Category Archives: magic

she is meeting herself in unknown ways….

Losing herself more often...These are not my words, although they represent me well.  A wisewoman wrote them, one I’ve recently stumbled upon quite serendipitiously, describing my mystic journey this summer.  As I read this passage, I felt she must have been present in some way to know that I’ve been losing track of time, losing my ability to remain grounded.

My absorption in the knowing of myself stretched out through most of the summer.  It was during this time that I had few words outside of my mind and heart.  My need for solitude became greater than before and I sought it for nourishment and enlightenment.

Thank you to the universe for bringing these words to me during a time when I needed them the most.  Thank you for allowing me to use your words when I had no words present.  Thank you for manifesting this healing concept in my world.

At some point during my summer of secret travels, they appeared with this image and I give credit to Sukhvinder Sircar for their origination.  For more of her beautiful writings and images, visit her blog, Joyous Woman! and find her on Facebook.

Nowadays, she is often losing track of time, day, week and month. Her absorption in the moment, in her work, her art, her prayer is getting deeper. She is beginning to ‘lose time’.  When she arrives back from her secret travels, she says ~ ‘I don’t know where I went’.  Yet she knows she was in a zone where everything already exists.

Some day, when you chance upon such a woman who is deeply absorbed and ask her ‘who are you?’, chances are you may see a knowing coupled with a blank expression. There are no words yet to her knowing.

Sometimes she worries about going missing. Yet loves the sweetness of loosing herself. The more absent she is, the more present she gets. 

She’s meeting herself in unknown ways.

*Sukhvinder Sircar*

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Godspeed to Your Running Soul….

Maurice Sendak -Where the Wild Things Are

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The little boy comes to me with stifled tears, head bowed, chin jutted out, lips pursed together to keep in his words

I lie down behind him smoothing his long graying hair off his neck

He fights so hard; not to feel, not to disappoint, not to let the little boy get too far away from the only place he knows to be safe

I ache for his longings; his undiscovered freedom, stifled passions, joy without limits

I hold space for his gentle heart even when he can’t

He silently slips into sleep as I place a butterfly kiss on his salty neck and watch him come alive in his slumber, leaving tormented consciousness behind

Slowly at first, then with urgency, his legs start to twitch and run

I pray for godspeed to his running soul

and to please find my husband and bring him back

 

Photo credit:  Image from Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

 

 


an unexpected moment of peace…..

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Photo credit: An’ Marie at callmeanmarie.com

Peace and joy are elusive to survivors.

We have to learn and re-learn these types of experiences, cultivating the beautiful aspects of life as if we were students in school grasping a new skill.  I’ve usually been able to be kind of a joy parasite (not to be confused with a joy sucker) who gravitates toward frollicking animals, playful children or any group or individual who is just laughing unabashedly.  I watched and learned what this beautiful emotion was and then set out to mimic it.  These situations always felt right and kind to my heart although in direct conflict with my upbringing.  Kindness and love weren’t taught or shown but pathology and self destruction was handed out freely and often.

Survivors as a general rule haven’t learned how to play well or experience peace.  If we did learn to play, what we were probably experiencing was destruction in action disguised as play;  i.e. out of control drinking/drug/food/anger (fill in your favorite addiction or crazy shit here), driving recklessly, giving ourselves hearts and bodies to men that were undeserving of that sacred gift.  So many behaviors were masked as “a good time” that it took decades for me to truly figure it out.

During my high school years, I usually found myself gravitating toward healthier families.  I certainly can’t take credit for this action for it wasn’t conscious.  But I’ve come to believe that living things; plants, animals, people will gravitate toward health and love and I base that belief on some serious reflection upon my past behaviors.  I wanted a better life and in many ways, set out to get one even as a child.

One family I attached to had two parents, 6 children who were blissfully crowded into a tiny house with a tiny kitchen.  Many families grew up in this fashion in my day, no one owned a McMansion or rarely had a bedroom to themselves.  It was customary to share a room and even a bed with a sibling.  And this was the way it was at C. J.’s  house.  She, myself and several other friends grew up in that tiny house; from junior high girls, into high school girls, to brides, then mothers and now grandmothers.  We’ve buried parents, sent sons to war, survived cheating husbands and celebrated our re-marriages. We’ve lost touch and reconnected many times, rarely without missing a beat.  They are my ya-ya’s, my sisters.

I had the good fortune to spend a weekend with C.J.  It’s always an easy kind of experience to spend time with friend from long ago, who knows your stories and your quirks.  We’ve transcended needing to explain things as we just know each other that well.

It was the usual agenda; yard sales, thrift stores, food, playing with the dogs and cats, naps, late night talks with the girls.  Yeah, girls….56 year old girls. All the good things in life.  My last afternoon was marked by C. J. hosting a dinner (and she’s a fabulous cook by the way) for me before I left for home. Her modest farm home was full just as her childhood home was and served as a playground to many activities that day. After an afternoon of swimming with the grandkids, I plopped myself (temporarily of course) on the living room couch where I soon found myself snuggled in and stretched out.

I can’t exactly describe what happened but whatever “it” was, I’ve managed to hold onto “it” for weeks, even sharing the feeling with other friends. Sitting on the over stuffed couch, I found myself sinking in deeply, letting my tension float away and began to absorb the energy of this household. The sheer comfort of the environment gave way to me lying down putting a throw pillow over my face.  I became so relaxed and peaceful that I couldn’t resist  the temptation to surrender.  During the most blissful two hour nap I’ve had in a long time,  I floated in and out of the commotion of the grandkids playing and eventually crying, the miffed off weiner dog’s continuous bark to get back into the house, doors slamming, the phone ringing, the parental and grand-parental units shushing the kids to be quiet as to not wake me and the most delicious smells of garlic and anchovy coming from the kitchen.  It was a sensory delight.  And it was heaven.

The more that the everyday, normal family life noise increased the more peaceful I became.  A thought came to me as I grinned under my throw pillow; this must be what its like to be a part of a family.  It was okay for me to relax, to feel peace, that loved ones surrounded me, even cooked food to nourish me after my nap.  I recalled a long forgotten dream as a child to belong to a nice family.  And that simple gesture on C. J. ‘s part became a truly, magical afternoon for me.

I left for home that evening, after my nap and dinner, accompanied by my yard sale treasures and fresh tomatoes from their garden.  My most treasured gift was the lightness and peace that I felt.

During the 2 hour drive home, I think my heart actually smiled.

An Marie 1ecc9394106646b69ed2a35e726cecc5

Photo credit: An’ Marie

To view other works by this artist, visit www.callmeanmarie.com


love story in there….somewhere….

girl and dragon

There seems to be light at the end of the tunnel.

I seem to have made it through the latest chapter of dark times.

Hopefully.

When I started this blog, I felt lost.  Then I found myself through writing and gave myself a voice that I’d never possessed before, at least for myself.  I’d been championing for others for decades; animal rights, women’s rights, diversity, environment.  It had become painful apparent to me that a great deal of time had been spent advocating for others and not myself.  That was a game changer.

Writing this blog has enabled me to find my voice through writing but look several issues squarely in the eye.  Honoring myself was one.  A simple bumper sticker noticed by the artist, Terri St. Cloud of Bone Sigh Arts.  Honor Yourself.  Simple words that were nearly impossible to integrate.

The next issue was that I couldn’t wrap my thinking around the fact that someone, anyone would want to read what I had to say.  In my mind, my words had to be profound, a literary masterpiece before putting them out for the world to see.  Shouldn’t I get a MFA in writing or something or some sort of artistic approval before being so bold as to put my words, my life, my history into words?  Well, that answer came soon too.  Survivors trickled in, slowly at first, some stumbling and fragmented, some already having honed their beautiful craft of expression.  All were worthy and I felt so blessed to be a part of a counterculture emerging for survivors, men and women, who were taking back their power.  I wanted to be a part of that.  For me, it was coming home.

My most recent absence is due to my utter confusion and re-entry into that dark place.  You see, I thought I’d been through it and had emerged complete, or at least complete enough.  I thought I was finally, finally in that safe cocoon where I could share my story of abuse and survival with the clarity of hindsight.  I was wrong, at least sort of.

This summer I separated from my husband.  My fairy tale crashed and I felt that I was a fraud.  How on earth could I write stories of hope and love when I had failed at my own love story?  Slowly, I moved through the hazy days of summer with my tool bag (purple of course) of rest, solitude, meditation, reading and dark chocolate.  I cried when I felt like it, wandered through the library, raged at Grandmother moon in the wee hours of the morning when sleep eluded me, slept any time I felt fatigued and tried, oh how I tried, to find joy anywhere I could.  I picked flowers and herbs from my beautiful garden and gave them to anyone I could think of; my church for Sunday morning service, the women at the convenient mart on the corner who are always so kind and make me laugh every time I’m there buying chocolate, my dear friend’s mother who was passing this summer, a friend who works long hours and commutes into the city each day.  I gave them just because.  Just because in the absence of my own joy, I needed to create that precious spark of joy for someone else and live vicariously off of that until I had my own.

Many, many people supported me though this passage, you will find them on my blogroll and Facebook page.  I simply couldn’t have weathered this without logging on to see their daily posts on love, writing, poetry, painting, nature, food.  I traveled with several as they made major changes in their lives too and hope that I provided them a wee bit of support also.

Slowly that spark began to burn again.  Now I have more words and more insight into myself.  I tip my hat to the dark side, purpose well served.

I still live a love story.  Really, there is a love story in here somewhere.  One that, once again, must begin with myself.  With or without a partner, my daughter, my dogs, my house.  I can write words of hope because now I’ve lived them again.  I’m not a fraud but an innocent person who stumbles and trips often, sometimes sitting in the mud puddle I fell in, squalling and crying.  But then there are times, when I laugh and dance around with a soggy tutu.

It’s all good.


So the woman who has danced out of control….

So the woman who has danced out of control, who has lost her footing and lost her feet...has a special and valuable wisdom

 

Thank you Jackie Robinson for coming to the rescue today.  This is the beauty of connection at its best.  One of us puts wise words out in the world, another friend finds them and passes them on.  And so it goes.

As I combed through my inbox, I found this jewel just waiting for me to find at the perfect moment.  From Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run with the Wolves

‘So the woman who has danced out of control, who has lost her footing and lost her feet and understands that bereft state at the end of the fairy tale, has a special and valuable wisdom.’

Wow.

I would consider it an honor and privilege to rise to this occasion that Dr. Estes illustrates.  It would be a personal challenge to take those life challenges where I’ve lost my footing and turn it into my own fairy tale. First, I have to fully grasp and accept the feelings that arise from losing one’s footing.  Each time I do, I believe it to be the last and final time that I’m faced with such challenge that completely knocks me off my feet.  Yet again and again, I’m plunged into that dark place where I must face once again the end of the fairy tale.  But now, I’m starting to understand that there is more than bleak, painful acceptance.  I can use the opportunity of the darkness to rest, spin a beautiful, silky cocoon around myself and re-invent myself, my soul and the fairy tale.

This really got me thinking hard again.  There is much dancing to be done.  Dancing with wild abandon.  Dancing out of control.

I would encourage you to visit Jackie’s site, A Heart’s Whisper and especially Sacred Circle Retreats.  These women, among others, in person and online have kept me afloat during those “bereft” times.

They dance with me out of control.

 


mommy heart

Handed to me fresh and gooey, she stole my heart instantly.

I wasn’t prepared for the impact of pure love when I looked at those eyes, wide open and brown as dark chocolate.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, she was so perfect, so beautiful that I almost felt frightened as she stared directly through my soul.  She never cried, she just watched, taking it all in like the old soul that she was.  In fact, we all remarked that we didn’t  know what her cry sounded like until days later.  Since I had traded the option of pain relief and hospital birth for the autonomy and gentleness of a home birth, I never had to deal with someone whisking her from me until I was good and ready to put her down, which didn’t happen for days.  Our first year is hazy as we slept, nursed endlessly and stayed swaddled to each other to soothe her colic and to ease my anxiety that I must be doing something wrong.

The beautiful child eventually found her footing and released my breast at the exact perfect time for her.  I never pushed her away. Never.  My body and soul was there for her as long as she needed me.  It couldn’t have been any other way.  It was absolutely futile to resist my role as her mother, it called to me so strongly like a destiny that I had been waiting for my entire life.  And I know now, that up until that point, I had never experienced a love like that.  Blinding, pure, knock me off my feet love for this little 6-pound being.  Everything that I had felt for my parents, friends and other loved ones didn’t hold a candle to this.  For the first time, I felt the enormous power of my emotions seize my being.  I knew that I could have lifted a car from this child or flat out murdered anyone who attempted to harm her without a blink of the eye.  I felt that certainty and a distinction that I not experienced prior.

If it was even possible, our life together just got sweeter and sweeter.   We walked and sang and looked at stars.  We caught lightening bugs and set them free in our bedroom at night.  We played late into the summer nights and then went for ice cream. Sleepily, she would crawl onto my lap, wrapping around me murmuring “I love you mommy heart”, her pet name for me when she was especially full of love.

Over the years, I stayed close as she watched other children for endless hours before venturing toward them.  She was reserved and shy.  It was to be respected and always on her time frame. Always.

She became a little girl, then a young woman.  The eye rolling started and the physical touch disappeared.  It hurt.  But it was necessary.  It had to be done. One couldn’t love this intensely and wholly without having the separation be of epic proportion.  So she did what she needed to do at exactly the time that she needed.  She hugged her friends, then her boyfriends.  It was reserved for them now and I made do.

Leaving for college was a snap for her.  Her independent wings had sprouted so long ago that she simply just took off.  Her rock solid foundation of love made it easy for her to leap.  It was never about me, she did exactly what she needed to do at that moment.  She needed to fly.  And I needed to cheer her on.

We approached the deadline of her moving cross country with mixed emotions. She would be leaving her midwestern roots and heading toward the ocean and a new life.  Mostly we occupied ourselves by planning and making lists of necessary items to purchase or pack.  I kept it light and wouldn’t under any circumstances let her see my sadness, only the excitement.  I knew firsthand what a burden it could be to watch a parent crumble as a child left home.  My mother waved bravely as I pulled out of the driveway headed for Texas, post college and headstrong.  It was my mistake to look back.  She sank to her knees sobbing with her head in her hands.  I’ve carried that forever.

My daughter and I were both methodically and consciously trying to let go of each other, coping as best we could,  trying on for size the separation that was inevitable.  We had bonded so completely that it would be difficult to pull this off but we still needed to try.  Maybe that’s why she chose to go so far away.  Maybe she needed the distance to see where she started and I left off.  It made sense.  It was always about her time frame.  She always got to choose what worked best for her.

A few days before she left, I awoke to her sleeping in my bed beside me.  My husband had already left for work and I mistakenly thought the dog had taken his place, but it was her.  A full grown woman replaced the tiny 6 pound miracle that graced my life a mere 25 years before.  We snuggled but not too close, mostly letting the dog absorb our affection, tempering the emotion.  I knew she needed some mother comfort and so did she.  But we didn’t speak of it.  We didn’t have to.

The Saturday morning she left was crisp and clear, a day before her 25th birthday.  The morning air brought that snapshot frozen in time flooding back.  It was the same weather the day of her birth.  It felt  cyclical and right.  We busied ourselves with packing her car then fussed some more and kissed all the dogs and took photos and put off the moment when we had to say goodbye. It was finally upon us.

I wasn’t prepared for the intensity of her hug.  She’d spent over a decade avoiding touching or sometimes barely acknowledging me and the sheer impact of her propelling sobbing body at mine literally knocked me off balance.  My baby.  She’s back.  Pressed up against my heart… how good it felt to hold her again.  I immediately felt guilty for loving the embrace at the expense of her unleashed emotion.

I reassured her that her home was there always, waiting if she needed it.  I held her until she pulled away then came back for one more embrace.  I inhaled her sweet essence and let her cry.  Then I let her pull away from me.  It was always about her. She let go when she was ready and I made do.


would i still be a part of your world…

There is a huge conflict going on inside of me, one that I’ve been denying on many levels for months now.

The anxiety is so huge that there isn’t enough medication, alcohol, or busyness to tame it.  There is a world that beckons me, one that I can’t/won’t/don’t know how to become one with.  Its there in my dreams, its there in my waking thoughts and with me throughout my day, no matter who I’m talking to or what activity I’m attempting  to do.  I smell things when no one else does.  I see shadows out of my periphery constantly.  Any random person’s energy can send me all over the place, reducing me to tears in minutes or set my heart singing with joy.  There are times when I am certain that I am going crazy or are at least partly there already.

Phrases keep cycling through my mind and shadowing my daily activities.  Undoubtedly put there by my higher power, a scrolling ticker-tape message…                           “you are afraid of your spiritual gifts“….“let go and receive”  

Does one really hear sentences from the divine?  Do messages come through like that really?  Complete sentences plopped into your thinking?  Does the divine feel a relentless yet benevolent desire to alert a person to their gifts or journey in a way that they won’t let up for anything?  And more importantly, does a physical body become ill when you don’t live according to your true destiny and path?

The messages coming through the natural world are increasing too.  More hawks swooping over me. Deer peeking out of the bushes when I’m in silent meditation.  Hummingbirds hovering in front of me and looking me in the eye.  Coyotes howling… all grab my attention immediately but what are they saying?  What is with this barrage of information?  I get that its the cosmic “Hey, look at me” but to what?  What am I supposed to get that I’m NOT getting?

I’ve accepted the label of “emotionally sensitive” given to me by therapists, immediate family, friends and those in the healing and mystical arts.  I can live with that.  But even that label is seriously understated.

I now know and acknowledge that I feel things 1000 percent harder than most, maybe more.  It can be a wonderful yet paralyzing gift if there is no one to show or explain to you about the enormity of the feeling you are having.  My world rocks like I’m on a ship being cast about at sea.  I seek answers from those around me and my closest friends get weird questions from me all the time.  Did you feel that person’s sadness/fear/joy?  Do you smell a campfire/skunk/Old Spice/beauty salon smell/cigars, etc?  Or, we need to leave this place, the energy is choking/suffocating/heavy with sadness.  My poor husband and daughter are used to it but frankly, we’ve all thought I’m about to teeter over the edge at times.

But the thought that brings one of my biggest sense of fear and can immediately send me into an anxiety attack of epic proportion is…Will I be totally ostracized when I allow myself to succumb to this beautiful, alternative, spiritual world?

Our media driven-pop culture-capitalist worshipping world we live in is dictated by norms….outward appearance, job, which church one attends(not if), the house one lives in.  I don’t find our world to be a place where our gentleness is admired, where one looks at your heart first, a greeting to inquire of whether you have a spiritual practice or how do you find your peace.

Apparently, I am looking for that place as much as it is looking for me.  But I know I’m still blocking it somehow, wondering and feeling deep anguish over this one central thought.

Would I still be a part of your world if I allowed myself to be fully who I am?   Authentically, beautifully and blissfully weird?

Recommended Links:  Let your freak flag fly….http://www.facebook.com/pages/Ruthless-Compassion-Institute/121541431101


running to the angels…

One of my favorite things to do is listen to webcasts and internet radio interviews.  It is there that I can find my favorite people and specific topics that are not only informative but soothing.  Once I put the earbuds in and close my eyes, its as if the voices are speaking just to me.

Recently  I listened to a online interview with Doreen Virtue, the angel counselor and author.  She, of course, was speaking about her angel therapy; how to recognize and interact with the angels around us.  Her gift is so awesome.  I always find her so reassuring and so certain of the presence of angels and ethereal helpers that I find I can ride along just on her faith.  At times when I’m questioning myself, I find her, God or whoever is in charge of angels more believable than my own heart.   I can very clearly picture Doreen as a divine messenger, fluent in the language of the angels spreading the love around us with ease and grace.  Its a role that I can see bestowed upon another, someone more deserving, someone more enlightened.  That makes sense to me in a self deprecating sort of way.

One phrase in particular that she said made me perk up and pay attention.  I’m loosely paraphrasing here but the message is exact.  She stated that once you feel that you are communicating with your angels, once you find your magic that you should run to the angels.  Don’t hesitate, just run to them.

Wow…what a beautiful message!  Run to the angels.  YES! I love it, I’m gonna do that….OK, how do I do that?

Holding onto that message throughout the last few days, I play with the idea of a meet and greet with my angels.  Let me back up and say here that I’ve always felt a presence, a energy bigger than myself, front and center in my life.  I don’t doubt that for a moment….it might be them, spirit guides, my beloved mother, God or a collection of all of them.  I do recognize their magic in just the beauty and abundance around me in my everyday life.  But I want to take this to a more intimate level and am wholly  intrigued with a more up front and personal relationship with my angels and how exactly I’m gonna run to them.

So, I go outside this morning and and under my favorite tree to see if I can summon up any thoughts on this angel thing.  I begin to picture them there, all around me; bobbing around, floating, hovering like little baby fairies.  But wait, I can’t run to them if I make them little, I will squish them.  OK, back to the visualization… I need to work with my human and literalist personality here….I close my eyes and make them bigger, more human adult size and dang, all I can picture is one of those sappy movie scenes where the two lovers are running through a field of daisies with orchestra music in the background.  I smack into one of my angels and we fall to the ground laughing.  Sigh.  This really needs some work.

I’m definitely a work in progress.  Incorporating time with the angels is something I will add to my life but for now, I need to relax a bit and  stop trying so hard.  I recall how Charlie Brown felt when he suddenly was “aware of his tongue”.  He stood still, somewhat frozen as he described the feeling of being aware of something that has been there all along.  His tongue, this meaty mass of connective tissue has been present every day for him, helping him swallow and chew, keeping things flowing in his mouth department.  But with a crazy flash of awareness, he doesn’t know what to do with it now.  So he stays still until he and his tongue reintegrate finally relaxing and moving on with his comic strip day.

I understand that.  I have suddenly been made aware of my angels again.  No doubt  I must be a very frustrating subject for my angelic helpers because I tend to get the more overt signs like billboards and bull horns, usually missing the subtle signs completely.  Thank God they are patient entities that look at my bumbling and stumbling with love and endearment.  Last year this time, they sent me an owl to stay with me for weeks until I finally saw that beautiful gesture for the magic that it was.  I did get it, but it took me a while.  But what I lack in natural aptitude I do make up with genuine love and willingness.

So, I come inside after my episode of angel bumping in my yard and sit.  Rosie hops on my lap and we close our eyes.  We opt for prayers of gratitude and sending love out to the people in my life.  This seems like a more appropriate way for me to connect in this moment. I’ll stop trying so hard and let the love flow through me.   I’m thinking this will make us all happy for now.


Woot! I got a HUG award…

WOW…ANOTHER AWARD…I FEEL LIKE A ROCK STAR!

Seriously, I never anticipated getting the opportunity to meet so many wonderful people through my little ole’ blog…its been fabulous and an unexpected treat.  I so enjoy meeting fellow bloggers, artists and all around great folks sharing their experiences to better the world we live in.  What a blast!

A wonderful woman and new friend, Sheila Hurst, nominated me for a HUG award which was awesome in itself….and then I read the description and got really humbled.  Simply put, I want my writing to change something.  While it has changed me dramatically, giving me purpose to an otherwise unexplainable and tragic view of my young life and physical health, I wanted it to go further.  These friends-with-blog-efits have been my saving grace and I do believe that by connecting and supporting each other, we will HUG the world.

Check out Sheila’s blog and send her some love at http://sheilahurst.wordpress.com

The HUG Award© was initiated by Connie Wayne at A Hope for Today at http://ahopefortoday.comwhich promotes hope, love, peace, equality, and unity for all people.

The HUG Award© is for people with an expectant desire for the world, for which they: Hope for Love; Hope for Freedom; Hope for Peace; Hope for Equality; Hope for Unity;Hope for Joy and Happiness; Hope for Compassion and Mercy; Hope for Faith; Hope for Wholeness and Wellness; Hope for Prosperity; Hope for Ecological Preservation;Hope for Oneness

The HUG Award© recognizes and honors those who help keep hope alive in our current world, which is plagued by war, natural disasters, and economic recession.  They nurture hope, in any of the above areas (in italics),  by the work they do, or in their personal lives with things such as blogging, public speaking, charity work, etc.

For more information on this award, please visit: http://ahopefortoday.com/2012/01/14/hope-unites-globally-hug-award-guidelines/

Wow…now I need to get out there to honor and earn this award….and I will love every minute of it….Thanks Sheila and Connie!


it was the boy at Jack in the Box…

The holidays, starting with Thanksgiving and ending after New Years, is a time I could do without.  This year I’ve obliterated them completely.  No Christmas tree, not one gift will be purchased, the house is cluttered and what christmas cookies I made plus the ones given to me have long been consumed, mostly as an entire meal. Yes, I ate them as a meal.

Trust me, you don’t want to depend on me for providing any type of holiday spirit.  I don’t decorate and I’m not perky.  If you want to come by and drink spiked eggnog and talk about books, that would be great.  Its not that I’m a scrooge, its just the rampant commercialism and stressed out people trying to find money they don’t have to buy presents they don’t need doesn’t inspire me. Combine that with how I’ve nearly been killed twice this week alone from accelerating careening SUV’s with blonde ladies at the wheel screaming into a cell phone with her 2.2 kids strapped in the back watching a video, makes me want to hide until spring.

Now, if you scrape and scrape the layers of all this crap out of the way, behind all the glitz and glitter and marketing ploys, you will find some of the most precious and caring stories of love and generosity that seem to come out only at this time of year.  That part I love, the true magic of the human spirit.  That inspires me.  But I also don’t feel that it should be limited to one part of the year.  Part of the reason that my husband and I don’t exchange gifts is that we strive to feel the essence of Christmas and the spirit of giving throughout the entire year.  Well, that and the fact that he has horrible gift anxiety that isn’t worth provoking.

So I find that if I go somewhere in nature or a place with books or something similar, I can escape the holidays.  Its difficult but do-able.  I’m lost in my thoughts as I run through my options of the day of where to hide and write and read.  My stomach beckons me into the fast food drive through as “Bill” welcomes me to Jack in the Box, where they serve breakfast the whole live-long day….I sit stunned at his authentic, hysterical greeting and then lose it.  His comment strikes me as the funniest thing I’ve heard in days and I proceed to laugh right into his loudspeaker.  “Bill” caught me by surprise with his audition-ready rehearsed ,Waiting for Guffman phrase.  He seriously cracked me up breaking the spell of sadness I’ve been sitting with. I’m struck with the wonderful, recently unfamiliar feeling of joy.  Its been days and I’ve been the walking dead. I’m wondering if “Bill” was the catalyst to me finding my moment of bliss or if I have just finally crossed over into insanity.  I order my food and wait excitedly to chat with him more at the pick up window.

I’m bummed that he is busy and can’t chat when I arrive realizing that his humor wasn’t specifically meant for me but for all who drive through.  He’s completely unaware of the gift he’s given me.  Its okay, I’ll take the joy anyway.  I’m so happily munching away on my breakfast sandwich that I’ve almost finished it before I realize that they forgot to put the bacon on it.  And yes, I eat bacon too.


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