permission granted…

This morning well before six a.m. I read that time is a circus always packing up and moving away, that nursery fare is supreme comfort and that a story has permission to go anywhere it wants to…

I’ve never liked the circus much. While I’m mesmerized by the talent and strength of the human performers, as a whole the circus of my childhood leaves me sad. I don’t mind watching it move away. Time will never be a still thing and I’m good with that.

Oh to have a day of nursery fare! I Love Lucy on tv, pjs and my favorite soup with melty cheese crackers on the side. A Jammy day! Jack is good at those. He curls up nearby and gladly helps me part with my cheesey saltines. I confess he stares a lot until the yummies are gone. But eventually he closes his peepers and we both nap. It reminds me of my Mimi. I would stay with her sometimes when my Papa was away at the farm. She was safe then from his hands that could be hurtful.

I could sleep as late as I wanted to in the coziest bed! Mimi grew up in Chicago. She knew how to layer a bed for warmth and comfort. She let me stay in my jammies and eat breakfast on a TV tray. And she taught me to crochet…hand work…to take a tiny bit of yarn and create something beautiful…

Where will this story go. I’m not sure yet. All of mine seem to wander around. I always wonder if I’m hard to follow. Nevertheless, there I am…

I didn’t sleep especially well. I hope today will be a good one and not just for myself. We often hope that don’t we…for a good one…whatever the One happens to be.

Hoping for clear skies and kindness

For moonbeams and sweet dreams

….to always find us…

We hope for ourselves and for others at the same time. There it is again, that time thing, packing up and moving away.

I hope that you can rest, that your pizza will be full of your favorite toppings, that you had a Mimi whose fridge always had sweet tea in it, and that the music will soothe you…

Hope falls somewhere between desire and wishing. It’s the embodiment of who you are and how you love the world. It knows the longing of your soul and writes the words that make it real. Desire paints the masterpiece in your heart, and wishing lights up not only the night sky but the whole world around you.

Hope sort of takes the two, desire and wishing, and builds a bridge between them…lays the stones for the one to reach the other. Beethoven does that with a brilliance I can hardly imagine. Every note he has left us is a symphony of hope. He created movements of beauty in the emptiness between desire and wishing. ….and floods my soul with hope.

Renoir does it too…such stunning joyful colors! Even with my eyes closed, the rubies and emeralds and sapphires take my breath away. And Van Gogh…with his passion filled brush. He welcomes my tears as well as my dancing. Vincent tells me that both are ok, both have a place and a time….His creations are all about the movement of the soul. I can feel his paintings sweeping straight into the depths of my heart…. moving is a lovely thing, taking one and bringing another

Beauty arrives in many a disguise. We have only to open the door and let it cross the threshold bearing its precious gifts. Perhaps for you it comes as Corey Taylor’s voice or Kavanaugh’s poetry or Kokoschka’s art. And that’s all very good. It is as it should be.

Ellie is a pup again when she hears the tin of oatmeal cookies open. Bo is a speed demon to my side when he hears the toaster pop. Jack only and always wants to be near whether there is a favorite snack or not. And Dobby is a master at waiting for my return…from anywhere…even from just down to the mailbox!

I’m grateful for cloudy skies, morning thoughts, soft flannel sheets in the winter, and learning to crochet. The circus is all packed up now. Scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast are waiting for me. This story, if you can call it that, has ventured to all the places that I guess it wanted to go. Permission granted….I’m grateful for that too…

****

ellie894 July 9, 2019

My Dear Brave Knight

Bravely He set out to play

A questing Knight on a summer’s day

With rope he tied his wagon to the brightest daytime star

A rolled up map to guide him on his journey far

There were dots and dashes and so much more

X marked the spot of buried gems galore

The wagon was empty

The Knight hadn’t a care

Only to wander and to search

All that was out there

He discovered a stone from the castle of Arthur

An arrow from Robin Hood’s bow

Even the Captain’s hook that Peter took

When he was young and bold

And so many more besides them

At the very least forty and four times four

He marked the map with this and that

Each time to the wagon he added a prize

That very first X…

The one that marked the pirate’s private spot…

Soon it was hidden amongst so many others

And his wagon was heavy

With all he had collected along the way

And the Knight was lost

Surrounded by forest

In the heat of the summer

And nary a breeze

Only the hum of cicadas stirring the trees

With weary arms and downcast eyes

He paused for a spell

In the dragons shadow that long ago fell

Silence descended

What would He do

Dwarves and giants

Threatened his quest

The great unknown would never let him rest

A lone leaf from overhead

Drifted through the air

Coming to rest upon the ground

And with it a notion he discovered

A plan did now appear

His eyes burned with excitement

The fire he did not fear

He must climb the mountain

Search the horizon far and wide

And know the way that called to him

From somewhere deep inside

The map with all its marks was useless to him now

The wagon laden with objects of the past

Was nothing but a burden on this new journey that He faced

Each thing must be left behind like an X upon the parchment

If He would reach the pinnacle

And begin to find his truth

So, bravely He set out to play

A questing Knight on a summer’s day

One step at a time

His tired legs did climb

Leaving the map and the path…

Letting go…

Of the castle stone

…the mighty staff

…the protective cloak

And oh so very much more…

Until, at last he reached the very top

Looking over all the way that He had come

His wagon long empty now

Light as a feather in the fading sun…

Yet his heart was overflowing

Eyes open and searching below

As a smoky mist curled up high

Marking an X in the evening sky

There was the treasure!

So true and so prized

Heart racing wildly

He jumped in the wagon

Pushed off with his feet

He steered with great care

Down the face of the mountain

Quickly he sped….

As It all flew passed him

Every great moment

That lead to this one here and now

The darkest forest

…raging seas

….wisdom of silence

……..knowing breeze

Then…

His wagon slowed and stopped

Before the waiting door

Wide and joyfully it opened

To He…so brave…

And there waited She….

She who gathered him to herself

As the treasure that He was

In a sweet embrace

And a gentle kiss to his dirt smudged face

How I’ve missed you So

My dear brave knight

While you have been so long away

Tell me…

Wherever did you go

Whatever did you see

On this fine fine summer’s day

And He began to tell the tales

Of the beastly and magical moments won

As She listened and loved

And loved and listened

Well beyond the setting of the summer sun…

****

ellie894 December 18, 2018

It’s always something…

Dogs do not sneak quietly into my life with built in good manners.

Misbehavior! Gasp! Say it isn’t so… First they are overly generous with their friendly greetings and not one of them is under 50 pounds. Then there’s jumping. Mostly they reserve that for me. It is no fun to have your feet swept out from under you so that one lands on unmentionable places with a dull thud. Last but not least there’s rough housing…with each other. That wouldn’t be so bad. I admit it does use up some of their endless energy. The dilemma is that they do it within inches of me. My smallish self becomes an unwilling participant in their romping games. Remember that dull thud I mentioned before. Yep, there we are again…

Yesterday afternoon I set out on a walk with Dobby on a leash – we are diligently working on good manners. Miss Ellie came too, not on a leash – she already has good manners. We three musketeers headed to the pond, as we do everyday. Ah, a lone mower was at work in the field. The dogs were content by my side but definitely curious about these happenings in what they consider “their” space. I could see their thoughts ticking away at the idea of a new friend!

He was preparing for this afternoon. There will be a couple hours of skeet shooting for out of town guests. Miss Ellie will be frightened by the sounds of the gunshots. She would never have made a hunting dog which is fine with me. Ellie will stay under my feet until the shooting stops. She likes it best when I take her to a large closet and turn on a loud fan to drown out the noise. I sit on the floor with her, crisscross applesauce and pet her gently until she calms and falls asleep.

It hurts me to see Ellie so afraid. She doesn’t understand. It’s a helpless feeling for both of us and all I can really do is be near so that she knows I’m there with her.

So, I veered from our usual walk on the north side. We reversed our footsteps and took the path to the south instead. Across the creek, through the young pines, onward and upward. At the top of the hill rests a very small very old cemetery…

I looked once….I looked twice…I looked three times… no doubt about it; there was a young bull inside of the cemetery!

My first thought was that there must be a break somewhere in the fence – I explored carefully. The chain link fence was completely in tact and the gate was quite closed. Hmm… He stared at us. We stared at him. All of us were perplexed at such a strange occurrence.

My second thought was to simply open the gate and let him out. I wasn’t afraid of him. But, after all he is not my bull. Perhaps he was separated from the herd temporarily for a reason that I didn’t know. You never know…

Meanwhile, a lovely milk chocolate brown cow wandered up to give us a verbal “what for”. She must be his mother. Now, whether she was admonishing us to go away or to open the gate and set her son free, I can’t be sure. There we all were locked in some sort of weird time warp event. No one in any danger. No one knowing quite what to do next.

Now came the phone call which began like this – hello, this is suzanne. I have rather an odd question… I heard light laughter on the other end and the phrase – it’s always something! The friendly lady said – thank you samantha, I’ll be right over to let him out. Yes, samantha. I guess on the phone on Wednesday afternoons suzanne sounds a lot like samantha. I’m good with that. It makes me think of Bewitched and what girl doesn’t want just a hint of magic in her days.

My musketeers and I continued on our walk content that help was on its way. Yet, I was left wondering of the young bull. However did he get in there. How long had he been trapped. I’ll say this much, the cemetery does Not need to be mowed. How long would it take a bull his size to clean up a grassy area that way. It’s a riddle I’ll probably never have an answer to…

I could have stubbornly kept on to the pond as I usually do and not ventured to the south. But, you know that feeling when something changes. You can’t quite explain it but, there it is. And you change with it… Maybe you ease into the changes or maybe you fight them. Either way, you find yourself on a hill next to a cemetery staring at a bull who needs you. Only five minutes ago you didn’t even know he existed. Now, he’s touched your heart and you are forever different for it…

I know…forever is a long time…but sometimes the biggest changes happen in the smallest moments…

I could write all day about what brought me to this one place in time. Every moment is that way though, built upon others before it; a single step on the winding way to an unknowable future. To be honest, there were storms on this path that I would have gladly done without. Nevertheless, there I am… learning from All of it…not just the good stuff.

Simple really… I walked a different way, saw a bull, made a phone call, the end. And yet, it stays with me. I still see him alone and helpless with no way out looking into my eyes…the key to his freedom as simple as a hand upon a gate.

At times in my life I am Ellie shivering with fear of what I don’t understand. Other times I am the bull alone and helpless…not seeing the gate…not knowing how to open it for myself. I am even the cow unable to communicate my heart’s desire. I hold all of these moments until I need them again, the lessons of them. I need reminding often.

When something lands softly before me or crashes, as something always does…to remember how it feels to be on the other side of the fence or to shiver in the unknown…to give from my heart with compassion and my hand in gentle kindness. I’m never only on one side or the other.

There will always be something and the answer will always be love.

****

ellie894 October 11, 2018

Trucks and Stuff

Nothin’ quite like an old red truck

To let the miles and the minutes slip away

Miss Foxy doesn’t have any seat belts

They weren’t a thing back then

And she doesn’t drive as fast as she used to

But there’s no hurry

We’ll get there when we do

Where is there?

Why, there is just there

Any old where!

As long as it’s just us two…

It’ll give me plenty of time to sing

As the wind lets loose my hair

And think the thoughts

The gentle ones about which I truly care…

Taught myself to drive standard in this very truck

And That, brings me Joy!

But…Miss Daisy is an altogether different tale.

There’s room in the front for me

Plus one more

Will it be the Juice Box or Dear Dobby do?

George Bilbo Bumpus got to go last time

Climb in

Scootch over now

More than that

No, you may not sit in my lap while I drive

Yes, I know my window is down

Here, let me get yours too

See, I knew it

You just wanted to hang your head out

Pretending you can fly

Your ears look funny when they flap like that

Don’t slobber on the other cars passing by

It’s not polite

The bed is empty now

as we venture forth into the day

We’ll fill it soon enough

With treasured memories that we make along the way

Or…if you get very very wet and dirty at the lake

I’ll put You back there

And not think twice about it

That’s right,

I most certainly would!

Sit still while I open the gate

I’m watching you

Keep your nosey nose out of those snacks

They’re for later

In the shade of that grand oak tree

You know the one,

His branches reach every which way

Gently and strong

Holding those who call him home

I know right?!

The bestest place ever

To drift into the sunset

And let all the warmth and color

Rest upon your face…

What do you mean, why didn’t I say so?

I just did!

Ok, ok, I’m ready too

No, we won’t miss it

We have all the time in the world…

Miss Foxy is warmed up now

Wanna go for a ride?

****

ellie894 September 28, 2018

Miss Ellie Wishes ….

We are on morning walk just now…

My very own Royal We 🙂

There are six of Us.

Five nosey noses.

Five eager tails.

Ten floppy ears.

Twenty! Count them Twenty muddy exploring paws!

And…me…

The air is more gentle than it has been in weeks, a gift to be certain.

The light is stunning and graceful falling through the trees.

My finned friends circle and churn the once still water below the pier.

I wonder if they remember me, anticipating the morning offering I bring each day.

I have no idea what this day will bring, to my doorstep or to my heart…

But, for now, in this one moment there is a sweet hope…

That all shall be well…

Miss Ellie wishes each of you a brilliant day!

suzanne❤️

Jack j juice box

Few things are more wonderful than easing into wakefulness from the heart of a just because nap, an honest to goodness close your eyes and drift off if you want to, nap.  No bells or alarms jolting you into the present moment where you must hurry because you’re already five items behind on your to do list.  I’ve just had the bliss of one on this perfect September Sunday.  Jack is still heavy across my ankles, his favorite way to sleep.  The dogs are still dreaming.  It’s easiest for me to write when they are as still as a breezeless pond. Even that is deceptive.  They are only recharging for their next round of mayhem! 

Have you ever experienced a juice box? Yes, I’m talking about that small handheld invention – a box filled with juice in varying flavors accessible by a straw of matching size and cuteness.  Deceptive.  If you’ve ever gone round with one you’ll know why I call it an “experience”.  If you haven’t, I urge you to go forth and find one immediately if not sooner.  It’s something you’ll never forget.  You must find out for yourself.  It may in fact change your whole life.  Well, perhaps that’s a tad overstated.  But, you never know.
And if you think that one juice box is a wimpy experience, that you’re ready for so much more…or…you’re simply embarrassed to partake of a juice box as a great big grown up all alone….well, then I recommend that you make your way to the nearest preschool and enjoy your life changing experience with a dozen 3-5 year olds.  I dare you.

Ok, ready? Here goes.  A juice box is a tiny little thing, rather cute. Innocent and adorable it waits for you to come closer.  They  actually come in a variety of shapes but for our purposes we will focus on the box.  Pick it up. Turn it over in your hand.  Wow, pretty sturdy.  And how good of them to include such a tiny matching straw.  hmmm.  Here’s where you come upon your first challenge, to ease the straw protected by its own plastic sleeve away from the box.  Warning, if you mess this up you do not win the straw.  In fact it will crimp in the middle and you’ll end up fighting for every drop of juice through a mangled straw.

Assuming you tear it successfully away from the box you now face your next challenge. You must free the straw from its protective sleeve that I’m pretty sure was designed by NASA to withstand the fires of  re-entry into the earth’s atmosphere.  In the tackling of this step, do not – I repeat – do not –  do anything to flatten the pointy end of “cute little straw”.  Not so cute anymore, huh.  You’re going to need that pointy end to stab through the miniscule foil covering – also designed by NASA.  

So, straw meets foil.  If you’re too gentle your juice will never see the light of day.  If you’re too exuberant it will explode in your hand like some sort of mini volcano.  (Have you ever noticed how the word mini makes everything sound that much cuter.  Seriously. Try it while you’re enjoying your juice.) 

Even if you’ve made it this far things can still go miserably wrong.  You see, you have to hold it right.  Yep, there’s a right way to hold the cutie pie.  Side to side at the edges is best.  If you grip it in the middle the whole thing can easily turn into a fountain.  Juice will be everywhere that  you don’t want it and sadly missing from the one place you do want it, namely your tummy.  

Lest I have scared you off I assure you they are totally worth the effort.  The juice is fantastic once you finally get to it.  You are allowed to make a satisfying slurping noise when you reach the bottom.  Some boxes will even cave in and change shape as you drain them becoming an artistic sculpture worthy of being displayed at any reputable museum of modern art. What’s not to love about that?

Juice boxes are a fine science and to be honest I’m not certain how preschoolers stay hydrated in the face of such adversity.

Since we’re already in preschool let’s talk about glitter!  With your trusty juice box by your side all you need now is paper, glue, and glitter for some good old fashioned fun.  A clean piece of white paper layed on a sturdy surface, (not your grandmother’s mahogany table).  Take the bottle of Elmer’s glue and swirl to your hearts content.  This way and that with no rhyme or reason.  Add…Glitter! Shake it from the bottle.  Pour it from a spoon.  Sprinkle it with your fingers.  Just keep going until your paper has disappeared under the weighty beauty of the sparkly bits.  Gently lift at the corners letting all the excess fall away leaving behind  only what held firm to the glue.  There! Beautiful! And would you look at that, there we are again – the art of letting go leaving behind nothing but joy. One day we’ll learn. Maybe.

Glitter sticks!  It sticks in the carpet, to your hands, furniture, face, you name it.  It makes its way absolutely everywhere and doesn’t give up easily. I know people who cringe at the sight of it.  Oh no, that crafty art project will have to stay behind.  I’ll never get rid of all that glitter.  My question is, why would you want to.  It’s so much fun.  Still,  for many it is left behind out of fear and the desire for perfection.  Perfect carpet.  Perfect furniture.  Perfect life.  

But life in all of its ups and downs is a profoundly messy thing.  Dirt falling from paws and the shedding of fur is as messy as glitter but I will never trade the joy of it for a perfect floor.  

Jack is my September puppy.  My juice box. My glitter.  

Three years ago Jack gazed at me with those warm brown eyes.  I gathered him up.  He didn’t squirm to get loose.  He didn’t try to chew on me.  He gently nuzzled into my neck as though he was home and had belonged there all along. He hardly moved at all, happy to  just be in my arms, as though he could finally rest.  Jack is mine. Or rather, I am his.  He chose me as surely as a preschooler chooses their favorite flavor of juice. I was helpless to resist. Such perfect precious innocence…

 Um, no. Precious, maybe. Perfect and innocent? No way.  Jack is the mess that sticks without glue.  How often do I shake my head and sigh – oh, jack. 

Jack is the reason I get up so early to write.  When he was a puppy he insisted with both voice and paw that I awaken early, as in 4:30 crazy early! I soon realized that he only wanted me to move to the den where he would settle in and return to sleep.  What is that about?!  Hmmm.  As long as I was up anyway I might as well make the best of it and write in the quiet hours before dawn.  

It is Jack who cornered the poor beaver.  It is Jack who steals the toys. It is Jack who will dig a hole to the center of the earth’s core.  It is Jack who knows all of the neighbors on a first name basis. It is Jack who whimpers in the hallway begging to be noticed.  It is Jack who will do his best Paul Bunyan impression trying to carry an entire tree branch, even if it’s only for a few feet.  It is Jack who sends Bo scurrying under the picnic table.  It is Jack who actually does the yoga pose downward facing dog.  It is Jack’s name that I call in the woods when I want all of my companions to come along.  It is strange indeed how all of the dogs come bounding in response to his name. It gives me a hearty smile.  It is Jack who can round up an entire herd of cows in under two minutes. That’s a real sight to see! It is Jack who is a little Casanova. 

It is Jack who greets me with an actual cry of delight when I return home after an absence.  Whether I’ve been away for 5 minutes or 5 hours makes no difference to him. He is overcome with joy that I am no longer invisible.  It is Jack who finds things, things that I didn’t even know were lost… Jack is my life changing juice box. Jack is my brilliant little mess that sticks to every part of my life with the tenacity of glitter.  I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Hidden in the heart of the messy places, the ones you least expect, there is where your joy is.  Life is a complicated adventure.  You cannot create one without a bit of bother and a touch of glue.  I will never trade a glittery mess for picture perfect.  It’s just not worth it.  Life is short.  Even when it’s long, it’s short.  Too short to be afraid of a juice box .  Too short not to take the glittery masterpiece home with you.  Embrace the mess…and let go of the rest.