Everywhere Holy: Review & GIVEAWAY!

Everywhere Holy by Kara Lawler, © 2019, Thomas Nelson

Do you ever stop and wonder who you are, where you are going, and how you got here in the first place? Maybe question how life got away from you or wonder where it all turned in the direction you are headed now? More importantly, have you asked yourself how you can get your feet back on the ground again?

Kara Lawler has.

Kara is the author of Everywhere Holy. She is also a wife, mother, teacher, daughter, and friend, but sometimes she struggles with anxiety and depression, and feels like she has lost her path. In the writing of this book, she has sought to recognize the good in her life and signs that prove to her that God is watching out for her. For her, seeing cows in a field, dancing in the rain, collecting eggs from her chickens, and truly listening to her children are examples of being present. More than present though. These are moments, when recognized, that are holy, and they are everywhere when you look for them and recognize them.

Giveaway Time!

Do you struggle with self worth? Have you wondered and wandered lost on your path? Time to stop. Breathe. Look around and see the miracles. Whether that is a hug from your child, a memory from your youth, a kind word from a stranger, or the sharing of a moment with someone. They might not seem like much, but when we look and start to add them up, they can change the way you look at life.

Do you need a hand with that? How would the opportunity to read Everywhere Holy yourself sound? Pretty sweet, right! It is a great book to start the year off with if you are dreaming of a new year, new you.

I am hosting a giveaway of Kara Lawler's new book Everywhere Holy. One lucky reader will win a copy of her book. All you have to do is share a moment when you recognized you were lost, but discovered ways to turn that moment around. Did you struggle to conceive, so instead adopted a child? Maybe you hated your job, and took the plunge to start a new career? Or are you at a loss with raising teenagers, so have turned to friends for advice or help?

Enter now! Contest ends January 24, 2020.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Award for Best Supporting Actor Goes To...

The bell rang signalling the end of first period. I walked out of Mr Warne's class with a new textbook, my class list, and a dull fear of how I was going to maneuver the rest of the school day minus the one thing that everyone else seemed to have—a locker. Somehow, I fell short in the locker lottery and would now be forced to carry all my possessions for the rest of the day. Scratch that, for the rest of the school year. Not so bad now with only one textbook in my backpack, but there were seven more classes to go, and sure to be many more books added to the load before the day was through. The office suggested sharing a locker with a friend, but that was something I had in short supply. I had squeaked through primary school with one and she now went to a different high school.

By my first spare, I had picked up a couple more textbooks, but no more friends. Always painfully shy, this would be far harder than solving a math equation or analyzing an English paragraph. I slipped towards the gymnasium looking for a corner to hide out in and ease my backpack off my shoulder. And that is when Nikki smiled in my direction.

"Hi," she said. "I think you were in my homeroom with Mr Warne. What did you think of him?"

"Um. He's alright I guess," I mumbled.

No one ever typically sought me out for conversation. I felt out of my depth, but somehow buoyed by her friendliness. She had mousy brown hair, an English Beat tee-shirt, and big, beige glasses that took over half her face. Just like mine did. And apparently she wasn't put off by my Bi-way cords or equally mousy haircut in a slightly light shade.

We chatted for a few minutes, and then she commented that my bag looked heavy.

"Yeah," I replied. "I didn't get a locker. I guess I'll have to get used to it."

"Do you want to share mine?" she asked.

And with that, I gained a best friend who would fade in and out of my life for years, but would always be there to share the load when I needed a friend the most.

∞∞∞

Today's 30-Day Writing Challenge though is two parts. The above is part one. The second half of the challenge is to imagine what life would have looked like if my supporting actor had not stepped into my world. 

How did they change you and how have they influenced your life? Try to imagine who you would be without them. Write that scene again but without them. 

∞∞∞ 

I walked out of Mr Warne's class. Barbie and Kelly pushed by me laughing at some inside joke I wasn't privy to. Kelly looked over her shoulder, as they got to their locker.

"Nice glasses," she muttered to Barbie with a nod in my direction. Both girls snickered cruelly, as they jammed their heavy backpacks into the shared space.

"Oh, look," Barbie added.

"Twinsies," she cried as another girl slunk out of the now empty classroom. "It's the nerd squad!"

I put my head down and quickly walked away from them. The weight of my backpack was nothing compared to the embarrassment that weighed me down by being centred out by the 'cool' girls. I might not ever had been overly popular, but being singled out to be picked on was more than I could stomach on my first day of school. My only friend from primary school went to another high school, leaving me alone in a sea of strangers. Anxiety swelled inside me as I fled away from their taunts. I was too scared to stand up to their cruelty and too shy to seek out the other poor girl who was sadly lumped into my geek domain. She didn't need that kind of stigma.

At the end of the hall, I escaped into the girls bathroom. Older girls stared at me, as I stumbled in. This wasn't the refuge I imagined. Those weren't friendly eyes boring holes into my cheap Bi-way outfit. I wouldn't fit in here either. Maybe I wouldn't fit in anywhere...

∞∞∞

Would it have gone down like that? I don't want to know. With a new friend at my side, I gained confidence to find my voice, to find my tribe, to find my path. I am blesses that she walks on my path still and has influenced my life for the better every step of the way. She is a positive role model and amazing cheerleader for anyone who needs the boost. She might have experienced her own ebbs and flows in life, but she sure isn't afraid to fight for what's right for the downtrodden, little guys, or marginalized. And her soul makes mine stronger to fight for the same rights for those in need in my neck of the woods. She is definitely one of the best supporting actors in my life. 💕

Steps

A New Year
a new day...
More of the same, like days gone by?
~ hoping for more I pray.

Prayers are good and fine,
but actions beget more.
It's time to take life in mine own hands
and create a path to explore.

Idle steps lead nowhere fast;
if I want to find life and pep
the route to this door, this trail
starts today in my chosen step

So walk along, I wander;
my route mine to choose.
This year, a year of purpose
peace and happiness—the goal, to not abuse

What path have you set yourself on in 2016?

The Children's Crusade

The Children's Crusade, by Ann Packer, © 2015, Scribner

Oak trees are well known symbols of power and strength. Whatever culture you look at resonates that thought in some manner or other. So when Bill Blair stumbles across a magnificent oak tree in California after his discharge from the navy, he makes the decision to purchase the land with visions of a family in mind.

Several years later, the oak tree is the central grounding space for the Blair family. Bill marries Penny and they quickly have four children. But Penny's vision had always been three and when James shakes up her plan, life will never be the same. Robert, Rebecca and Ryan were all she thought she wanted, but once motherhood surrounds her, she finds she cannot breath. And slowly she disconnects from it to follow a passion for art, leaving Bill and the children behind.

As Ann Packer weaves the tale of the Blair family, the perspective jumps between the children's views of the world they were raised in. They all take turns analyzing their relationship with their doting father and a mother whom they had strived to interest in them to no avail. Packer shows a family growing up, finding their ways into adulthood and encourages her readers to question how those years mold us into who we might become. Does an ambivalent mother account for James' chaotic behaviour in his youth and into an adulthood fraught with bad decisions and questionable actions? Would Bill's methodical parenting have been the reason for Rebecca's always analytical take on life? Where did Robert's anger stem from—being first-born and infused with the sense he had to be first/best at everything, yet not measuring up to those expectations? And sensitive Ryan; how did his quiet, loving soul get formed in the midst of the oft-times chaos that was their family life growing up?

This book will be the first novel discussed when my book club resumes this fall and I believe it will spark interesting dialogue. I suspect different people will associate with one or another characters. And the role of mothering versus following one's own personal goals might be a hot-button conversation amongst our members, who consist of both mothers and those whom have not had children for one reason and another. Where is the fine line between finding one's personal joy and being responsible for the children you have chosen to bring into the world?

If you have read the book, what is your take on it? The novel is a compelling read and has found its way onto the favourite lists of many people. Is it that we can all relate to Packer's dysfunctional family in one way or another? Perhaps. Life is never perfect, but it is entertaining. And if you haven't read it, this novel is too.

Life After Life

 Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson, © 2013, Bond Street Books

What if you had life to live all over again? And you were able to learn from the mistakes you made in the first go round? Would you do it all again? Would you try to make a difference for
yourself and the world around you?

Ursula Todd was born on February 11th, 1910. In the middle of a snowstorm, no one comes to the aid of her mother and she dies with the cord wrapped around her neck.

On February 11th, 1910, Ursula Todd is born in the middle of a snowstorm. After a quick scare, she cries to life.

As Kate Atkinson weaves the tale of Ursula's life, we travel through England during a dark time. The world is on the brink of war. Ursula lives only to die at the hands of fate. Repeatedly. After every death, she is born again to do it all over anew, but with subtle twists to extend the story.

Ursula is not untouched by this cyclical life. By the time she reaches puberty, déjà vu plagues her at every turn. Death seems to stalk her, but she learns to outsmart his hand repeatedly. Sometimes whether she wants to or not. Her family notes her odd ways, but it is only Ursula and the reader who see the purpose of it all. And as time marches on that purpose becomes a spectre that many historians would like to see smoted as well.

While I read Ursula's tale, I could not help but think on parts of my own life that could have been changed. Have I lived more than once? Have I danced with death, but picked a safer path this time? If I changed something, would my world look completely different or just slightly askew?

I cannot help but think that there are many lessons to be learned on the path we walk at present. As tempting as it is to go back in time and set things to rights, is that really the right answer? It is an interesting question and one that got Kate Atkinson a Costa Book Award for Novel (2013), plus several literary nominations for awards. I guess that means that a few other people have asked that same question themselves then, doesn't it?

This one is well worth the read in my books!

missing

I rolled over and my arm fell on the cold spot in the bed.

How long would it be before that wasn't a shock to the system anymore? No one else warmed the sheets. No one else would be making the coffee. No lover stood in the shower, or had walked out the front door on their way to work for the day. No one else filled the gas tank or my many waking hours. I was alone.

After so many weeks, how was it that fresh tears could still form under swollen lids? Was I doomed to this nightmare forever more? Would I ever wake up from this sick and twisted turn of my life? The answer of course was no.

Life no longer held another to be responsible to or to care about my fate. I could bypass the potatoes when buying groceries and never step into a hardware store ever again. But I was drawn to them none the less. The ten pound bags of yukon gold made my cry. I wandered the aisles of big box stores, feeling lost, but somehow drawn to the next lane to see if there was some other item that I really did need. When I did find something to purchase, I stared at my choices for what seemed an eternity, not wanting to fail and never confident enough about my own decisions. I needed to prove myself, but felt like I always set myself up to fail. The wrong size, shape or consistency doomed me every time. I returned the next week to try again though. And again.

This missing appendage was bigger than the spot on the bed and it amazed me how it grew with time. I now questioned food choices, TV shows, wall colours and more. I couldn't decide on a new bath tub, as what would happen if I picked wrong? How could I live with myself if I chose one roofer over another and the sky fell in?

Somehow the challenges kept coming though. Somehow I managed to choose. And one day I recognized that you weren't really missing anymore. You had been there all along, catching every tear that I shed. You applauded my choices and did your best to offer advice in the only way you could, through memories and slight of hand persuasions that I picked up on, but never quite realized. You sent me praise through a friend's touch or faith from your daughter's eyes. And occasionally, I found a piece of you that you left in my path  and I knew that you would be with me til the end.

That spot in the bed is no longer cold and I feel your smile on my shoulders strong. It is amazing that I was lost for so long, but slowly I awake and find I am missing no more.

♥♥♥

Again, not quite fiction, but drawn from a prompt at Mostly Fiction Mondays brought to us from Stranger and Me

Go With The Flow

Adrift, I throw a stick into the trickling stream and watch it tumble away from me, like so many moments upon my path. It gets sucked down into the boiling rapids, pops back up farther downstream, and then drifts aimless on towards the future what-ifs. There are rocks along the path, that represent bumps and bruises to be had, but somehow the little vessel keeps going with the stream. A tip of the stick might get broken or bark peeled away on its watery journey, but as long as water flows, so too does the twig. How to contemplate such a thing, when I remain sitting on the side of the stream?

Even in our darkest days, when we get stuck in a swirling eddy, swept away by a downpour, or even worse, the stream threatens to dry up and leave us stranded, there is still hope. Something will come along to knock us out of our stasis and propel us forward again. Drought does not last forever, even when any amount of rain dances seem to fail. A deluge that may drown everything but the moment will eventually slacken, if we can but hold onto our faith. We need to trust in time, forward movement and the promise of life.

I have seen the seasons change my soul, but find myself still bobbing along in the river of life. At times, the river has seemed too wide to reach any shore, too torrential to ever dream of surviving the ride or too barren to ever have hopes of seeing another creature in sight. Should I be surprised that the bends in the stream have brought new scenery? Am I truly drifting or is this the path that I was placed upon by an unknown hand long ago.

However I got here, I think that the stream knows the journey well, whether I foresee the ripples along the surface or not. And as I arise from my perch on the streambed, I see my children laughing and running in circles just steps from me. They will have their own share of ripples through life, but perhaps my tears will make their flow easier somehow. Maybe my branch will block the path towards dangerous eddies or cut off dry streamlets that fade into nothingness. I just have to trust and go with the flow and realize that we aren't so adrift as we sometimes feel.

~^~^~^~

This might not be quite fiction, but it came from ideas presented over at Me & Stranger's blogs, as they "drift" along in the blogosphere. 

Prose in my Heart

sunshine heart
on a cold grey day
new life starts up
in promising ways

a hug passed here
joyful eyes offered there
t'would seem I live
by my cheeks so fair

these words I dig
and hand out to you
have found wings so light
and are now coming true

a writer, i dreamed
A Writer, I am
til my hours fill up
now true I stand

the words, they fill me
the words, feed too
my soul blossoms slowly
and sun's rays pour through

I will keep on working
hold the prose in my heart
pray life fills completely
with this promising start...

One Shot Wednesday

Happy Birthday to the One Stop Poetry site! It has been a years since they started their poetry community and they are still going strong. I am trying to get out of town, but couldn't help but stop by to celebrate with them on such a special anniversary. I wish you all many more anniversaries to come!

The Glass Castle: A Memoir By Jeannette Walls

The Glass Castle: A Memoir;  by Jeannette Walls (© 2005 Jeannette Walls, Publisher - Scribner, 288 pages)

I went to a friend's house for dinner not long ago. We hadn't seen each other in almost two years, so there was a lot of catching up to do. We discussed our children, our jobs, but more importantly, what we were doing with our lives to bring us a spot of joy. Both of us discovered that we had joined book clubs since we had seen each other last. Before I left, she handed me a book that she had read a few months back. She had enjoyed it and thought I might too. I got a brief synopsis, then went home with smiles on my face from dinner with good friends  and the acquisition of a new book for my bedside table. The Glass Castle was that book. I think I read it in about 3 days.

The Glass Castle is a memoir from Jeannette Walls. The cover proclaims the book a New York Times Bestseller, and the back page remarks that it won a Christopher Award and a Books for a Better Life Award. While I can appreciate praise, I opened the book ready to make my own judgement of how good the book really was. I met Walls sliding down in the seat of a taxi, trying to remain unseen by her Mother, as she rifled through a dumpster. An interesting start. I read on.

From Walls' introduction in her elegant party attire and lavish apartment on Park Avenue in New York City, we are taken back  in time to her youth. Her first memory is from the age of three. She begins her tale casually describing an accident where she is badly burned while cooking hot dogs in her family's small trailer in Arizona. Her Mother manages to get a neighbour to drive them to hospital, where Jeannette spends the next six weeks recovering from the burns and subsequent skin grafts that were necessary to save her life. She is strangely calm and accepting of the trauma, almost relishing her stay in hospital where she gets regular meals, clean clothes and bedding, plus much attention from the doctors and nursing staff. While her family comes to visit her, her Father comes across as brash and un-trusting of the environment. After arguing with the doctors on yet another occasion, her father materializes one day to check Jeannette out "Rex Walls-style"; he clandestinely unhooks her from her sling, picks her up in his arms and runs pell-mell down the hallway and out the emergency doors to their idling car.

"You're safe now," he proclaims, but as I read on, the truth of that seems improbable.

Jeannette was one of four children of Rex Walls and Rose Mary. As the story continues we get to know the Walls family; Dad's drunken ranting, cussing and raving, Mom's obsession with painting and little else, and the four children that seem to be pretty much left to their own devices to fend for themselves. Money is always tight and often non-existent. Food is a luxury that is wolfed down for its scarcity. In the first dozen years of Walls' life travel is frequent, but usually in the form of a "skedaddle" where most everything is left behind, as they depart in the middle of the night.

The years are tough, but Walls weaves a story that does not ask for sympathy. While her father is a self-serving alcoholic, he loves his family and tries to install his values in the children. They often wear threadbare clothes and get teased for being skin-and-bones, but all of the kids boast high intelligent and polite manners. Cleanliness might not be held in regard, but knowledge is of the utmost importance. Walls demonstrates this when she recounts a Christmas where a lack of money translates to a bleak looking holiday. With a keen sense of ingenuity and pure love, Rex gives each of his children a star for Christmas. With the gift of the star, also comes all the knowledge about its attributes, that belies the intelligence that can be found within Walls' stormy Father. You cannot help but acquiesce the materialism that surrounds the holiday and indeed of the North American culture as a whole.

The abject poverty leads one to assume that the Walls children are all doomed to abysmal lives. The funny thing about it is, that the morals and strict adherence to a decent education, often found while wandering through the desert or tinkering with broken objects, does exactly the opposite. I remind myself that the story starts with Walls obviously being well off, and this is due in large part to her strength of character and perseverance. She paints a bleak history, but cannot truly lay anger on the table at almost any point. While her struggles are more than most could bear, she offers us glittering jewels of life in amongst the dreariness that threatens to wash away the whole family. There is much pain in the telling of the story, but when I turned the last page in the book, I also found much love that touched my heart. Again, I don't think that Walls is trying to hold up her life as an example of what not to do or what to do, but she manages to find life along the broken path. She makes you want to look at your own path and find your own inner beauty amongst the scar tissues that we all have. I finished the book, sad that it was over, but warmed by this woman who was honest and true to herself and her life, refusing to let any little thing get her down. She made me want to be a better person and then reminded me, that I am.

So yes, I think the book was worthy of being on the New York Times Bestseller list for over three years and would recommend it to anyone who isn't afraid to get dirty, throw rocks and have rocks thrown right back at you. The Glass Castle is a dream that we all reach for and Walls is generous in letting us see hers.

survive

Wednesday.
Esoteric music plays in my ear.
A child has a hard time settling.
(Remember that in the morning when she does not want to rise)
Breathe. Be.
Sigh...

fingers let the trembling of the drum fade out of them
a hurting soul soaked in our healing rhythms.
well, more than one.
but one with pain writ in eyes, skin
and tremor that only those that know
can see.

Beats continue to heal me, but
most days I am strong enough to give back.
tonight's hurts were for the physical pain of new visitor
the emotional strain of a caregiver,
and another,
and another...

My offerings are of love
compassion that flows from pores
and sparkles with tender remembrances.
I taste their strain
and wish to blow those days
away on wings of tomorrow's sunrise

Away
on wings of a journey spent
A path trod rough and broken
with tertiary gardens askance
sown with bitter tears
of love's tragedy.

A new day,
new sunrise
sprinkled with dust
from fairy's hopeful wand
and filled life of dry gardens
with new, unbeknownst, yet mystical flowers

Spring blooms
on seeds of belief
and life's delight
as my dark night,
dim determinations and
stubborn blossoms survive

*I linked in to the very tale end of One Show Wednesday 

& think I just might throw in a link to Imperfect Prose

Courage and Croissants

Courage and Croissants: Inspiring Joyful Living; By Suzanne Saxe-Roux and Jean Roux
(© 2010 St Rémy Press)

Today I look at a book that touts itself as "inspiring joyful living". This is the first book of 2011 for my book club and we thought we would start the year off on a positive note. While it sounded good from the back page description and had some glowing reviews, I knew I would have to make my own opinions. So I cracked the spine on this "story and life guidebook", as the subtitle suggests, and dug in to see what was on offer.

As you may have already guessed, this book is a memoir. It opens with an explanation of how to use the book. It is divided up into essentially two parts; the first being an account of their lives, the second a guidebook on how to improve your own life. I chose to read the book from front to back, so started in with a poem (of which I have a weakness for) and then was introduced to Suzanne and Jean. They chose to have inspirational quotes quotes start each chapter, and I myself like the touch. Before I even begin to read, I am taken to a positive place where I can find a touchstone of truth that relates to life. It is a gentle nudge to be kind to self and I think many need that nudge on occasion. 

After a brief prologue, where we are given quick contrasting images of Suzanne and Jean's life now and two years prior, the story begins. We are walked through a common tale of young love, where two people meet, fall in love, and make a life together. In their youth, they have great aspirations to do big and wonderful things, and their lives are fairly simple. Life is good.

As time marches on, Suzanne and Jean find success in their chosen paths and glory in all that life offers them, until one day they realize that they forgot something; children. The biological clock ticks loud as their forties begin. Always ready for a new hurdle, they decide to take a stab at raising a family as well, only to find that the prospect of getting pregnant is not as easy as they would like. A miscarriage shakes their world, followed by severe illness and death amongst their family and peers. Struggling to find a foothold amongst these emotional battles, while both working at extremely demanding jobs, starts to take its toll on them both. Desperate to find stability and happiness again, they let go of their dream to have a child, only to find themselves pregnant several months later, with Suzanne at the age of 45. Her age and other factors throw the pregnancy into the category of high-risk though, so stress continues to mount. At the same time, Suzanne's business partner, also her best friend, is rapidly deteriorating  from a battle with cancer. The death of her beloved friend is followed closely by the premature birth of their daughter.

These factors are the beginning signs that life is running away from Suzanne and Jean. With no time to schedule in meals, quality time with their daughter, or themselves, life becomes a rat race that quickly loses its joy. Never fear though, as the bleak picture that is painted in the early chapters of the book only serve as example of how anyone's life can spin out of control. Suzanne's goal in the writing of this book is to inspire you, the reader, to take stock of your own life and recognize what is not working. Her and Jean realize that they are no longer happy on their life paths and take steps to make life better. In a daring move, they sell Suzanne's business and move to France for a year. The plan; to slow down and experience all that life has to offer by way of travel, making time for themselves as individuals and as a family, and pursuing their own personal interests, such as painting and pottery. 

The book continues to highlight the process that Suzanne and Jean go through in order to reconnect with themselves and life as a whole. They explore fresh and local produce, Suzanne challenges herself to learn a language through immersion in France, and they truly take time to stop and smell the roses and baguettes along the way. She notes that obviously it is not possible for everyone to jet off to another country to find themselves, but that everyone has a way to create their own version of what life should look like. This includes taking time to eat a meal with your family at least once a week, if not daily, exploring a hobby that you have always had interest in, but never the courage to pursue, or even getting out of your daily routine, by taking a picnic to a new park where you can enjoy the fresh air and maybe the opportunity to paint a picture en plein air. With quotes and excerpts from her life journey, she encourages us all to find joy in all that life has to offer, and I cannot fault her for that in the least. 

I found Suzanne's exploration of life with fresh eyes, a simple and pleasant read. She is like so many, caught up in the fast-paced world and not recognizing that there is more to life than the bigger house, car or paycheck. Allowing herself to let go of all of her pre-conceived notions of the American Dream is a challenge to her, but what about the average person? I like to think we are in touch with ourselves, but alas that is not always the case I suppose.

The last section of the book offers some simple tips on how to make changes in your own life. I have to admit that I liked this section of the book less, as it came off slightly preachy. Some people appreciate clearly outlined steps though and I value what she is attempting. I prefer her "show; don't tell" method that is illustrated earlier in the book, but that is the writer in me griping I fear. The book does leave you with a positive feel though and I enjoyed the read. We shall see what the other ladies in my book club have to say when next we meet, but as for you, you have to form your own opinion. In the meantime, why not stop, pour yourself a glass of wine, open up a good book or blow the dust off your old paint set. Life is worth living, so why not start now...

Not All

Days pass,
steady in their march.
Days pass
standing tall,
I lean into their grace.

Some days
bowed to memory,
bent with responsibility,
shoulders sore with strain;
some days
   I break.

I break
as I need to.
I break
and pour forth
all the tears hidden in
carefully concealed caverns.

I break
full of emotion
overwhelmed by today,
this moment
   Now.

This day
shuddering shoulders squeeze
so inglorious with spit and snot.
I shake the sorrows out
   spent.
This day

Now,
in my weak and wilted way
I lie down
giving up control.
I am not all.
I am just me
doing what I can do
getting stronger for the journey
Now

A New Day

A New Day

I have seen that phrase in more than one blog today. Funny that. Coincidences are never really truly random. What does it mean? It was a phrase that meant something to me about a year and a half ago. It was meant to remind me that I could go on; that I would go on; that I should go on. The future holds much that is worth looking into and returning to. While tomorrow may be bleary or bleak from one angle, it never remains stagnant. There is always a new day to unfold with new things to learn,and see, and do. From today, we cannot always see the future with clear and straight eyes. When we think we do, often a shift slips in to shake up the paths before us. Our goal is to trust that tomorrow will come. Purpose will reveal. Wait and the light will go on. I am learning to wait...

Sunday Reflective Moments

Sometimes we are where we need to be.

Where are you at in your life right now? Have you just come through crisis, change or a period of inactivity? Is life looking rosy, full of questions, bleak or too challenging to go on? We all have days like that. Sometimes these periods last days, weeks months or just seem to never end. Everything that we go through is a process meant to teach us something though. I am learning how to stand on my own two feet right now. I am learning how to reach out to the world around me. I am learning that in reaching out, I am not weak, but rather stronger for the asking. This is a hard lesson that seems to be long in process. The lessons remind me that I am fallible, but that does not mean that I am a bad person. I remarked last week that in failure, we learn our lessons best. It is humbling, but holds a truth that I struggle with. This is where I need to be right now though. I am processing where I have walked, the steps of the journey and the possibilities of where I am heading.  I need to know these things. Overall, I need to remember that tomorrow is a new day.

wavering at the glasses edge

   For all the love I tried to pour into my consciousness earlier yesterday, I seemed destined to fall back into old familiar ways as the day progressed. After dinner, and a couple of glasses of wine, I expounded on how much I used to dislike myself, but tried to offer up the claim that I am working on it. For every day that I put on a big brave face and say that I am worthy, I let a tear slide and point out reasons why I am not. I waffle with dreams for the future and drag my heals on making the important decisions that will take me there. I let slip the "shoulds" and balk when I hear them come out of my mouth. For all the attempts at retracting them, I feel their power still rumbling in my heart. I did reach a bit of an epiphany though. Whether it helps or not, I am not sure. I realized that I have always had a difficult time in making decisions. That has always been a part of my personality that I have struggled with. I had a quiet moment with myself and remembered that the journey I have been on has been an incredible struggle and challenge. I am reinventing life and myself. It is one thing to do that, but traits have a way of clinging to oneself. So to chastise myself for not making decisions or moving forward truly does not help myself. I know that my journey has been more than difficult. It has been life changing, but it takes time and effort to also make those changes. Learned habits do not disappear overnight. They must be recognized and given their due. They do not have to keep me in stasis forever, but in taking away their demonization, their power diminishes and change will come. It already has, but confidence is lagging behind. Knowing that I am working on it and that maybe the steps are small and seemingly painful to those around me is just part of the process. I have to move forward, but I am. I am doing it my way and that is the only way that I know how. Stop, breathe, and look into self. Put it all out into the universe and know that it will all come to pass as it should. Learn and love.

Job Title: Author

   I am a little hesitant to say anything, but what the heck. Are we not in the blogosphere to put our words across? To make our voice heard? Do we not take that giant leap of faith in thinking that someone might possibly have some little interest in the things rolling around our heads and what conceivably falls out? Yeah, something like that. I do not have readers falling all over me, but I know there are a few of you who wander by my page to see what interesting things I might spout today. So I will let you in on a little secret. Are you ready?

   I want to be a writer. 

   "WOW", I hear you say. "Yeah, join the club!"

   For those of us that write blogs, I can guess that we all are writers in our own sets. Presumably we would all love to be writers with a capital W. Generally, we accept that this golden dream does not happen for everyone. Well, today I took another step in that direction. I submitted a children's book for consideration. It is a silly animal ABC book. The odds of it getting published are questionable, but the point is that I am taking that first step. I have submitted a few poems to poetry sites as well, with no hits yet. This feels bigger though. It is a bit of a testing ground for me. I am taking a writing course at present which seems to be keeping my writing alive and well. I figured that if I truly want to make a go at being a writer, then I have to start somewhere. So I start by submitting my words out there. I am leaning quietly out of my comfort zone in hopes that I will not be shot down, or worse ignored completely. They both may happen, but I have to know that it happens to the best of them. So today as I sit pondering what life may look like in the future, that darned "What am I going to be when I grow up?" maybe I can hope and pray that some day I can say with pride that I am an author.

End of the Week

Let's take a little ole peek at my life. Do I need to be where I am? Should I be doing what I am doing? This week has been difficult as the lady I was gardening for died. When I met her, I knew she was in the last stage of her life. She was dying and it would be sooner rather than later. Should I have let that into my life? Do I need another taste of death and dying? Many kind-hearted people have suggested maybe not. I am a feeler, full of emotion. Why put myself in a position where you know you are going to lose someone in your life? And now the funeral is this afternoon. Should I go to it? Do I really need to walk down that path and open myself up to fresh pain?

Well, when I got the idea into my head to do some gardening and help people in need, I don't think I specifically went looking for someone who was going to die. Especially not while I was actively involved with them. Believe it or not, I know that I am a leaky soul and that might be a hard thing to bear. Michelle came into my life and was handed to me for a reason. I really liked going over to her house and working in her garden. I have an affinity for the earth and feel that tending to it brings happiness; to the earth, me and whomever else happens to appreciate it. Michelle appreciated it immensely. I was her hands and her eyes. She could not get into her cherished garden anymore to get dirt under her fingernails and see what needed to be done. I visited her the day that she died and brought her some flowers from my garden. I described the flowers I brought and her husband expressed that he felt her soul was smiling for the simple gift. Even while I sit here with tears in my eyes, I smile. I gave a precious gift and get the knowledge of that to take with me. I was one small little part of a woman's life, but I gave her something she wanted and appreciated when she could not do it herself. That is huge and I feel that. I am a good person. I am telling myself that, not you in case you were wondering.

And what did it cost me? Pain of loss. It is a familiar place and yes it takes me back to my bigger loss of Brad. Many things take me back to the loss of Brad though. I spent a few hours once a week doing something I love to do; gardening. I have the time to fit it into my schedule. I collected a few plants from Michelle's garden as I thinned plants for her. I shared some of my story with Murray. I knew that I did not have to know all of Michelle and Murray's story and tried to protect my heart. Murray needed the friend. He needed the help. I was a friend by giving him one less thing to do and subsequently more time with Michelle. How is that for a gift? I gave him time. Wow. That is pretty sweet Katherine.

So I take my tears and cherish them. I am not afraid of death and dying. I am familiar with them and know how hard they are. Too many people do not want to know this part of life, but it exists. Death makes life that much sweeter. My tears are sweet and beautiful and I would do it again in a heartbeat for the smiles and heartfelt appreciation I got in return. Better than anything I can think of.
So will I do it again? Again people have suggested that perhaps it is too hard a road to travel. It is a hard road. I know that I do not have to walk down death's path to make me a better person. Truthfully, I would like not to have to lose parts of my life and people in it. If I get another opportunity to help someone, I suspect I will gladly offer my time again. Perhaps for the elderly, the sick or just one with lack of time. I have been allowed to garden in a few other gardens and was rewarded by the earth's sigh of appreciation without having to lose anyone or anything. I take what life hands me. I pray that I can handle the challenges that will present. I sit back and realize the gift of time that I have been offered these last few years and hope that I do not waste them. I have not so far. What does tomorrow hold?

Trying to go through life looking for new meaning is just plain old hard work. I get up in the morning and think "Maybe today is the day that inspiration will reach out and hand me a new life path to tread on". I keep hoping that divine inspiration will find me and graciously lead me to where I ought to be. I tentatively peek through newspapers and in new web sites I come across. It has happened in the past. Maybe it will happen again.

Or maybe I will have to sit down and work at it. Perhaps I will actually have to contact a career counsellor and figure out the path in front of me. I might have to actually dig the path and pave it with more than just wishes and dreams. Watch out resume! I might just brush you off and creak open the closet to find work apparel. Anyone need a helper? I can garden, and run errands, and am flexible ...