Blue Towels and Bad Luck

Last week wasn’t exactly the most fortuitous.  The kids got sick, I had to pick my stranded brother up from work, my washing machine died, the laundry room shelf collapsed, I got sick and missed three days of work, and then my mom caught the same virus.   All in all an eventful week. Just not the good kind of eventful.

I did get to read a lot and I got another washing machine so it’s not all bad.  Most of my white towels are also now a lovely shade of periwinkle blue.  When the washer went down it took two loads of laundry with it.  The wet jeans ended up mixed up in a basket with the towels and ended up sitting there all night.   After a trip to the laundry mat the next day (my mom made it for me since I couldn’t leave the bed or my trash can) the jeans were clean, dry, and blue and so were the towels.

I would be more upset if everything were pink.  Blue however just happens to be my favorite color and the dye job was very even.

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Poetry

Alice_in_wonderland_1951I’ve been reading poetry lately.  Yes, yes I know. Nasty habit. All those feelings and thoughts expressed in just a short space with precise words.  But sometimes when things feel too close to heart it is nice to know that others have felt them as deeply.

Now I am not saying that such things can not be expressed in prose.  Of course they can. However, as a poet myself, I understand the need to get a sudden intense feeling down on paper.  Really you are just trying to express things that hit you hard right in the heart.

I often don’t even have the words for whatever it is I am feeling until I start to write them catapillerdown.  And it can be about anything.  Headaches, coffee, heartaches, sleeping children, dreams, simple musings, cats sitting on your feet…I’ve written about them all.  (Okay, all except that last one.  But I have a very soft fluffy white cat putting my left foot to sleep right now, so I should.)

In fact I’ve written two or three poems just this week.  Not that anyone else will ever see them. I wrote one to express frustration, one was a random musing on sanity, and the other… Well, okay that one did end up on face book but it was only a few lines about a headache that wouldn’t go away.

6_950_alice_in_wonderland_blu-rayI love poetry that echoes things that I have felt before.  I love elegant uses for words.  I love harsh slashing phrases that bring feelings to life.   I read Keats, Wordsworth, and Shakespeare but I also seek out newer poets too.   It is the words I am interested in.

I don’t know why I am surprised when I find out that some writers I know are poets as well.  I am, my dad is, why can’t others be?  Writers play with words all the time.  Words are treasured friends.  Is it really a surprise that when we feel things deeply that words are what we turn to?

 

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Shoes

flipI hate walking in flip flops.  I don’t know why exactly or when my loathing of flip flops began.  I do live in the Southern United States though, so the fact that I hate wearing flip flops ,to most people around here, sounds practically sacrilegious.

I just have never cared for the noise they make when I walk or the thong between my toes.  I also walk funny in flip flops, like I am off balanced or my heels come down too hard.  My mom and my daughter love them.  They wear them all the time. But I honestly would prefer going barefoot over wearing flip flops. (I do enjoy sandals though.)flop

It is important to understand my loathing of flip flops because it shows how much I love my daughter.   This morning I took the kids to school.  We got all the way there before my almost twelve year old realized she didn’t bring gym shoes.  (Usually on warm gym days she will wear flip flops and then change out right before class.)  She began to panic.  She had already gotten into trouble for not wearing appropriate foot wear before.

shoes_iaec1196441So, because I am a mom, I pulled over and started untying my shoes.  (We wear about the same size.)  I switched my clean socks and comfortable walking shoes for a pair of mint green flip flops and my daughter went to school happy.   I went home with cold toes.

I had plans of walking in the park today after dropping the kids off.  That didn’t happen because of the shoe swap.  I am now sitting on the couch in another clean pair of socks and I have other shoes I can wear but I am still uncomfortable.   I feel awkward and off kilter.  Like when you laugh too loud in a room fullpark bridge of people right when there is a lull in conversation.

I know it’s silly but my day has been thrown off track simply by a pair a flip flops.  I feel odd because my plans were disrupted.  I should be almost back to the car by now after my walk.  I should have been sitting under trees jotting down thoughts.  I am at loose ends because I feel whatever I am doing isn’t what I am supposed to be doing.  The back of my mind keeps saying, “Wait…you’re not supposed to be doing this yet.  You’re supposed to be doing this other thing.”

I could go back out, but then I feel like I will be trying to play catch up for the rest of the day.  *Sigh*  Oh well.  It will all even out eventually.

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Same Story, Different Voice

A_picture_is_worth_a_thousand_wordsPeople tell me things.  I don’t know why but they do.  I can be ringing up items at work or standing in line at the bank and people start talking.  Some days there is even a theme.

There was a night at work, not too long ago, where everyone I came across had a divorce story or a child custody battle to tell me about.  (My cousin is going through something like that right now.)  I have heard all about ex-husbands and wives, favorite dog breeds, the trouble with banks, what milk tastes best, health issues, money issues…you name it.

whats-your-storyThe thing is, even though the faces change and the details differ, the story remains the same. People tell me about heartbreaks, about joys, about pain and sadness.  Sometimes the story isn’t spoken in words.  Sometimes the words just frame the story, like the story of loneliness.   Loneliness usually starts out with “When my kids were young…” or “When my wife was still alive…”  The beginnings aren’t always the same but the core of the story is.

That is why they say everything has already been written.  Everyone has the same stories, MedievalWeavingTLLivingWisdomSacredthey are just colored by our point of view. That is a good thing.  The common thread joins us together.  It is what makes people focus on stories.  The voice telling the story gives it enough separation from what we already know to make interesting.

When writing, the “originality” of the tale doesn’t matter as much as the voice we tell it in.  A college student, a widow, and a cat lady have all experienced loneliness.  It is the voice of the person telling of the experience that makes it different.

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Asthma, anxiety, and nightmares

chased_by_nightmaresI awoke early this morning before the sun.  I had to claw my way out of nightmares and managed to escape ten minutes before my alarm would have gone off.  In dreams ten minutes can be an eternity.

I stumbled to the shower to wash away lingering unease and then made for the kitchen and a hot cuppa.  Finally awake-ish, I turned on the local weather to find out what season it was going to be today.  (A legitimate question. Last week I couldn’t tell the falling tree blossoms from the falling snow.)  Turns out today it is going to be Summer. The temp is supposed to be in the upper 70′s.

I laid clothes out for the kids, packed lunches, then went to awaken my sleeping angels.  John_George_Brown_-_Sleeping_angel(They don’t always remain angels after I wake them up.)  We had cinnamon toast for breakfast.  While they ate I took the trash down to the curb then promptly had an asthma attack once I was back inside.  This caused a major problem.

I had my fast acting inhaler but if I used it I knew an anxiety attack would follow closely after.  The inhaler increases a persons heart rate even as it allows them to breath.  I had already had caffeine and lets not forget the nightmares that disturbed my slumber.

Chemical-structure-caffeine-optNightmares + Caffeine =  Awake and functional

Morning + Caffeine = Awake and functional

Caffeine + Asthma inhaler = anxiety

Nightmares + Caffeine + Asthma inhaler = major anxiety freak outAsthma_Medication_Inhaler

And because I apparently like to cause myself unnecessary stress:

Nightmares + Caffeine + Asthma inhaler + Grocery Store after taking kids to school =  Ohmygodjustbreathejustbreatheyou’realmosthome.

ExhaustedI am better now.  I am also exhausted.  I had big plans for getting stuff accomplished today. I am not sure how much of that is going to happen now.  I did manage to work off my anxiety by washing a load of clothes, a sink full of dishes, and cleaning out the litter box, so that’s something.

Now I am just going to make myself a nice decaffeinated cup of tea and read a book for a bit.  Maybe later I will feel up to taking the computer onto the tea bookfront porch to enjoy the sun and work on my book.

 

 

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Doctors

sick kittyI’m sick.  I’ve had a cold for over a week now and I just can’t seem to shake it.  Work has been crazy so I haven’t had time to slow down and get better.  I’ve just kept muddling on but there has been little energy left for anything else.  Hence the missed Monday morning blog post.

My friend tells me I should go to a doctor. tardis type 40 I told him I’ve been watching Doctor Who but that doesn’t seem to count.  He doesn’t see how a British T.V. show about a time and space traveling alien can make me feel better.  But it has somewhat.

kitten sleepHours of just laying on the couch sipping tea with honey and letting my immune system do its job is helping.  I still have a small cough, my head still feels like it weighs more than the rest of me, and my skull is still squeezing my brain but I am getting better.  It’s just a slow process.

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Foggy

o'connorSitting down at my computer to write a blog post is an interesting thing.  Most of the time I don’t know what I am going to write until I start.  Sometimes there is a phrase or a general idea that gets me started.  Sometimes I just sit down and write.

I am moving slow this morning. It is foggy and misting rain on this cool St. Patrick’s Day.  Good Irish weather I suppose.  I thought about doing an Irish post. I have Irish blood, not just today but everyday. HappyStPatricksDay

Some of my ancestors were Irish. They came from Ireland to America after a brief stop in Australia.  I have always wondered if that lay over was willing or not.  Did they set out on a ship looking for smoother seas and greener hills?  Or did they get shipped out for not paying taxes?  Either is a likely option.  There is a story there, if only I had the resources and the talents to excavate it.

irish fogMy thoughts are as scattered as the water droplets hanging in the air today.  Not condensed enough for actual rain, just thick and damp.  I am on my second cup of tea too.  It’s just not kick starting my synapses.

I found an old book on sailing ships I forgot I had. I think I am going to go flip through it for awhile and day dream about what it must have been like to cross miles and miles of open ocean, traveling to a place you’ve never been but hoping for a good new start.  irish-blessing-with-text-larger

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