One day you open the fridge and look inside. You’re searching for a good nosh, a little something to nibble on. You move around this jar and that one, trying to find that yummy something…
When suddenly you realize with shock and awe that there are a half a kazillion mustards in there! And as though not to be outdone by their stalwart compadres, there is a full kazillion of pickles!
How did this happen, you think to yourself??
And, we’re not done yet…oh no, not hardly. Each and every jar and plastic bottle you come across has just one scant tablespoon of interesting mustard inside of it. In the mysterious case of pickles there are exactly and only two of them floating around in there.
I ask myself again – how did I end up with a fridge full of mickles and pustard??
So, I set out to fix it soon if not sooner! I will not purchase or open another jar until these are gone! Gone! Eaten up and devoured with relish! Luckily I don’t find myself with too much of that… relish, I mean.
My eyes are wide open for anything that goes well with pickles and mustard. Pronto! Turkey or ham or cheese for certain, bread or tortillas or crackers, yes, indeed. Those should all be just fine and dandy. Hopefully you have them handy. I do love peanut butter and cookies… but neither of them go well with mustard or pickles…so, they are definitely out.
My New Year’s resolution is a simple one. Eat up and finish off all those tiny bits and bots of pustard and mickles. I think there’s a good chance I’ll be successful with it. Dobby is behind me all the way! I think though, that it’s because he knows that it will make more space in the fridge for things that he likes. He’s not a big fan of m&p…😉
On a far prettier note, I walked outside this morning just in time to see the sky pink up. It lasts for so short a time and never ceases to be a treat when you catch it at the right moment…
The Happiest of New Year’s to you and to yours! May you always have enough to eat and more. And, may you always have something nearby to remind you of the beauty of life…
I overheard a woman calling out to a little girl, over and over again…. Lydia! Lydia!
Lydia is a pretty name, one that I don’t hear very often. But, there was a certain tone to it this time, a sharpness with a note of command backing it up. I couldn’t help but hear from where I was standing. The sound of it interrupted my thoughts. My thoughts were simple ones of tea towels and autumn inspired linens… and leaves turning and drifting in a beautiful whirlwind of gemstone colors….
Lydia’s mother and grandmother were getting louder and more emphatic all the time, trying to corral her… while Lydia herself, seemed lost in thought like me and cheerfully free spirited.
To be honest, I giggled to myself as a song sprang to mind –
“Lydia, Oh Lydia
Say, have you met Lydia
Lydia, the tattooed lady….”
It goes on from there… This child was certainly no Lydia of that variety! Another young girl named Virginia Weidler sang the rollicking song in the black and white film, The Philadelphia Story, starring Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. She was absolutely marvelous, playing the piano with vigor and belting out every word with flair! So there I found myself, giggling in a swirl of lost thoughts of my own.
I caught sight of dancing feet to the left of me and so, I looked up. There was Lydia! Her hair was a bit messy, long enough to brush the tops of her shoulders and with a few squirrelly knots thrown in for good measure. Her pint sized glasses were slightly askew. And, she wore a pale pink dress, the kind that little girls love to twirl about in and feel them spiral outwards and let the wind catch beneath them. If one spins fast enough one might just be able to gather enough air to set one flying….
Who knows what adventure one might have then!? I write from experience…
She was clearly smitten with the Christmas decorations, all the colorful displays full of the promise of a crisp winter morning and a stocking full of sweets.
The moment was chocked full of irony though.
Lydia, her name and herself, sailing away upon the air, so genuine and carefree.
While the calling out on the other hand was an earth bound and controlling thing, limited and tethered…like trying to put a leash on a butterfly.
It always strikes me when I see a child so young in glasses. However did they know she needed them. I began wearing glasses in school when it became clear I couldn’t see the blackboard very well. I wore contacts for a while but gave them up and went back to glasses for ease and comfort. The continuous losing of them is another story altogether.
I wonder how long she had had her glasses. Were they brand new. Did the whole world look different, crisper, clearer and brighter than she had ever seen it before!
I shall never forget the day I got my first pair of glasses. I sat still and upright in the straight backed chair with its industrial gray cushion. My feet dangled as I was too small for them to touch the floor. The lady on the other side of the table slipped the glasses with the tiny pink panther emblem onto my face. She ensured that they fit properly in all the right places and ways.
Then the lady sat back and smiled as though she was setting me free. They were all mine now. And, I turned my head to the right towards the plate glass window… and I could see… every last leaf on the wise old trees across the way. Not a mass of green all blurred together. But, every tree and every branch stood out with singular clarity. I could see! It seems fitting now that it was trees that I saw in that moment. Trees have been constants in my life, and I can remember each of them in turn and the vast importance of them to my heart and to my seeing.
I never heard a word at all out of Lydia, herself. She was as silent as a tiny mouse on Christmas eve.
I only heard her mother and her grandmother calling to her. They were far enough away and around a corner so that she was displaced from their view. That is a scary thing for a parent, to be sure. No doubt, they simply wanted her to be safe.
I don’t know what their names were. I don’t know whether they one day twirled in a pale pink dress silently but in high spirits. I don’t know if they were caught up by some small novelty. I don’t know if someone called out to them too, trying to keep them safe… but still, breaking the magic spell of being a child full of wonder… seeing life for the very first time…
Why, I ask myself, would anyone put a leash on a butterfly….
Oh, to be free to dance in the bluest autumn sky…
****
ellie894 October 2, 2022 A very happy October to everyone! Suzanne ❤️
I cannot yet say that there’s a welcome chill in the air
…but it is finally September…
Could you hear the sigh in me
As I wrote it out full…
September…
Last night a deer felt at home in the field
This morning,
A hawk graces the sky above me
My creek saunters on
As lyrically as always
To wherever it goes
But to my gaze it all seems the tiniest bit different
Far more exquisite than mere words
Can tell
It shimmers from the inside
As though by a faery’s whispered spell
I take a step
And another
…and another still
Gentle ones made carefully
So as not to disturb the tender things
That call the ground home
While I search the pine straw for a feather
…there isn’t one to be found
Perhaps there will be when I return
In time for the sun to wish me goodnight
Oh, eventime…
Will the colors be brilliant in their last hurrah
Or faded and comforting
Like my favorite soft jeans
We’ll see
But I don’t want to miss this moment
In anticipation of that one
And so back to now,
Woodpeckers knocking behind me
And turtles preparing to laze themselves long
Hour after hour
Upon the finest fallen log
I wonder at what they will see
While I am away this day
I breathe deeply in
The sweet air of a new dawn
After all it is September…
Some days there is a peace that comes
That nearly overwhelms me,
As silent as a single feather drifting
As mighty as the golden setting sun
All at once my heart knows
Beyond all knowing
That this…
…this is what love feels like…
****
ellie894 September 4, 2019
I could play with these thoughts a while longer and make them just so. I wonder if I’ve made a mistake somewhere that I’ll discover only after I share. So please forgive any missteps. I want only to give them away before this day gets away from me. They’re yours now and my hope is that you’ll find something lovely in them of your very own to keep. May you all find joy and kindness in the days ahead. ❤️
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 