Misty Morning

This is one of my favorite mornings, ever. Originally posted in March, 2015 on my "Simple Words" blog. I thought this is one of the few things that needed to follow me here.....


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Misty Morning

"We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature – trees, flowers, grass – grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence… We need silence to be able to touch souls. -- Mother Teresa"

Silence. Nature. 

The sky was grey. Puddles ripple violently against the calm haze. The sun not yet at it's peak. A heavy mist covering everything. A dampness in the air that chills me to my bones. My eyelashes like nets, catching each drop. I didn't turn around. I raised my hood and kept walking. Angels looking down on me. Moss like tear drops. Tree branches swaying and creaking. Birds fluttering around me, trying to seek shelter in the cracks in the stones. They climbed through iron bars. Nests, shared for generations like the hallowed ground beneath my feet. At the top of the muddy hill I'm surrounded by the remains of people who were close to God. Who believed. Who died at peace. Babies, fathers, mothers, Priests. Their energy surrounds me like a blanket. The mist stops. All I hear are the birds. The branches. The distant hum of cars at the bottom of the hill. No words. No people. I walk and I pray. With every step I feel more warmth. I read names. Dates. I get lost in my thoughts. I get lost in the beauty of peace...

that time I met a stranger

(Fiction, influenced by reality)

I'm at my local coffeehouse. The vibe is different. It feels foreign. I'm in my usual spot, against the old brick wall, with the hotel on the other side. To the right, old arched windows from when this was a train terminal. The view outside is of Market Street. This area has recently been "gentrified". A word that sounds good in the media and to politicians, that basically means yuppies have whitewashed the area and rental prices have skyrocketed. The hookers and crack dealers moved around the corner, instead of the stoop outside. At least, during daylight hours.

My spot is in the middle of a communal bench, dotted with two person tables, separated by just enough space for people to pass through sideways. You can see the terror in their eyes as they contemplate "do I give them ass or dick"? My spot has a power outlet. I don't have my laptop with me so I'm getting envious stares from college students and young professionals. "Covet thy outlet"

The floor beneath my $6 thrift store boots is polished concrete. Something old and worn that has been made new and pretty. Glossed over. Gentrified. The tables are walnut and reclaimed pine. Simple wooden "antique" chairs pulled up to them. The bar has taps of local brews and regional favorites. The menu contains lots of avocado. Lots of "grass fed", and "__blank___free" options, for prices that keep increasing as more cars park outside and more boarded up buildings become glossy and hip. Hipster.

I'm not a hipster, and I'm honestly not sure what that means. But that's what I get called. Along with "Millennial". I'm 40. I'm not a millennial. But I guess I dress like one. I refuse to wear sweater sets, dress shirts, and carry designer handbags, like my peers. I wear jeans, boho clothing that I've had for decades, and 1920's jewelry. Rhinestones and peacock feathers adorn me.

I get looks, I get whispers. I also get stares, over more than just the outlet. I'm alone and I'm not on my phone. It's on the table because I'm waiting for a text from a stranger. A man I've never met, who appreciates the same eccentricities as I do and who has a bowler hat as a wardrobe staple.

We have talked for weeks, hours at a time. Sharing stories of growing up in small Southern towns, and being only children. We talk about our hopes and dreams. He's a writer. A good one. Not like me, a sketchbook scribbler who accidentally inhales too much sharpie. He develops characters. He enjoys my ramblings about the sideshow freaks at my work. The hookers, drug addicts, and angry old people. He laughs at my stories of working retail in an un-gentrified area. There is nothing hip about a regional chain grocery store. I have a polo and khaki life. That's probably why I try to express myself on my days off.

**I stopped writing because he came in. I will continue it at some point. I'm just posting it so it won't get lost.

the ridge

Written in my journal, messy and fragmented, sometime in February: 

Shadows fade to the valley below. 

Fleeting, fleeing, from burning light. 

Your face is bathed in an amber glow. 

Our new day is starting off right 

Take my hand and lead the way, 

The leaves rustle as we escape. 

Now our shadows mix into the night.

As halos dance around the lights, 

of cars and lamps below our feet. 

The ground is dry, 

the air's fine mist tickles my skin, 

like a cool touch with soulful grace. 

As my silhouette hides your face...

I never finished it...maybe one day I will. 

A mouse, Einstein, and unfinished thoughts....

It's New Years Day. A day for new beginnings, starting over, and other cliché phrases you see posted all over social media.

My first thought.

But, the lower the level of my coffee becomes....the more I realize it is a time for change. A new year is the second chance so many of us desire. Ive been "finding myself" or "reinventing myself" or "finding my inner peace" for a while now. Why not just declare that today is the day it happens? TODAY IS THE DAY!

This blog is an example of "new me". I started this one in November. The main focus was going to be my community involvement. Nothing truly personal, outside of political beliefs. I now want it to be my main blog...for you can't have political discussion without exposing your inner self and your beliefs about all things. I can't show just one side of myself. You get the good, the bad, the manic and the insecure.

I don't have resolutions, but I do have goals.

Journaling. Sketching. Everyday.

When I gave my bedroom to Zelda a few months ago, I didn't realize what an impact something as simple as not having a door to close, when I needed space, would have on my mental health. I stopped writing...my journals were lost. I sleep on an antique couch in the dining room...people and pets constantly pass through. Even now, my mom has walked through a dozen times and told me random things like "Zelda had yogurt", "Dixie barked alot last night". I don't even think she is trying to have a conversation with me...just talking to talk.

There are days when I feel like I can't breath without someone commenting about how loud I inhale.

I need to start writing again, to organize the thoughts in my head, and bring some peace. I don't get good sleep. another side effect of where I sleep...dogs and cats want in and out all night. Dad stays up all night watching tv or listening to music. And the worst nights are the ones when a cat finds a mouse and I get woken up by its screeching torture. I can't complain because it's THEIR house. Not mine. (something else I'm struggling with...the girls and I need OUR house)

So, Goal One: WRITE! Rant, cuss, scream in crayon...I have to let it out.


Goal two: Focus on (and truly find) my Higher Power!

I went to church yesterday. Anyone who knows me, knows that I don't like church. I didn't grow up going to church. I've had really bad experiences with people who claim to be "Holy". I chose to go to the Methodist Church down the road. They have partnered with the school on several events, help run the local food bank,have a Summer lunch program, and donated coats to the students at the girls school...which my kids desperately needed! They practice what they preach. And, thankfully the sermon wasn't "fire an brimstone" and calling everyone in the room a bunch of sinners. It was very relevant to my life. Basically, look at what you picture God as. If he isn't empathetic, helping everyone around him, and peaceful...then you need to open your eyes and find God again. (paraphrased, of course) THAT! That has been my struggle my entire life with religion...and with church. The judging. The image of this man with lightening bolts shooting out his fingers and crazy, long hair, killing people. The fear. The anger. There's no empathy...and my God, the God that is within us all is peaceful and empathetic. The way I have always tried to live my life.

There was a quote, that the Pastor said yesterday: " Imagination is more important than knowledge."
Einstein. An Einstein quote at church. One of my favorite's of all time, too. I'm not going to lie, I took that as a sign...

I don't have time to move on to my other goals or finish my thoughts...I have to get ready for my first official day at my new job!

Happy New Year! (eat your peas)

Library

This evening I went to my first meeting, as a member of the Library Board. I'm very excited about this opportunity. I feel like the library is under utilized, and is truly a "hidden gem" in this community.

I moved to East Ridge in 2011. Neither of my kids were in school, yet. Being new to the community and with little kids to entertain, I was ecstatic when I found out there was a library within walking distance and that they had a story time for kids! Going to the library was our social time. We met other kids and parents. The normal routine was to go to story time and then go to the playground to burn off some energy. After every story, the kids did a craft that went with the theme of the books. The girls would make the craft at the library and then come home and make it again.

We started going to the library several times a week, not just on Tuesday when it was story time. We would sit at the little tables and Zelda would practice pointing out colors and shapes, and reading what she could. Ava would "organize" the crate of board books. I truly feel like Zelda's love of reading is thanks to those days we spent at the library, before she was even in pre-k.

Some of you might not know, but Zelda has speech issues. She was completely non-verbal until she was almost 4. It might sound crazy...but she could read before she could talk. I would spend several hours a day reading to her and Ava. Whatever they picked out. A Christmas book in June?? Sure! Whatever interested them.

It was at the East Ridge Library that the girls were introduced to Pete The Cat, Llama Llama, Fancy Nancy...and so many other beloved characters that have shaped their childhood. Here are a few photos taken at the library, through the years.

The Violet Dove

Green, White, and Violet. 

The three colors that were used in Suffragette jewelry. Violet represented "the vote". The most powerful voice we have to enact change. 

Dove. 

A universal symbol of peace. 

Peaceful Protest...Peaceful Change.