Tag Archives: the laugh you know

When the only “No”, comes from your Mind

A couple of weeks ago, I received a notice that my site hosting plan was soon to expire. Last time I renewed it was three years ago. The three year option was the overall lowest monthly cost once broken down. I am, after all, frugal nearly to the core. It also keeps the “Should I stay or should I go now” song out of my head.

So, when the notice came up once more to renew, the accountant in my head, wanted to know if it was worth the money. This is where the debate begins between the heart and the head.

Ever notice how your head talks in the negative and your heart in the positive? Not always I guess, but on average it seems to go that way.

For example, my head interprets numbers and stats with questions like: “well Sal, you didn’t exactly write a lot in the last three years. How much did each of those posts cost you? If you broke it down per reader, would you be better off just sending a letter? Why would you even think that people would want to continue to read the stories if you do continue to write? Are you willing to pay and write even if no one reads?’

And why is it that the questioning voice is always the loud one? The heart responds with answers that are quiet and can’t quite be quantified.

I’m trying to think just now, who that negative voice is that I’m fighting with. I mean, if this naysayer in my head calls me by Sal or Sally or Sally Jean or Minnie Lou or any other personal name, how come it has power to call me out by name, yet I don’t reply to this negative Nelly by any name? Another post to figure that one out I suppose.

So, the meeker, softer voice chimes up that it’s not about money, it’s about sharing. Sharing my thoughts and stories and thus, getting shared responses in return. The payoff is in the connection to whomever decides to read, yes it isn’t many, but the few who do are more dear to me than anything I’d buy with said funds. And yes, to stay connected to them is worth any amount of money.

For days, the naysayer continues to rant in a loud voice that it doesn’t make sense or add up. Just let it expire, you can still write or text people, you can use the money to actually go see them. The justifications are there from the naysayer and when the negative voices are loud enough, it’s not hard to jump on board.

As the internal war rages on periodically throughout my days, my heart isn’t ready to give in, so I think that maybe I need a mediator. I’ll text someone or put it up for debate on the blog. The naysayer scoffs and reminds me that those are the ones who encourage me, of coarse they aren’t going to tell me to pack it up. So, I think about reaching out to people who don’t read my blog, but the naysayer rejects them as well on the grounds that everyone will be supportive to something creative if they aren’t paying for it. The naysayer accuses me of only fishing for compliments or false accolades. Alright I begin to think, if I cannot find anyone to give me good reasons not to continue, then why is my mind saying no. This is where the light turns on into that dark space without a name.

My heart starts to feel the responses, the encouragement already voiced directly to my face, through mail, text and replies to posts. Shoot, my Aunts alone are enough support to keep me going. “Hello, my brother even chimes in for support these days”, I say in thought to the naysayer.

Then, in the quiet hours of one morning – the time when it feels like all truths are spoken – I remember something about learning that you don’t break through out of your comfort zone and into new amazing spaces by listening to the negative voice in your psyche. In fact, the louder that voice is, the more likely it is that you should take the step or leap of where your heart is directing.

Before the simple basic facts could get clouded by partial truths. I got out the credit card and paid for another three years. It’s still the cheapest option if broken down by month. and I won’t have to have this mental argument again for another three years.

I jumped in the shower and since the naysayer had been silenced on this topic, a new justification came to mind. Suddenly, I was saying to myself that if I had something to share, and it was a small semi-private space where people could pop in and look around and we could chat, then that was worth way more money than I was spending. Essentially, that was exactly what the hosting site was. A spot along the dusty road where mostly my relatives and a few friends swing by as they have a cup of coffee or tea and give a nod of acknowledgement or a few words. Every so often a stranger even stops in. Sure, it could be that they didn’t recognize the sign out front, but still it is interesting when they pop in. “Where was this argument when I needed you against the naysayer”, I think to myself. I suddenly feel like George Costanza from Seinfeld who could never think of the proper come back response until it was too late.

Partial truths can create a bucket of doubt, but when that bucket gets kicked over, those doubts drain away pretty quickly.

Besides, for now, I’ve said I would put up a story every now and then for distraction/amusement/thought or just to pass some time, so may as well put it where it can be shared.

Thanks for the support to get the through those mental arguments.

Love,

Sally

Digesting the Book

I’ve still been listening to that same book that had me pause and write last weeks blog. I’ve listened to two thirds or maybe three quarters of it, but currently have it paused for a few days. I’m at a lovely point in the book that I’m not ready to let go of. I know change is about to happen in the story but it’s like having the perfect bite in a meal, you know you’ll keep eating, but it seems unlikely that you’ll get another perfect bite, and you just want to savor it for a few moments.

The book is about the ordinary man – the one who it was told – “he had a story, but didn’t know what it was”. So, he does have quite a story, but it takes him walking across country to remember what it has been, see who he is now, and where he wants to go with it.

He has recently retired from a job that paid the bills, but never excited him. His wife has been mad at him for nearly twenty years and there is no real communication there, so his days are mundane.

Then one day, he gets a letter from a gal that worked in accounting at his place of employment long ago, saying she is in hospice with cancer and she just wanted to say thanks for being a friend. So, he tries penning a response and starts walking to a nearby post office box to drop it in and can’t get himself perform the action of actually mailing it. He walks past many until he needs to stop for nourishment and the clerk at his stop, relays a story of her relative who had cancer and survived. He then has an idea land upon him that he will walk the nearly 600 miles to where she is, and in doing so, this will keep her alive. He phones the facility of where she is, and tells the gal who answers the phone (his old friend is unable to take the call), that he is walking to see her and she must wait for him. He does not pause to go home and get his phone, proper walking shoes, more clothes or anything. He just begins before something or someone in life convinces him he cannot do this unimaginable thing.

This is where I think that the book captures the imagination of many people. The concept, where life presents itself, and while you are totally unprepared, you start to do the thing that you feel most compelled to do – struggling, but figuring it out as you go. Then in your change or direction, comes the change also of those connected and encountered by you.

Listening to this story has been for me, a bit like hanging a crystal in a window. It looks fairly benign on its own, but as the sun hits it, you find yourself looking at parts of your space (my mind/heart/emotions in this case) that you don’t normally focus on as the colors refract out and draw your eye to spots normally overlooked or not focused upon.

I feel the connection of having someone dear, but not so near, dealing with cancer and what to do and how to support them. I feel the connection of the big and small moments you get with strangers when you go off your normal path and allow those interactions to happen.

So, I’ve taken a few days to enjoy where the characters are right now in the book and to also enjoy where I am and recount the struggles, joys, old and new friends and travel I’ve had too.

I’ll likely listen to the remainder soon. And who knows, maybe this wasn’t the spot where I took the perfect bite, but it will still have been worth savoring either way.

Hope your week was filled with moments to savor too.

Love,

Sally

Update on the interviews and book selections: Neither interview had read in a while – I guess I need to change the question to include podcasts, movies or other materials to widen the scope. #1 said if she had to choose, she liked romance and there was one called -Ride The Wind – that she would recommend. Oh, that reminds me of a story with my Grandmother that I’ll have to share one day.

#2 recalled that he liked suspense and recommended – Into the Light

Three more interviews this week, so we shall see what these prospects come up with.

Looking at People’s Stories

I was listening to a book in the car on the way home from work this week, and there was a line in the prose where someone described the main character as, “he has a story, he just doesn’t know what it is”. I paused the book to contemplate that line and have been chewing on it ever since.

The character in the book wasn’t young, although I do believe that quote was from a coworker in his earlier days in life. Young or old, the truth of the statement was still holding true. He was moving through life, but he wasn’t living his story.

It got me to thinking about the people I have been meeting or know and about their stories.

There would be a few, I feel, that are living a good life, but waiting for their story to unfold. Like they are only in the prelude to their own storybook and waiting for the actual story to begin.

There are some I know of, that maintain an old story and can’t seem to move on from there. Think of the high school quarterback who felt those were the best days ever and still lives to replay those moments as much as possible. Or those with trauma that can’t move on from the constant reliving of their horrible moments. It always saddens me when we live through millions of hours and minutes, but let a few moments define oneself.

There are those that are limited by the stories they tell themselves – this is likely a truth in varying degrees for many of us. I know that I have that “unworthy” voice who sneaks in at random times for me.

There’s ones that are in a tough chapter of what is happening to them or their family, but it’s a chapter, and not their true story.

If coarse, everyone also sees a different story in people based upon their relationship and interactions with them. I can remember sitting with a friend in the hospital and having her family walk in and immediately seeing my friend change into the person that her family had categorized and logged her as the person they knew in their lives. It was like a box was immediately constructed that she was put into – and she morphed to fit into it. I remember leaving and wishing that her family could see the version that I saw – but then, I didn’t have the same years, events and family dynamics in my version that they did. I guess, she has the same story, but like any really complex book, people read and relate to it differently.

I’ve thought about how I see people living in a state of fear, and know that it is limiting their story – or quite possibly keeping it hidden from them. I haven’t listened to enough of the book to know if that is the case for the character in this novel.

It got me thinking of the people that I have struggled to connect to in life and why. If I thumb through that file, I think that almost universally, I can’t or don’t connect to them because they only ever show one story of themselves or a constant versions of the same story over and over. Or, they don’t share their stories at all.

That is the crux of it right there, I believe. You have to share the story for it to spark the thought, emotion, connection, for someone else to pick it up and hold.

Everyone’s story, is if coarse up for interpretation and is filtered through your experiences, knowledge and connection to the others narrative.

For me? I feel like everyday is a story. Shoot, I hear one line in a book, and I have to stop the book because in my head, that one statement is a story. Is it my story? No, it’s a line, on a page, in a book(which is me) filled with many stories of which many are ongoing and still evolving.

And so, this weeks distraction story would be a prime example of how my senses (ears this time), pick up in one little thing and it pulls at me to stop and mull it over and feel it out and figure out why it caused me pause. Pretty soon, I jot down the ideas and hit send before that other voice in my head says I shouldn’t.

Thanks for being a part of my story.

Love, Sally

Side note: books recommended to read from my three interviews this week, 1. Nothing, she hasn’t read in thirty years – Really? Really? I’m afraid to know what my face reaction was (thank goodness I was wearing my mask. 2. “A Yellow Raft in Blue Water” – about three generations of Native American women and their journey through life. 3. “The Secret” – according to number 3, it provides positive ways to look at everything in life.

Until the next post, I hope you hear, see, experience a good story.

Where the stories began to be shared

This weeks story

I think it is ironic most days, that I actually own a website where I can write and post anything that I wish. It is ironic because It is a potentially very public platform for something I hold quite private. I mean, I love to write personal notes or even stories to people, but having it be public is a different beast than an individual note, card or text. I think that the reason that I can write something and allow it to be read by multiple people at all, stems from one moment in high school.

Some background first:

I was a bit of a mess as for that last year of high school. I’ll say it all started when my mother and father had gone to visit friends in Xenia Ohio for a weekend. It was memorable for several reasons. One, my parents rarely went anywhere – we were dairy farmers, so you don’t get to leave, as cows always need fed and milked. Two, Xenia was the location of one of the largest most powerful tornados ever to hit the state of Ohio just several years prior and we were curious to have eyes on the changes to the town.

Three, our world changed forever that weekend. While staying in their friends home, my Mom had what they thought was a stroke. After a night of fun, games and conversations, they went to the guest bedroom and she later awoke and could not speak or move properly. They called an ambulance and took her for medical attention. I don’t recall them being gone for any longer than they had scheduled to be away, so she must have recovered in the hospital fairly quickly to be sent home. The directive was that she was to see her local doctors as soon as possible once back at our house. It shook my Mom for that to have occurred. She had felt embarrassed to have had it happen in someone’s home when all was to have been a joyous time. It also scared her – that her always reliable body – had failed her without reason. The reason came not too long and several tests later when they diagnosed her with a mass in her brain. They then cut open her skull to look and see what type of mass it was. It was not a hard definable mass that they could cut out, it was a soft tumor that grew onto her brain and they could not really take more than a sample out as to do otherwise would have caused more brain damage than what the tumor was already doing.

So, all of this was going on, and I guess that I handled all of those emotions of what was happening better some days than others. I’m sure that I was way more sullen some days than I thought I was showing. It’s funny how when you shut down your emotions thinking that it will hide them from view, it instead acts more like a billboard stating there’s a problem.

Back to that one memorable day. I was in an advanced math class and instead of my normal rapt attention, was lost in the fearful thoughts of not knowing what was going to happen with Mom. Towards the end of the class, the teacher, irritated with my non-engagement in a problem, asked if I was ok and could I join the rest in paying attention. I honestly don’t exactly recall what my reply was, but I was feeling so fragile at that moment that having someone direct any attention at me was more than I could handle. I stood up and said no I wasn’t fine and asked if I could please be excused as I started to cry and headed for the door. Not a known cryer, she nodded approval and I left for the restroom. Problem was, I was in near full bawling mode and knew that I couldn’t regain composure by the start of next class as the bell was about to ring for change just a few minutes after I left. Never one to just ditch a class, I decided to reach my upcoming English class early and ask to be excused until I could get it together once again. She said sure, take what you need, she would be reading stories to the class that we had all been writing recently. We had been directed to write short stories. I think it was maybe a mythology unit that we were studying and we were all to create mythological creatures of our own.

So, I made my way back to the girls bathroom trying to make myself invisible to everyone now flooding the halls in the change of classes. I cried out of frustration, fear and now embarrassment that I had had a public breakdown. My face was red, my eyes puffy, my nose running and while the cold water I was using to try to calm these manifestations, felt good and calming, it did little to hide the obvious results of a really good cry.

When I could again breath in a normal rhythm and felt I wouldn’t relapse and loose composure if someone looked or spoke to me, I ploddingly made it to the English class. I had missed most of the class by then and was relieved that she just let me get to my desk without a word or reference to my sad state or length of delay in showing up. She merely continued reading the current story.

My relief was short lived as the very next story she began was mine. First of all, I had hoped my story wouldn’t have been read at all – even if she didn’t tell the class what stories were by whom, I still felt that my horror of having it read aloud would give me away. The thing of it was, it may have been the first real creative writing story that I ever did and I found that it was fun. For me, it was like making mud pies and structures as a kid, as long as no one was critiquing your creation, you could make anything and just enjoy the process.

So there I was, just fresh from crying my eyes out, feeling I had maybe dodged too much humiliation of self exposure and now all of a sudden, I was again feeling exposed as she was starting to read my story. If I could have made myself disappear, I absolutely would have. I’m sure I must have looked up and given her a “Please No, please don’t do it” look, but in her ever confident, melodic reading voice, she read.

I remember initially thinking that this was perhaps a betrayal or assault to purposefully now bring attention to me (even if it was only she and I who knew it was my story) when I was already beaten down for the day. But, beneath the panic of the moment, I felt her support, her purposeful act of holding onto my story until I was in the room to hear it read. Her allowing me to absorb bits of appreciation and plant that seed that stories can be shared and the world doesn’t stop when you do so even when you feel it might.

It was also a lesson on how hiding your fears gives them power, while shining a light on them gives you power.

So, if you like that I write a note, story or blog to share every now and then, you just might want to send a thank you to my English teacher turned advisor, friend and pal. She doesn’t grade my output any longer -although my sentence structures, punctuation and grammar probably make her wish she could – she does still fully support me in sharing some stories.

Acknowledgement: my memories of this time period may differ from others around for those same times. We all see the world from our own lens and this was mine alone.

Love, Sally

When you say Yes

To put it mildly, the world has been a bit out of sorts. People are being protective of themselves and their families and for good reason. But people are also often acting out in negative or destructive ways because they are fearful.

When you see a situation, it is easy to bring up past memories of an experience or even a story heard that triggers a fear reaction.  Or, you project what could happen also based upon a fear of possibilities.

This week, a few of my coworkers and I  faced one of these situations.

I showed up to work early along with one of my newer team members.  I unlocked the door, put away my things and sat down to start the day when I noticed a young man walking down the sidewalk in front of our building.  In a flash, I had the premonition that he was coming into the building – we don’t have an OPEN sign, nor do we project an open to the public feel. It was still dark and was raining (it had been snowing at my house when I left, but that is a few thousand feet higher, so it hadn’t started snowing in Denver just yet).  I normally keep the doors locked when I arrive early, but this morning,  I had unlocked it and left it unlocked for the other gal figuring we were fine with two of us in the building.  I saw the gentleman disappear from my view as he went around the corner to the front of the building.  We are on a corner with windows on all sides, so I waited to see if I would see him walk past the other wall of windows as his path took him on his way.  Instead, I could hear the faint movement of the outer door and then there he was as he opened the inner door to our office space.  I looked up and asked if there was something we could do for him.  Thinking about it,  that’s just a polite way of saying “what are you doing here man?”

He stood there in a tshirt and baggy pants dripping wet, eyes down like a beat puppy and asked if he could just sit in one of our chairs for a bit and warm up. As a rule, we have a strict policy of no solicitation and in that spirit, no strays, wanderers or any random bloke who might just be walking by.

Per our policy, I had started to say that we couldn’t really let him just hang out, but he really did have a desperate look about him, so instead of the no that my rational mode was projecting, I said that yes, he could have a seat.

He sat down and bent over. Possibly to keep as much of the dripping off of the seat and as to physically curl into a tighter position to garner some body heat.

We asked where it was headed and he said he was needing to walk to downtown Denver and he had forgotten his coat and hadn’t realized it was so cold. (It had been beautiful warm and in the 60’s the past few days, so maybe he didn’t realize the weather was changing and it was to snow today)

It’s interesting how your mind processes scenarios so quickly.  Mine went from “you can’t let a strange man stay in here possibly putting myself and my team member at risk”, to “what do I have to help this person in need who is right in front of me?”

I remembered I had a fleece jacket in the car that I had been using out on my lunch walks when it was chilly. I got up and said I had to go to my car for a moment and fetched it. I hurriedly went through the pockets to make sure I didn’t have anything like old Kleenex or something and walked back in and presented it to him. I explained it was for him to have and while it wouldn’t keep him dry, it would provide another layer. He gratefully put it on right away, zipping it up and curling once more to ball up some more heat.

A minute or two later, two of our sales guys walked in, clocked in and gave me the ‘what the heck’ look all the while saying good morning and asking what was going on?  I was a little fretful of their reactions as these two have been hyper vigilant about the social distancing and keeping spaces sanitary with the covid 19 outbreak threat.

From their positions at their desks right behind me, they kinda went through the same question and answer with the dude as we had. Then, one of the guys walked over and handed him his big thick flannel shirt/jacket that he had just worn on his way into work.

Our now defrosting visitor, took his coat and put it next to him seemingly not sure what he was going to do with it. It was at this time that my team member excused herself to go out to her van and after retrieving a few dollars, gave them to him and told him to go take the light rail as Denver was far too far to be attempting to walk in the freezing rain.

I looked at the clock just then and realized that I should make an announcement of sorts. I said that while we were all ok offering shelter for him, the owner would show up in 5-10 minutes, and he would not be ok with the situation and I just didn’t want to see him faced with negativity along with the perils of his morning thus far.

He said he understood and picked up the flannel and put it on over the fleece jacket and said thanks to everyone. He then stopped as he was exiting through our inner doors and asked in a somewhat timid voice: “do you know who I am?”

It was as if we all took a second to scan our memory banks for recognition from experience or media as all of us wondered for a moment if we had someone famous among us and we all said “no” in unison. To which I added, “should we?”

I couldn’t fully see him at this point, but it seemed like he shrugged and left.

The feeling I think that  we all got, was that he thought someone must know him for nearly all of us to give something of ourselves without prompt or asking.  And who knows, maybe he had said a prayer before stepping in that we would allow a few minutes of shelter. and that prayer allowed each of us to identify with that need to just feel secure for a few minutes -remembering when we’ve misjudged what we had stepped into on any given day. In hindsight, I think we could have responded with , “we don’t know you, but we do recognize the needs we all have”

In a time when we are honestly wary about which coworkers to even let into the building for fear of what germs they have picked up upon, it was a good feeling to not let that cloud our helping out a stranger in need.

May we all grasp the thread of humanity and hold onto it pulling the good and heartfelt moments out of the chaos.

And as so many of the emails I get from customer, vendors and friends now say:

Take Care, Be Well and wash your hands.

Love

Sally

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

My favorite holiday. Gather up family and food and gratitude and spend the day together. What could be better?

Here is a non-inclusive list of what I am grateful for today.

I’m grateful for the snow that is falling, draping beautiful carpets of white across the ground.

I’m grateful that my boys will be here and maybe we can play some games.

I’m grateful for my job and the people I work with who make me smile and laugh every day.

I’m grateful that I am healthy and able to do what I enjoy in activities.


I’m grateful for Ted and his hard work and creativity and support.

I’m grateful for my friends near and far. I’m grateful for their sharing spirits, understanding hearts, willingness to listen and ability to call out my shit. – And huge ability to make me laugh as they do so.

I’m grateful for my home, my plants, my gardens, my neighbors.

I am grateful for my family of all generations and connectivity. For the love given and shown throughout my life.

I’m grateful for travel and all that I learn and see when I visit new places and meet new people.

I’m grateful for ceremony, for prayer, for the moments I feel limitless love.

I’m grateful for things, people, books and podcasts that come along and find their way to me that expands my mind and heart.

I’m grateful for those who struggle and allow me to see it so that I might not go through the same struggle.

I’m grateful that on most days, I do notice the part of any situation where gratitude can be found.

And if you are reading this. I am grateful.

With love,

Sally

Cloudy Heart Day

I woke up in the predawn hours and checked the weather app for the conditions at the farm today . Cold and cloudy was the prediction my phone had. I guess in my head I had wished for a spring sunny day with balmy temps and daffodils popping up in the yard for the day of Adam’s Funeral. Instead, the weather will give cover for those who will clutch themselves tightly as to brace from the cold, when it is the emotions of saying goodbye to Adam that they will likely be bracing against.

I use to wonder what good purpose was it to have calling hours and a funeral. (Side story, my co workers have never heard the term calling hours. So now I’m unsure if that is a regional or family term that I grew up with to signify the visitation time before a funeral)

Before I was forced to be in a receiving line at a funeral, I imagined it to be about the worst place one could be. Being on the receiving side of everyone else’s emotions on a day you never wanted to have happen in the first place.

What I learned though was that in the days between the death and the funeral, you pick through photos and stories with those closest in your circle basically having days of living memorial services with each conversation around the kitchen table , yard or impromptu gathering spot. By the time there is a line in front of you, you are ready to see a “few” people come through the line.

It didn’t take long for me to realize   what the  value is standing in that line though. I was amazed at the small but touching stories that the person shaking my hand (often with their hand shaking from emotion) would relay. Sometimes people could only manage a hug, lacking the words to match their emotions. Somehow, those hugs told even deeper stories. In those hours of standing and greeting, I got it. The method, the reason. Why it is an important part of dealing and healing from the gaping wound of losing someone so near. That in the mass of people and stories, hugs and handshakes, your vision begins to change. The broken bits get picked up and arranged into a viewer so that the slightest bit of light now shows a beautiful kaleidoscope. With every new person comes a turn of the lenses and another beautiful view of how your loved one touched their life. Sometimes, it wasn’t even directly. I was thankful for even those who came because my loved one touched the life of their loved one and they just wanted to pay respects for that.

I’m sorry I will not be at the funeral today to share in the stories and hugs.
I can envision a 21 tractor salute for Adam. The taking of his casket to to cemetery on a 1910 steel wheel wagon pulled by a two cylinder antique John Deere tractor. Not really practical, as those old tractors would make for a really slow procession, but the imagery will by my personal service paid to Adam in my mind.

Love to all today who share in the memory of Adam Henry Michael. If someone gives you an extra long hug, know that part of it was from me, for I will be with you all in spirit.

Sally

Sad days

It’s such a sad time. My dear cousin’s son has died. He was 21 and we all thought his road would be a long one with lots of pit stops and amazing highlights. Instead his truck hit a guard rail, flipped into the creek below and he was killed.

I won’t claim to have known Adam well as I haven’t been back to Ohio all that often, but each time I was back at the farm, my cousin was there and so was Adam. The last time was for my nephew Ian and Kattie’s wedding. Adam was going nonstop getting orders barked at him from all directions and never ever dropping his head wishing for the orders to stop. He just jumped up and did the task. Frankly, I was amazed for I would have railed against such constant demands when I was that age. Adam gave me the impression that he knew that by just being around the projects and duties of the farm, he was learning skills and got to share in ideas that others go away to learn. He observed his dad and my brother work side by side for years each knowing the next step of the other without words being passed. He mimicked their arguments in a way that he got the love that underlies it all.  To hear is sisters side, he learned how to then bark orders quite well himself once he was back home where he often took command.

That pic for me is was how Adam was for me, funny, goofy, in the middle of it all.

To me, Adam had a smile with eyes that sparkled when he did. Sometimes, I would catch him hanging around and he would have this grin, like he knew the joke before the rest of us even spoke.

The saying goes that we “lost” someone dear. But what I know to be true, is that in taking away his physical body, the rest of us will find where Adam remains. You see, energy cannot be destroyed, and Adam worked on so many projects, tractors, helped out in so many ways, put energy into so many things, that those who spent any time with him will likely now find him everywhere.

I know you will be missed Adam, but it is memories and the energies of what we did that get left behind, so thank you for leaving so much at the farm and pond and home for everyone to have forever.

To all the Michael and Tomlinson families, you are in my heart, prayers and tears.

love you all,

Sally

Storybook Lunch

On my lunch hour recently, I took a book I have borrowed to the creek side area near my office in hopes of reading more than two pages before I had to put it down. I have mostly listened to books in the past year as I spend enough time in my car that I can whip through those fairly quickly. Sitting down to read is much more challenging.

I found a secluded spot in the grass next to the very full creek engorged still with spring rains and runoff of winter snows from the mountains.
As I sat reading my book, a brilliant blue dragonfly landed on my left forearm. It’s wings folded back over it’s tiny body as it just sat there. I wanted to grab my phone and snatch a photo, but I knew that even the most gentle release from holding the book would cause my muscles to move and my little friend would be gone. So I just sat there and studied the small body, the large eyes, and those wings stacked next to each other. The lace-like beauty of the wings with an intricate pattern that reminded me of a geisha girl with an intricate fan that she could just flick open and show her admirers.
It showed no signs of taking off, So I decided I would try for my phone to snap a pic. I didn’t even fully let go of the book with my opposite hand before my previous instinct was proven correct and it flew away.


I went back to reading and before long, the blue beauty returned and landed on my other forearm. This time I just smiled and admired it until it again decided to move on once more.
I was reading The Lost City of Z about the expeditions into the Amazon jungle and felt thankful that I was being visited by this little creature and not the blood thirsty invasive insects that I was reading about.
I soon was thinking about my little space with the tall grasses and rushing creek and how serene non threatening it was.
As I sat the book down to just enjoy the time left in my lunch hour, I noticed a momma duck headed upstream with her crew of little ones behind her.

They was nearly directly in front of me before she seems to spot me and move slightly further away deeper into the current as they passed on by. It was much swifter even the foot or so further out that they ventured and the last little duckling was praddling furiously to keep up and I just had to imagine his little mind groaning “was this really necessary?”

As they moved past me upstream, the Momma stopped and the babies kept going a few more feet past her and settled into a submerged grassy patch that would normally have been part of the dry bank had the stream not been so full.  The Mom did not look at me, but was treading water as she was hovering half way between where I sat and her babies played in the shallows. She would look at the ducklings and then look upstream ignoring me and look again back at the babes. I grew curious as to what she was up to when I finally saw two more tiny fluffy ducklings scurrying upstream to catch up with the rest of the family.

I felt like I had just read a really cute children’s book.

 

What a Summer

summer-is-over-snoopyAs most of you know, I somewhat finagled to have the summer off.  You could be wondering why there were no stories when I was not working as one would think I was flush with time.

I think that I was so grateful for the time, travel, talks, friends, family and fun, that part of me was hesitant to stop and share as the stopping might halt the flow.  Not rational I know, but when your is such an amazing flow, it’s hard to contemplate the stop of any of it.

When my fairly extensive travels concluded, work called and asked that I end my mini-retirement.

summer-is-over

So, before I went back to work, I made a list of what I was going to miss from my summer.

Here it is- in no particular order of importance:

Being in my Pajamas till afternoon sometimes

Mornings on the deck

Long conversations with friends

Leisurely cooking

Mid day walks with Woody

Road Trips, Road Trips, Road Trips

Cousins, Family, Friends

Lack of plans and schedules except for planning the next adventure

Just being

Spending more time outdoors than inside

she-began-to-breathe

Yes there are stories to be shared and I’m hoping I can start to share with a bit more regularity.  So, check back from time to time and you might find one with a chuckle or two.

Love,

Sally