It's All About the Journey

Today is your future. Live in the moment!


Tables I Have Known

Tables.  Surfaces for clutter, surfaces for dining.  Surfaces for laying today’s mail, to receive immediate attention.  Problematic, everything appears on the kitchen table, begging it’s space someplace else.

My parent’s kitchen table was always tidy.  It still is.  Layered with the plastic table cloth, plastic place mats, a wooden trivet in the shape of an apple, with a lamp in the middle on top, there is their table.  You have to move the lamp if there is company, or you can’t see around it to visit while eating.  But Mom can’t see well (maculaer degeneration), so that is it’s spot.

My old friend, Reenee, who has been gone probably a number of years, she had ended up in a nursing home after a severe stroke, her table was also her desk.  She and Tommy lived in a tiny apartment in the same building, along with Honey, her sister (who would, incidentally, be the same age as my mother, if she were still alive today–when Reenee ended up in the nursing home, Honey had to go to a home and she died because she could not be with her sister anymore).  Anyway, their kitchen table held their mail, immediate attention was on top of the tablecloth, those that she didn’t want to lose but may need attention, went beneath the tablecloth.  They too had a reading light above the table, so Tommy could see.  Tommy had huge thick eyeglasses.  I think he had been a truck driver in his younger days.  He retired, took off his pants, and never bothered again, sitting around in his boxers, day in and day out, sometimes at the table, sometimes in his chair, one of those that automatically lifted you up, he was a rather heavy individual.  Anyway, Reenee’s table was a hub, that’s for sure!  We drank tea, we drank coffee, Stella, her Greek friend (Reenee was Greek too, by the way) would bring baklava.

My table.  My table I swore would always be ready for company.  Tablecloth.  For awhile it was wipeable plastic or vinyl, but later I upgraded myself to cloth.  I do love cloth on a table, it gives it a clean, finished look.

But oh, that flat surface…it BEGS for the company of:  mail.  The daily mail.  Bills.  The bills that need paying, the bills that should be in the “IN” box on the desk.  They all are on the kitchen (or dining) table.  Waiting because they are a priority and need to be taken care of.  The pad with the grocery list, accompanied by the store flyer, and a pen.  The napkin basket, appropriately.  But can you locate the salt shaker?  Little pieces from some “thing” that the farmer is working on, a part needing to be replaced.  I solved that issue with a little plastic basket, which has since been relocated away from the table, and the little pieces come back.  I keep moving them.

We cleared the table this weekend, we removed the cloth tablecloth, we had company and we played cards!  A large country breakfast of bacon, blueberry waffles and eggs was the attention of this surface while we all enjoyed company and the perfect breakfast. Later, me and the grandson played cards, getting ready for the after the picnic festivities with the farmer and the son.  Getting up this morning, I see a bag of chips, a book of “interesting facts” from Aunt Esther, and a couple other things that will need to be cleared before breakfast.

So, I guess you could say that my kitchen table is not only for dining, but is the hub of activity around here!  I can only hope that my new kitchen and my new table next door will be better acclimated to having a nice bowl of fruit as it’s centerpiece, instead of the daily mail.  We will see.

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The Dream

I dreamt my parents were getting re-married.  My father arrived in a colonial blue golf shirt that had been hanging up in the closet too long.  Incredibly dusty, as I beat out the dust I wondered if he would be dressed up enough. I myself had a dress, my sister had a “better dress” one that resembled that of a flower girl, creamy white satin with curlique’s of white on the bodice and a little pink satin flower….I was supposed to be the maid of honor and my sister’s comment was that we should trade dresses.  She could not be maid of honor as she was still nursing a child.  Somehow there was a cake involved.  I kept having to go here and go there, and not just a run around town, it was MILES away everything that was needed.  We finally all were there and ready to take our places.

That’s all I’ve got.  I don’t remember my mother there, any other siblings, but there was other people there.

Why do we dream what we do?  Honestly, I’d requested, before I went to sleep, that I’d have a revelation as to where I left my Jabra earpiece, my answer to not having a smart phone planted next to my brain.  I guess that dream is lost in the spaces of my mind.  Well, at least, the Jabra is.

Anyway, I needed to record this dream, in hopes that I’d recover more of it.  And there you have it.


The Strange Case of Ellen Walsh

Ellen Walsh.  AKA Ida Mayfield Wood.  What a story!  I saw her documentary on YouTube and then followed up by seeking other information.

What caused this woman to recreate herself?  Parents, poor immigrants.  Ellen left them behind and introduced herself to the wealthy man of that day, and the self-created Ida Mayfield became a real person.

Years of determination captured her and she made a name for herself.  She took care of him, and through her thriftiness created more fortune.  Then he died and the bottom appeared to have dropped out.  I cannot figure out what happened.  She holed herself and a small entourage in a hotel suite and stayed there, never coming out until 1931 and (his) relatives literally coming out of the woodwork to declare her mentally incompetent and it was all over.  Authorities found money stashed everywhere.

Socialite…wealth…reclusiveness…you don’t take it with you.  Interesting….


The Case of Rapunzel

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair…

We blame the witch.  The witch was wicked.  Right?  Looking a little closer, the witch MAYBE knew that the poor man and his wife couldn’t take care of her good enough in the plight of the period of that day and age.  She raised her, but when she became old enough, locked her away.  We always take it that the witch was mean and cruel.  Was she?  Despite her attempts, the young prince found Rapunzel and she got pregnant.  We all know the end, the witch died and the prince found his love and his children and they all lived happily ever after.

Here we go.

I’ve been thinking about this fairy tale this morning.  Fairy tales.  Are they a moral with a twist?  Why?

My thoughts lately have been on a teen that lost her life to an abusive boy/girl relationship.  The girl was protected from the boy, and went with him anyway, we have a frustrated parent, who lifted her hand of protection, because the girl was running despite the protection.  My heart goes out to this parent who lost her child.  Who has not had a rebellious teen and has let up, frustrated.

I cannot underline this enough.  Get the child away.  Children/teens are too young to know things, they need their parents to protect them.  If the child sneaks off, be the witch.  Your child will hate you, but they will remain alive.

I may be off the wall in this.  This is my opinion this morning.  I am still reeling from this senseless death.  Please note, my children are grown, I admit to probably not doing the best job, but apparently I taught them well enough, or we were just lucky.

No answers.  Just sadness.


Celebrate Today

Today is National Apple Pie Day, I learned from the morning news, as I also watched Mr. Food’s Howard create Pineapple Honey Salad Dressing (Mmm…it’s so good!).

Why do we need national food celebration days?  Every single day is devoted to a national holiday of some kind, have you noticed that?  Is humanity THAT NEEDY, that we are ISO something better from every single day?

In my own personal walk, trying to ground myself, I stepped into previous writings ISO myself a little bit more.  Turning the inside out!

A dear friend shared a message with me a few years ago.  I recorded it.  I refer to it.  “You have the right to be who you are.  Stop apologizing for being you.  Stop trying to earn what is already yours.  You have earned this incarnation, so live it with integrity and fullness.  The mountain does not apologize, nor does it seek approval.  It simply is what it is.  Be what you are.  Your soul know its way.”  

Delve deep, go inside.  If you don’t meditate, or cannot meditate, pick your own way.  Art, music, writing.  Or go out of doors and stand in the grass to greet the earth and nature.  Breathe deep.  Grow the your flower inside of you, a rose of beauty.

Emerson writes:  The inner world of imagination becomes a sanctuary of hope and promise, a place of retreat for feelings and thoughts, where seeds of individuality and creativity incubate.

Now, isn’t that tastier than that $75 cup of coffee from beans from Panama?  Easier to obtain, but you do have to open the earth of your heart and soul, and bravely explore.

photo rose