Freedom of Voice

When the going gets tough, the tough get cleaning. I know that's not the official saying, but I guess you could say it's my motto. Not that things are tough right now--in fact, things are going really well. But, there are lots of things. They swirl around me like the dust particles that float gently to my wood floor, dancing in the sunlight, teasing me with their presence. I contemplated journaling, then tried knocking out a project for work, but I couldn't get my body to be still, much less my buzzing brain. So, I cleaned. I needed to do it anyway. I had company last weekend, a college kid home on a short break, and more company is on their way next weekend. And, I can't have them thinking I'm living like an animal in a prairie of dust and hair tumbleweeds. Something magical happens to me when I clean. I get in a zone, immediately prioritizing and organizing tasks in a super efficient way. First, throw a load of laundry in. Then, clean the kitchen so I can ...

No preconceived eXpectations, just an afternoon with a friend at an eXhibit     --actually two--      one characterized by the mark of the X, the other by gold. Both eXtraordinary, the art successfully eXpressing images both eXquisite and disturbing, eXploiting the inner thoughts of the artists, eXceptional in their uniqueness and commentary, worthy of careful eXamination, eXpanding our horizons, challenging our perceptions. An eXhilarating way to spend part of the day. Photo by  Andrej Lišakov  on  Unsplash

I am truly at a loss for words. I doesn't happen often, but right now, my head and heart are so overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions that I can't focus. I can't recount any funny stories, make any quippy observations, tell any touching tales.  I'm just at a loss. At a loss for why, as my son put it yesterday, everything has to be so black and white. Life is not cut and dry, but we try to operate as if it is. And, it's turning us into a society without a heart, without a soul.  Laws and rules aside, we have to remember this: circumstances and situations are as individual as the people stuck in them. So, why do we insist on blanket solutions to everything? Sometimes there are no easy solutions--many times no solutions at all.  Sometimes, there are just no words. 

Who makes soup when it's over 90 degrees outside and the air is as thick as a long-simmered broth? This girl. On a hot and humid Sunday--armed with the spoils of a recent Target shopping trip and some veggies that either needed to be used or tossed--I settled in to chop, sauté, boil and simmer, getting into a relaxing rhythm, forgetting about all the other things I should be doing instead. I realize in this moment that the process of making soup is almost as comforting as eating the end result. How can you eat soup in the summer?  I've been asked. I honestly don't see the difference between a spoonful of soup and a bite any of hot dish. At least with soup, I don't have to turn on the oven--just a couple of burners on my gas stove. Or better yet, dump all the ingredients into a crock pot and let them slow cook all day. And, I'm sitting inside an air conditioned house when I eat it anyway, so I won't spontaneously combust or anything. I've also gotten ...

There is nothing like a dog's unconditional and undying devotion to make you feel loved. Then, there's sick obsession. Our dog, Semi, falls into the latter category. In fact, John often says we should have named him Brian after the family pet in Family Guy  who is completely in love with and obsessed with Lois, dreaming of ways he can get rid of Peter. Although I doubt Semi is plotting John's death, he does show signs that he may have a problem. Case in point: I left for the evening to pet sit our daughter's dog, Clyde, (she calls him my fur grandson and goes as far as calling me GiGi) and Semi plopped down in the entryway, staring at the elevator door, waiting for a return that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Apparently, this is his spot whenever I am away for the night. Why he doesn't just enjoy a guy's night in, I'm not sure. You'd think those two would throw a party--watch some action films, drink beer out of a can, eat chips or Pop...

As much as I did not enjoy, no hated,  living in Orlando (perhaps the lack of friends and a husband who worked 12-15 hours a day--sometimes more--had something to do with that), I will say I liked, no loved,  who I was while I was there. On the advice of my friend and fellow writer, Helen, I delved into The Artist's Way  by Julia Cameron and not only found, but nurtured my creative self. I journaled daily, devoured books, photographed nature as I explored the area trails and parks, went to museums, took up calligraphy, and started a book. I sat on my patio every morning and evening to reflect and write some more. I found fulfillment in the solitude, made time for the things the demands of life never allowed. I should note I was also not working, so there's that. It's amazing what one can accomplish with a wide-open schedule. So, I find myself being completely irritated with myself at the moment. I finished that book--well, the shell of it anyway--before I realized som...