Rain

It's raining...again.  We are flooded...again. It's been a crazy morning spent in the company of pails, brooms, noisy vaccums and dreams of dry, hot summer days.

So, with rolled up pants, messy hair and cold, wet toes I will rest for a while. The rain has tapered off but the grounds are so saturated the water keeps on filtering through. It will be a while till we go back to normal. I believe I'll have a large glass of wine (any color will do) and try not to listen to the sound of raindrops on the roof and in my head...

"I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head"

Photo by Bing Images

"Rain" by Shel Silverstein

Dreaming on laundry day

"Where there is no vision, the people perish" (The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie)

A lifelong dream of mine has been to live in a "pretty" place. A place full of trees and birdsong. A small little town tucked away far from heavy traffic and the bustle and hustle of the city. In my dreams I see cobblestoned narrow streets, and I can hear my footsteps as I come back from the market, with the smell of fresh bread lingering on my hair.

It's not that my town is "ugly" it's just that it's not my ideal setting. I do have a garden, and even though it's fairly small, I am thankful for the bit of green where I can place my swing, a fountain, and watch the birds splash with joy in the birdbath.  The problem is everyone is too close to one another. I dream to get out to my garden and not be practically on top of a neighbor.

I don't really care about what type of house I'd have, although, a cozy cottatge would not be unwelcome ;) it's the setting I dream about. One can paint the walls, add a room or two, hang a curtain, light a candle, and any house becomes a home, but how can one change the streets? How can one transform the huge modern shops into quaint, cozy ones full of wonderful treasures? It's a far cry indeed!

As the years go by, there are days when I become almost frantic. I want to get there while I'm still young(ish)! Time is running! My biological clock is ticking! I want to move to my dream town soon and while I still have strength to putter around the garden and actually be able to dig and plant! but for now, we are here. I must be patient and not despair. I keep thinking good things come to those who wait.  

In the meantime, my solution is to daydream, to try and block reality as often as I can, and so, this morning while I was hanging the sheets on the clothesline I found myself far away, I was in that special place.  I looked up and my dreams were there, beautiful invisible flags hanging amidst the white sheets...

Photo by Eugenio Recuenco

Acedia

a.ce.di.a = spiritual torpor and apathy

For the past four years I have had the privilege to stay home. For some, this decision has been a source of amazement: "What do you do all day? Don't you get bored? Aren't you lonely?" The truth is, I am never bored and I am never lonely.

There is so much to feel, so much to think about, so much to enjoy! A poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox comes to mind, it's called "Coleur de Rose" and it goes like this:

I want more lives in which to love

This world so full of beauty,

I want more days to use the ways

I know of doing duty;

I ask no greater joy than this

(So much I am life's lover,)

When I reach age to turn the page

And read the story over.

I must say that during the first days of my freedom I'd get up in a frenzy. I had to keep busy, I had to do tangible things, like cleaning, organizing, shopping, paying bills, anything! I felt guilty if I stopped moving and I found staying home quite tiring, then slowly, I regained control. I began to realize it was okay to stop between chores and enjoy a cup of coffee, it was okay to go for a walk instead of cleaning. I had to get used to have time on my hands, to be my own boss. It was unsettling to ponder, to look deep into myself, to question things, to come to conclusions, and to realize the answers had been there all along, I just had not been able to see them.

It took a long time to let go of my emotional burdens and the extra luggage I had carried for years, then the grip that had held me down lost it's strength. This change was possible only when I got off the "mad train", when I stopped the constant race against the clock, when there was silence around and Peace stood behind each door.  Every day a layer was shed and I felt lighter, hopeful, composed. I also found there could be a lot of noise within silence. My inner voice sounded strange and loud, I had not heard it since I was a child and was startled by it's presence. I began to appreciate the pleasures and the power of silence.

Some time ago I came across a very interesting website called Thinking Faith and found an article that briefly explains how our society is suffering from a severe case of Acedia. I could not agree more. I also think the remedy is inside each one of us.  The secret is to stop and listen to the inner voice that hides within the silence. The voice that is drowned by stress, duties, chores, and life in general.

These days, when someone calls me and asks "What are you doing?" I am no longer ashamed to say, "Nothing much." I don't feel guilty to want to sit, think, dream. I am no longer afraid to stop whatever I'm doing and find a little time to smell the roses.

Photo by Bing Images

Spring Morning Light

"This morning, that spring morning light,

something special, magical, the low dim, soft light

illumining the treetops, the nascent buds, the flowers

translucent, glowing a cherry red, burnt orange highlights

a warming sun, not yet hot, awaking the forest, the woods

just off the highway, still visible into the thin groves

before the summer leaves block the view

the spring morning light, washing through,

more than filtered light, shining spotlight still

down to the forest floor, all the woods awash, bathed

in that wondrous spring morning light"

I wish everyone a season full of magic. May the glorious light of Spring be full of joy and peace. May all your dreams blossom just like wild flowers in the fields.

Photo by Weheartit.com
Poem by Raymond A. Foss

Ivy Days

I have a strange passion for Ivy. It's right up there with my love for roses, hydrangeas, peonies and full moons. I'd love to wrap my shoulders with Ivy tendrils, let them cascade down my back. Ivy is Nature's own Spanish Mantilla.

I love the smell of Ivy, the shape of the leaves

I love the way it wraps around abandoned homes

 statues

 and fountains, as if to say, "don't worry, don't be lonely, I'm here even when no one else is..."

A simple iron gate becomes a work of art adorned with Ivy garlands

Ivy covered walls become mysterious partitions behind which fairies hide

Ivy makes a cottage window as elegant as one in a castle

Snow covered Ivy is an everlasting green blanket that provides shelter and warmth

I want Ivy on my tombstone. I want my name outlined by tender fragile leaves...

Photos by Weheartit.com and Bing Images

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I am not Irish but I have come to love this special day through special friends. It's quite impossible not to join them and believe there is gold at the end of the rainbow. Magic, just like love and laughter, knows no boundries, no frontiers, and so, here's a heartfelt wish from a non-Irish kindred spirit:

"May you have -

Walls for the wind

And a roof for the rain,

And drinks bedside the fire

Laughter to cheer you

And those you love near you,

And all that your heart may desire"

Celtic prayer

Photo by Weheartit.com