Winter winked its lazy ice-blue eye at us this morning. Thirty seven autumn degrees, it nodded. Prepare thyselves. I am coming. Just around the pumpkin bend. Dig up those garden carrots. Finish those bunching onions. I’m coming first for the tender pink green bean blossoms. Then I’ll frost the last green out of those tomato leaves. Finally I’ll settle in to freeze the hearts of roots far below the earth. Just you wait. I am coming.
We listen with half an ear. I’m not sure my husband even listened at all. He headed out the door without even a jacket even as I reminded him of the temperature. He was still convinced summer lingers, that old man winter didn’t wink. I thought, “He’ll be back to get his coat.” He didn’t return. I thought, “See, Kathy, you are not always right!” and sang a made-up ditty about not always being right. Five minutes later the front door opened. “I need a jacket, Kathy, it’s cold out there!”
He shared a chipmunk tale over coffee this morning. One of our resident seed-loving chippies scampered up to him on the compost bin yesterday afternoon. (We no longer feed said four-leggeds on the porch, due to the seed burglary this summer when one fella chewed through our screen and leaped into the seed bucket. We have recently discovered stashed seeds in the couch cushions and stored bathroom towels.)
I often want to be a once-a-week blogger. They are such cool cats!
You know, the folks who vow to write once a week and follow through on their pledge, year after blogging year.
They pick a day of the week. Say, Monday. Mimi’s Monday Musings. Or Tammy’s Tuesday Tossings. Or Wendy’s Wednesday Whisperings.
And they succeed. to. write. every. week.
People love ’em because they’re reliable. They are–excuse me, must reference Roget’s Thesaurus (except it’s gone incognito, so must search)–they are trustworthy, credible, destined, promised, reliant, predictable.
Today a Facebook friend complained that he tried meditation and only lasted seven, maybe eight, seconds. He didn’t know if he had attained a state of mindfulness but made a list of 73 things he wanted to accomplish today. He’s decided that he’s not cut out for meditation–he may be more suited to juggle fireballs.
I offered my best advice from seventeen years of meditation and reassured him that he hadn’t failed at all: The art of meditation seems to be all about losing yourself in thought every few seconds and then coming back to the breath or larger awareness again and again. Maybe dozens or hundreds of times in a single session. It’s like going to the gym and learning to develop a muscle. Eventually the space and silence becomes more settled and that’s lovely, but it’s never about trying to eliminate thoughts because that’s impossible. It’s about going back to the larger awareness or mindfulness again and again.
People will fight about anything–I am now 100% sure.
We were forced to buy a new Cuisinart food processor this week. (Our old one just celebrated its 20th birthday, give or take a half dozen years.)
We chop, slice and dice with a food processor regularly. Every week. Sometimes every day. It’s a necessary item in our garden production household facility.
I could not figure out how to attach the large feed tube cover to the work bowl. My heart started beating fast with anxiety. Calm down, Kathy, this is not the end of the world, I tried to soothe the nervous inner one. What if we had to send this back to Cuisinart? This is not a big deal, Kathy.
Yesterday was *mostly* not a good day. I was quite sad about many things, which shall remain nameless. In the middle of the day, however, my good buddy, Susan and I met for a picnic at the waterfront park. We talked deep and serious and laughed a lot, and pretty soon we both felt better.
We both snapped pictures of each other and put them on Facebook, just for kicks.
A younger Facebook friend posed a question yesterday: If you had an unlimited amount of money and time, what would your LIFE look like?
I scrolled through all the answers. Many people wanted to travel all over the wide world. Here, there and beyond. Over the horizon to foreign lands that thrilled the imagination. Some wanted to pay off debt. Others to give to others in need.
You could feel the longing in each person’s response. You could almost read beneath the typed words to the feeling underneath: I want to feel free. I want to feel joy. I want to feel delight. I want to feel relieved. I don’t want to be working anymore. I want unlimited time to do what I want to do. I want to feel useful and loving and giving. I want my life to be more exciting and beautiful and wonderful than it feels right now.
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Good morning to all on this cloudy cooler Saturday morning in our Upper Peninsula woods. Just wanting to post some photos of our recent drive out to Point Abbaye which juts out into Lake Superior like a finger pointing toward Canada.
We drove out over a week ago, as Barry wanted to take some pictures and write a column for our local weekly newspaper.
I decided to bring my camera as well and share some of the beauty of our area with you. (Please click on Page 2 link to continue reading.)
I am feeling so much indecision these days. Are any of you feeling the same?
Let’s take a simple action like driving into the “big city” of Marquette tomorrow or the next day. I need new summer pajamas, a lightweight hooded sweatshirt and some Nutpods (non dairy coffee creamer). Yes, they could all be purchased online. No, that’s not the whole shopping list. It could be worthwhile to drive 80 miles and back. Plus a person might wander along the Lake Superior shore and breathe in that particular Marquette flavor of beauty.
Sample Marquette beauty from a few years ago
Another part of me wonders if it’s worth it. Marquette has recorded 146 Covid cases, compared to our county’s five. Plus there’s the added hassle of masking up in four or five stores (although I am an adamant masker). But if my soul is calling for that trip to the east and south–I’m outa here.
This morning I paused and looked at photos from our gala Italian wedding trip last June. Most of you may recall reading about that here on the blog recently, one year later, but better late than never, right?
The photos Barry took of Pompeii brought back memories of so many things. Mostly, that I had just recovered from being sick with digestive woes for the first three days in beautiful Italy.
I tiptoed around Pompeii more scared of getting sick again than Mount Vesuvius erupting.