlights.  I’d grab some glass jars, ones my mother would never use again for food stuff(typically by the time I got them they had already been used as vases for wildflowers and such instead) and lids in preparation for the hunt.

When the time was just right id head out into the yard and start to capture them in my jars.  One bug per jar was my limit and before I caught another I had to secure the one I’d just caught in the jar by screwing the lid on tight.  I always imagined lighting up a room with jars of fireflies.  In no time I’d have my quota of the bugs flitting around securely in their respective jars.

Inevitably, as if by magic, my father would stop by to see the evening’s catch.  (It took me a while to figure out that if he stood at a certain angle at the window he could see when all my jars were filled and nearly on the table outside.  When I discovered that the magic seemed to slip away.)   And just as inevitable, after commenting on the number I had caught, my father would gently suggest that I release them to go on about their business.

I remember he told me once that all that flashing was their way of communicating to each other and he couldn’t think of a more sad way to die than to be trying to communicate with flashes that none of your own kind were around to see.  He also let me know that my glass jars were a prison for the innocent bugs who were suddenly serving an unjust  sentence for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Usually my father would help me unscrew each jar and set the fireflies free.  He told me that when they were free and flashing around everyone got to enjoy their beauty.

Relationships are sometimes like this, we try to posses or own someone rather than allowing their true beauty to shine rough freely.  I was reminded of this again today after hearing stories from young women who were free come a cult like group.  And like those fireflies, these young women are finding ways to communicate with others after being hidden away from the world.  I hope that these young women, just like the fireflies, make their way into freedoms do shine beautiful for a long time.