I will post from now on, at my old location: http://WhisperofFields.blogspot.com/
Friday, May 24, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Blooms in Winter
This morning is easier. The frogs sound nightly in the Pond, and I almost got all the lawn mowed yesterday. This morning is rich with humidity, but is still cool enough to enjoy. Rain overnight, apparently. I miss the sound of it in this basement apartment.
But when I walk out, to take the dog to his line, the grass is especially green, emerald green, on fire green. The flowers appreciate the overnight drink.
I need to take pictures today. Last night, my midnight snack was popcorn. The New Adventurers, the kittens, have gotten to the bag, and dug out what is left. They carry it in their mouths all over the apartment, like swarming tiny ants.
Tomorrow they leave, except for Autumn, now named Pancake.
Tomorrow, Winston Churchill, the biggest of the litter, will go to his new home, and Shrek and Minkins II will return to Angels of Assisi, to be showcased, and eventually, adopted.
Pancake will stay with me for more socialization, until she moves in with a friend of mine, who is her new parent. I know you rejoice with me that two of them are adopted already. I hope that Shrek and Minkins II will not stay at Angels for too long. I have hope.
Tomorrow morning, I will again start to blog from Whisper of Fields. I will post on Facebook, Twitter and Google the same as always, so it will not be hard to find me.
This morning, the grief is less. It slowly leaves, slower than a stream in a forest. It was as loud as a cicada, and now only murmurs. It stirs the wind like butterfly wings, instead of roaring by in a torrent. It is therapy day, a day when shafts of sunlight shine down through the trees. The forest is oak today, and there are no brambles between the trunks. Just pale silver, tallish grass, like a prairie.
The paving stones outside my door are still festooned with the violets. And the stone is dark grey today, and the ground steams. The impatiens wait like small, colorful soldiers, straight and tallish. The yellow wildflower has two more blooms. I hope today will be a cool, still day.
But when I walk out, to take the dog to his line, the grass is especially green, emerald green, on fire green. The flowers appreciate the overnight drink.
I need to take pictures today. Last night, my midnight snack was popcorn. The New Adventurers, the kittens, have gotten to the bag, and dug out what is left. They carry it in their mouths all over the apartment, like swarming tiny ants.
Tomorrow they leave, except for Autumn, now named Pancake.
Pancake will stay with me for more socialization, until she moves in with a friend of mine, who is her new parent. I know you rejoice with me that two of them are adopted already. I hope that Shrek and Minkins II will not stay at Angels for too long. I have hope.
Tomorrow morning, I will again start to blog from Whisper of Fields. I will post on Facebook, Twitter and Google the same as always, so it will not be hard to find me.
This morning, the grief is less. It slowly leaves, slower than a stream in a forest. It was as loud as a cicada, and now only murmurs. It stirs the wind like butterfly wings, instead of roaring by in a torrent. It is therapy day, a day when shafts of sunlight shine down through the trees. The forest is oak today, and there are no brambles between the trunks. Just pale silver, tallish grass, like a prairie.
The paving stones outside my door are still festooned with the violets. And the stone is dark grey today, and the ground steams. The impatiens wait like small, colorful soldiers, straight and tallish. The yellow wildflower has two more blooms. I hope today will be a cool, still day.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Liminal Reading
For out-of-towners: Liminal, An Alternative Artspace is an event created by Cara Ellen Modisett to showcase local talent. It's held at the Community High School, in downtown Roanoke. Local and guest artists are invited to share their work in an informal setting, a "conversation".
I have been privileged to be able to read at two of these events. I have to say, last night was my favorite. Usually a theme is set, and writers loosely keep to the topic. Last night, it was a no-holds-barred free for all. Writers are also filmed and posted on Youtube, so if you want to meet me, you can Google the event...
I read about my adventures in Scotland, with my brother, Marc. It's actually on my blog, "Whisper of Fields" at http://whisperoffields.blogspot.com/
My reading is from the very beginning of Whisper of Fields. I hope it brings as much fun reading, as it did writing.
I would like to start blogging from Whisper of Fields again, but don't want to confuse, or lose readers. Let me know what you think, won't you?
I struggle this morning with feelings that are unpleasant. All the bane of an alcoholic/mental health diagnoses survivor: resentment, hurt, anger, grief, sadness and gratitude. It's a difficult time for me, but that's the life I live since my diagnoses.
Today is easier than yesterday, and perhaps tomorrow will be even easier, as I re-acquire my routine. There is a good deal of comfort, of course, in everyday events. Liminal made me feel amazing, and I thank Cara, Maurice, and the other writers and the audience for that. I suppose it is meant to be a showcase of talent. But I see it as a way to have a conversation with thirty people at once. That is an astonishing interaction, from both sides.
I have been asked to pull the weeds from around the paving stones outside. I kept saying, "The violets?" because violets they are. I like their broad, spade shaped leaves, even after the violets have faded. I was assured, in a firm voice, that they were weeds.
I need to mow the lawn, and weed the front beds, which of course, is much more important, and should remain my first priority. There is a bright yellow wildflower out there, as well. It's leaves look a bit like wild onion. The hydrangea is about to bloom, big blue blooms, and the impatiens need to go into the ground today. They do well in the strip of earth by the back door. I would love a rose bush, and climbing rose, out there as well. But higher Power doesn't make roses that like that much shade.
The lavender blooms, and spreads, at the same time. Clover dots the grass, and the azalea are pink blooms under the maple tree. The poison ivy spreads there, as well. The lemony light that I love in the fall is replaced by a white dawn, and still cool breezes.
Kittens and unicorn meat eating cats get kisses this morning. Soon the kittens will go back to Angels of Assisi, to await adoption.
That event will be this Friday, May 24, 2013. I think I will pick that day to start blogging from Whisper of Fields again. This version, of the same blog, will wait until the winter, when the shadows of the trees line up like iron bars on the frost tipped grass.
I have been privileged to be able to read at two of these events. I have to say, last night was my favorite. Usually a theme is set, and writers loosely keep to the topic. Last night, it was a no-holds-barred free for all. Writers are also filmed and posted on Youtube, so if you want to meet me, you can Google the event...
I read about my adventures in Scotland, with my brother, Marc. It's actually on my blog, "Whisper of Fields" at http://whisperoffields.blogspot.com/
My reading is from the very beginning of Whisper of Fields. I hope it brings as much fun reading, as it did writing.
I would like to start blogging from Whisper of Fields again, but don't want to confuse, or lose readers. Let me know what you think, won't you?
I struggle this morning with feelings that are unpleasant. All the bane of an alcoholic/mental health diagnoses survivor: resentment, hurt, anger, grief, sadness and gratitude. It's a difficult time for me, but that's the life I live since my diagnoses.
Today is easier than yesterday, and perhaps tomorrow will be even easier, as I re-acquire my routine. There is a good deal of comfort, of course, in everyday events. Liminal made me feel amazing, and I thank Cara, Maurice, and the other writers and the audience for that. I suppose it is meant to be a showcase of talent. But I see it as a way to have a conversation with thirty people at once. That is an astonishing interaction, from both sides.
I have been asked to pull the weeds from around the paving stones outside. I kept saying, "The violets?" because violets they are. I like their broad, spade shaped leaves, even after the violets have faded. I was assured, in a firm voice, that they were weeds.
I need to mow the lawn, and weed the front beds, which of course, is much more important, and should remain my first priority. There is a bright yellow wildflower out there, as well. It's leaves look a bit like wild onion. The hydrangea is about to bloom, big blue blooms, and the impatiens need to go into the ground today. They do well in the strip of earth by the back door. I would love a rose bush, and climbing rose, out there as well. But higher Power doesn't make roses that like that much shade.
The lavender blooms, and spreads, at the same time. Clover dots the grass, and the azalea are pink blooms under the maple tree. The poison ivy spreads there, as well. The lemony light that I love in the fall is replaced by a white dawn, and still cool breezes.
Kittens and unicorn meat eating cats get kisses this morning. Soon the kittens will go back to Angels of Assisi, to await adoption.
That event will be this Friday, May 24, 2013. I think I will pick that day to start blogging from Whisper of Fields again. This version, of the same blog, will wait until the winter, when the shadows of the trees line up like iron bars on the frost tipped grass.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Moss and Lightning
There is a calm after the storms yesterday. Lightning darted from cloud to cloud, pink and violent. My meds kicked in this morning, and I, too, feel calmer. My friend who had the cookout the other day, the household goddess, brought me fresh trout for dinner. How she takes care of all those who are around her, and comforts me as well, astonishes me.
I am not my mental health diagnoses, nor am I, what Eckhart Tolle calls, the Mind. Any more than I am gender role imposed by culture. There is a core Me, that surpasses all of my surface identity, and all of my past. I could call it the soul, or the Holy Spirit. I think of it as simply, Me. It is the core self, and you have one, too.
I lean heavily on Tolle's teachings right now, in this season of hurt. I am not all the definitions imposed on me by others, anymore than I am the Mind. And I lean on the old saying, "This, too, shall pass." Events move on, in a too frenetic pace. I am withdrawing some, in an effort to slow events down. I practice Core Mindfulness, to stay sane. Core Mindfulness is nothing more than breaking the pace of time down, the pace of life down, to each separate minute. I pay attention to each moment as it comes, and then, let it go. I concentrate on my breathing, to the rise and fall of breath. I extend my other senses, to notice each moment to the fullest.
That is what Nature does for me. How easy to stand in a quiet forest, listening to each bird's song, and seeing each blade of grass. How easy it is to imagine my higher Power as a ball of energy in the middle of this forest. There are ferns there, that grow by the path, and small Lady Slippers. The sunlight comes down in shafts between the trees. There is moss at the base of each tree. Eddie, my service animal, waits there, quietly. There is a beautiful stream that talks on the edges of the forest, that rushes past rock spun down to its essential form, by the water.
The hurt is taken by the water, downstream, away from the forest's core.
I am not my mental health diagnoses, nor am I, what Eckhart Tolle calls, the Mind. Any more than I am gender role imposed by culture. There is a core Me, that surpasses all of my surface identity, and all of my past. I could call it the soul, or the Holy Spirit. I think of it as simply, Me. It is the core self, and you have one, too.
I lean heavily on Tolle's teachings right now, in this season of hurt. I am not all the definitions imposed on me by others, anymore than I am the Mind. And I lean on the old saying, "This, too, shall pass." Events move on, in a too frenetic pace. I am withdrawing some, in an effort to slow events down. I practice Core Mindfulness, to stay sane. Core Mindfulness is nothing more than breaking the pace of time down, the pace of life down, to each separate minute. I pay attention to each moment as it comes, and then, let it go. I concentrate on my breathing, to the rise and fall of breath. I extend my other senses, to notice each moment to the fullest.
That is what Nature does for me. How easy to stand in a quiet forest, listening to each bird's song, and seeing each blade of grass. How easy it is to imagine my higher Power as a ball of energy in the middle of this forest. There are ferns there, that grow by the path, and small Lady Slippers. The sunlight comes down in shafts between the trees. There is moss at the base of each tree. Eddie, my service animal, waits there, quietly. There is a beautiful stream that talks on the edges of the forest, that rushes past rock spun down to its essential form, by the water.
The hurt is taken by the water, downstream, away from the forest's core.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Red Sky
I am back into my routine, doing all the right things for me. I hate that I lost my sobriety last week, on Wednesday, but that is the past. The only thing to do is move on. Today I am grateful for: rain, shelter, food, my animals, coffee.Yesterday, I divorced all troubled relationships from my mind for the day, and surrounded myself with people who love me. There is a woman who helped me with my Mother, when Mom was dying. She is a household goddess in human form. As she cooked, she tended a baby playing at her feet, and one barely a month old. She moved between the stove, and both children, with practiced hands. Somehow, she understands that I am not my mental health diagnoses. It's soothing to be in her presence.
The frogs are back in the Pond. Every year here, the Pool devolves into the Pond, over the winter. To clean the pool, I have to get in the pond and sweep it, with a pool brush. The water is too cold yet. Cause I said so.
There is one lone bird out there this morning, and my lavender is about to bloom. We have had 3 days of differing kinds of rain: hissing, spitting, floating. The impatiens do wonderfully in this weather. I love the new green of the leaves, as the rain makes them gleam. The grass is lush, and hints of the pleasure of mowing. The violets have gone from the stones outside my door, but one lovely yellow flower blooms there, now. I think the zinnia will go in the ground, today.
The sky is light enough to turn off the porch light, which I leave on for the unicorn meat eating cats, to hunt by. My coffee is strong this morning, and I watch the gladiolas grow.
The frogs are back in the Pond. Every year here, the Pool devolves into the Pond, over the winter. To clean the pool, I have to get in the pond and sweep it, with a pool brush. The water is too cold yet. Cause I said so.
There is one lone bird out there this morning, and my lavender is about to bloom. We have had 3 days of differing kinds of rain: hissing, spitting, floating. The impatiens do wonderfully in this weather. I love the new green of the leaves, as the rain makes them gleam. The grass is lush, and hints of the pleasure of mowing. The violets have gone from the stones outside my door, but one lovely yellow flower blooms there, now. I think the zinnia will go in the ground, today.
The sky is light enough to turn off the porch light, which I leave on for the unicorn meat eating cats, to hunt by. My coffee is strong this morning, and I watch the gladiolas grow.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Emotion Mind
So I go off my meds for 6 days, and it's a total disaster. I don't rail at myself for doing it, although I shouldn't have done it. It's the simple desire to be "normal" again. To live without pills and constant and unending appointments and group.
It's about facing reality everyday, in every decision I make. It's real. It's fear.
It's about the look on someone's face when they realize, "This woman is a bit off." It's wanting to tell them up front, what they are in for, when I form friendships. It's about not scaring them to death up front.
In my case, it's about having irreparable brain damage. I was injured in a car accident. The frontal lobe, that governs judgement, is severely damaged...
I had a dream last night about my old therapist. He was smiling wisely, and it was a joy to see him.
It's about having Emotion Mind, the condition of having no reasoning skills on board at the moment. Reason Mind is not acknowledging feelings, and not being in contact with myself. Wise Mind is the best of both worlds...to know and care for myself, and behave responsibly toward others.
It's weariness about having symptoms: I will turn to Wikipedia for that.
It's about facing reality everyday, in every decision I make. It's real. It's fear.
It's about the look on someone's face when they realize, "This woman is a bit off." It's wanting to tell them up front, what they are in for, when I form friendships. It's about not scaring them to death up front.
In my case, it's about having irreparable brain damage. I was injured in a car accident. The frontal lobe, that governs judgement, is severely damaged...
I had a dream last night about my old therapist. He was smiling wisely, and it was a joy to see him.
It's about having Emotion Mind, the condition of having no reasoning skills on board at the moment. Reason Mind is not acknowledging feelings, and not being in contact with myself. Wise Mind is the best of both worlds...to know and care for myself, and behave responsibly toward others.
It's weariness about having symptoms: I will turn to Wikipedia for that.
Borderline personality disorder (BPD) (called emotionally unstable personality disorder, borderline type in the ICD-10) is a personality disorder characterized by unusual variability and depth of moods.[1] These moods may secondarily affect cognition and interpersonal relationships.[n 1]
Other symptoms of BPD include impulsive behavior, intense and unstable interpersonal relationships, unstable self-image, feelings of abandonment and an unstable sense of self.[2] People with BPD often engage in idealization and devaluation of themselves and of others, alternating between high positive regard and heavy disappointment or dislike.[3] Self-harm and suicidal behavior are common and may require inpatient psychiatric care.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Yard Sale
To Yardsale: an American expression; to describe the activity of driving around in the suburbs, and stopping at people's houses, to buy things they put out for sale.
Saturday is the prime day for yard sales, and I am going to the Salem Civic Center today, for the March of Dimes yard sale. Of course, it's not in a yard, per se, but that's alright. It rained last night and is supposed to rain again today. Not like any good hurricane ever stopped a yard sale. Sellers and shoppers alike, will be out in droves. It's summer. It's Saturday. Time to yard sale.
It is that time of year, to put out Great Aunt Sadie's mismatched decorative bathroom owl hangings, and her last pack of Depends. For .10 cents, these treasures can be yours. After all, one will need something to put out, later on in the summer, in one's own yard sale. When the clutter in the house reaches the ceiling, and several people suspiciously disappear when they enter the "craft room" it's time to hold one's own yard sale.
It's a never ending, fun, way to recycle all your stuff, and get new, to you at least, stuff.
There is one caveat: in order to get the really good stuff, one has to get up about 3 a.m., because yard sales begin at the crack of dawn, no matter the time you have planned or posted, to open. The official crack of dawn, is when people will knock on your door to see your stuff.
By 10 a.m., the whole thing winds down, and everyone takes a breather for breakfast.
Saturday is the prime day for yard sales, and I am going to the Salem Civic Center today, for the March of Dimes yard sale. Of course, it's not in a yard, per se, but that's alright. It rained last night and is supposed to rain again today. Not like any good hurricane ever stopped a yard sale. Sellers and shoppers alike, will be out in droves. It's summer. It's Saturday. Time to yard sale.
It is that time of year, to put out Great Aunt Sadie's mismatched decorative bathroom owl hangings, and her last pack of Depends. For .10 cents, these treasures can be yours. After all, one will need something to put out, later on in the summer, in one's own yard sale. When the clutter in the house reaches the ceiling, and several people suspiciously disappear when they enter the "craft room" it's time to hold one's own yard sale.
It's a never ending, fun, way to recycle all your stuff, and get new, to you at least, stuff.
There is one caveat: in order to get the really good stuff, one has to get up about 3 a.m., because yard sales begin at the crack of dawn, no matter the time you have planned or posted, to open. The official crack of dawn, is when people will knock on your door to see your stuff.
By 10 a.m., the whole thing winds down, and everyone takes a breather for breakfast.
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