The Snake Bit Me

I just rolled out of bed. It is noonish.
   yawwnnnn....

Before you punish me with an abusive tirade on my slothfulness, I will add that I had only returned to bed around 10 o'clock. That after a night spent holding long, golden locks out of the line of fire over a toilet bowl. Oh, and also developing a dainty little blister on my thumb from trying to play plumber at 4am. I don't know if it is me that just doesn't have the knack with a snake (or toilet auger as the packaging states) or me that is an idiot to self-diagnose toilet issues, or me with a God complex that thinks she can do anything, that is at fault here. Apparently it doesn't matter, as the one thing I can do is laundry and the pile was quite large this morning. sigh... Full of towels used to mop the floor, splattered rugs and bedskirts and all the sheets off of another bed that was soaked through with pee. That announcement came at 7:30am, after I had finally fallen asleep at 6:30 praying that my daughter would not wake and splatter me with ... ugh never mind

So I am tired and wondering why the world seems to be pushing me so hard. I am not a plumber or doctor, roofer or general contractor (other issues that need tending to in my house- don't ask). It seems that I am being asked to step up to the plate to decide what I want to be though. My daughter will recover from her night of woe, but my money tree is quaking in fear as I tally the expenditures that are all imminent. I think that I might have to break down and push myself harder than I would like right about now. The world is pushing for action. An honest to goodness full-time job has been something I have been trying to avoid, but I feel that I have lost my battle. 

house 3 - Mama 0

damn

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P.S. Over a quick beer with my neighbour to get the run-down on which plants my girls need to water while she is away, I was reminded of the fact that another neighbour is a retired plumber. Oh. Yeah. Right. And another is a contractor. Really? Hunh. It looks like I shall be wandering the neighbourhood this weekend with a cooler full of adult bevereages and blank cheques inquiring if anyone has a moment to help a friend in need...

Feet

Feet

painted, punished

drifting, dangling, drooping

challenged by the journey

appendages

Feet

youthful, lively

running, jumping, dancing

ready for the next hurdle

Vibrant

Feet

calloused, care-worn

comforting, standing, walking, 

there to stride me into tomorrow

stability

Feet

darling, unique

working, moving, living

appreciated for all they have seen and done

mine

~~~

What takes you into the future and today? My feet are feeling punished by my journey as of late. I need to appreciate them more for all they do for me. I showcase my tired tootsies over at OneShot with some Cinquain poetry today, but also give a nod to GardenMama and her Wandering Wednesday photo journeys. Happy Wednesday all!

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...

Rainbows

Rainbows to remind

that after stormy weather

comes gifts of delight

Simple reminder

that life does not always end

when showers batter

This colourful gift

can be yours to enjoy for

those willing to wait

So I wait hoping

that I will survive torrents

of passion's brute force

Turning Lager into Water

As I sat interpreting the life of this man and his son, I sipped on the cold beer that I had just purchased at the dilapidated stand in what posed as a village square. A beautiful old hotel was the backdrop for my setting, but it had been abandoned long ago. It seemed just like so many other  aspects of Mozambique. All forgotten to the world.

The cold amber liquid poured down my hot throat, quenching the fire that simmered there. The beer was a luxury that I had allowed myself on this scorching day, as we lazed beside the ocean. I sipped at it, then returned to the writing in my journal. A shadow fell across the beach in front of me and I looked up to spy the man that was gracing the pages of my writing again. He had returned from delivering the fish we had offered him home. Now his gestures told me of another want. He had a thirst as well. I handed him the bottle expecting him to take a long pull at the contents. I was mistaken.

I sat up, perturbed at his retreating figure. He had walked away! He had taken my almost full beer and departed.   I had been willing to share, but still wanted more of the lager that had only begun to quench my thirst. With a sigh, I acquiesced that perhaps it was a luxury that he needed more. Something that he did not often get a chance to afford or enjoy. I chalked it down to a lesson learned that in this land, perhaps when you gave something to someone they kept it until they have had enough, then they too pass it on. Different lands hold different cultures.

Before I had a chance to think much beyond the incidence that had just occurred, I spied the man coming back again. To my surprise and delight, he carried with him a pail of water. It was a pail of fresh, clean drinkable water. He was returning the favor that I had offered to him, unbeknownst to myself. One good turn deserves another. As we were not camping in anything akin to a formal campground, we had to walk down to the village square to get our water at a communal tap like anyone else. It was a good sized walk and alien activity to our foreign ways. This man’s gift of water was worth much more than the humble beer that I had shared with him. My soul was uplifted by his simple act of sharing and kindness that I had not expected. I felt small in his presence of generousity, but awed by the beauty of it. Here was a spirit of sharing and community. Items were freely shared amongst the people and it was an understood thing amongst everyone. The beauty of Mozambique lifted to the top of my destinations in this simple, yet unforgettable moment. I was in love.