Sign of Moving

Times have been crazy. I suppose that is what makes them "special" or "unique" or any other adjective inside of the ever satirical quotation marks.

I have helped friends move out of dorms and acquired a free meals.  Helped my second mom move out of her house and received free dinner plates and excellent furniture. Helped family move in for two weeks, and helped rearranged the house after they left.

It seems to me that everyone is moving.  In my recent 80 mile trek to work, I see more and more moving trucks.  Everyone is going somewhere.

Begs the question, Where am I going?

To work. Home. To doctors appointments. To sleep.

To be honest, it all feels rather circuitous. I am fairly certain that all I'm going is around.

I'm sure you have felt the same way.

But this was my sign, as I was travelling to work.

panoramio.com

Yes, it is a roundabout. Just like I expected.  But I am not the only one in it.  And in fact, I am one of those people who go around the roundabout more than once.

The sign is, there isn't a sign that says you HAVE to exit after one pass.  Sometimes it takes a few times through to clearly see the exit routes, read the street signs, and make up your mind.  But they are there. And most of life is rather circuitous (many enjoyable things are: roller coasters, merry-go-rounds, the earth). Keep going.  Keep going until you find enjoyment. Til you find the street you need. Til you are tired of the traffic. Keep going because everyone is moving.

Catching the Sunset in a Bottle

Hey, where ya been?  (Know that you are not alone in asking that question.)

I asked myself that, on Friday.  Because I finally met myself this year.  Friday was the best I have felt through all of 2012, first pain free day.  (Which is only a big deal when you have chronic pain disease.) And the first time I ever learned about bottling sunsets.

Friday I took an intro course into holistic medicinal energy healing.  A good bit of it was hands on.  Perhaps that was why I felt so good. Maybe it was merely the absence of 'feeling bad' that felt so good.  Or it might have been knowing this was a course that wasn't graded and therefore I could not fail.  Maybe it was finally doing something solely for me. Who's to say?

It was pretty expensive.  But it is Sunday and overall I feel so very alive. Keenly human. Deeply wonder-full.

Here's the thing about really good days: they are like catching the sunset in a bottle.  When you have, you know it is possible. That more than one good day is inevitable.  You open the bottle and enjoy it again, not wanting the memory to stale.  And that drives you onward.

You find ways to make it happen, because you already caught it in a bottle once and deep down inside you know you can do it again.  Because you keep that bottle, even after it's empty. You keep it on your nightstand, on your desk, with a note that says, "Remember."  You plan what you are going to do with it once you have it again.  You plan on how you are going to bottle the sunset again.  Because you can still feel the warmth in your hands, see the brilliance when you close your eyes.  You look to the skies, knowing it is out there.  Maybe it is watching you too.

Remember.

Signs to learn from Mo, part III

You know those days? Those days where you have to make the decision, is the glass half full, or half empty?

Mo showed me today that sometimes, the decision isn't yours.

Like when your roommate forgets she is in the middle of changing your water, for example.

The glass--er, tank-- IS half empty. You have reached your proverbial ceiling. You shall not pass.

Someone up there--er, out there-- has it in for you.

Sometimes it is intentional, sometimes it is benign neglect.

Mo offered several options for coping with a forced half-empty situation. You can always take a nap. You can hide in the foliage. You can blow bubbles until someone notices you.

But that's not what Mo did. He kept swimming upward. He never stopped testing his limits.

Swim to the top, because one day that ceiling will not be there. Be ready to soar--er, swim-- beyond.

12 (Wrong) Ways to Make Potatoes

There are 12 wrong ways to make mashed potatoes.

1.  Forget to boil the potatoes.  Stare intensely at them in the mixer until you can figure out why they are not "mashing."

2. Boil them in a soup maker. It boils water in 90 seconds, so it should boil potatoes rapidly, right? Wrong.

3. Put the milk, butter, etc into the mixer before you put the potatoes in (wait for it...)

4. Dump the potatoes into the mess and plug in the mixer without checking to see if it is "off" first. Yes, potatoes can launch like rockets in case you were wondering.

5. Add more butter. The potatoes look fantastic at this point, more smashed and wounded than mashed. Butter will help right? No.....

6. Add flour to even the consistency. With a little baking soda, I bet I could have had some tasty potato biscuits.

                                                 TAAAA-DAAAAA!!!

Okay, so those are only 6 wrong ways to make mashed potatoes. It felt like 12 wrong ways. And it was a sign for me.  Sometimes I think I know what I am doing (see, POTATOES!) and jump right into a disaster waiting to happen. The psychological allure of boarding the Titanic. Or watching a thriller.

These are learning experiences.  These can be signs to others, should I share them.

Sometimes I know I don't know what I am doing. But the confidence of knowing that I don't know makes up for it.  A strange certainty in the unknown possibilities if you may.

Sometimes I don't know when to quit. Like step one. Or step four even.  Perseverance is admiral though, right?  Either way, thank God for family who ate my nonmashed potatoes with a smile.

It's All In the Hands

A lot of people take their hands for granted, not even truly noticing them until the unfortunate hang nail or splinter befalls them.  I am no such person though.

In one of my jobs I got to learn palm reading. Strangely enough it is not all hocus-pocus I predict something vaguely good will happen in your future type of stuff. We don't read the future because we make our own future. We can tell you about yourself. And the lines on your hands change as your personality grows and changes. Bizarre and wonderful. And since I have loved observing people's hands.

Also, eight months ago I received massive second-degree burns on my left hand. Being a hands on person as well as a flutist proved a difficulty (never mind my stubbornly independent streak). 

But through all of the burn ointment and gauze, even after the healing was through I discovered a truth. When everything is burning I don't need someone to make my world better, I just need someone to hold my hand until it is. There is so much strength behind our hands. Supportive, protective, telling, strong, our first sensory experience. 

 

Josh Groban sings, "You see these hands, they're millions strong, they are yours now. Hold on love, we're still going down, hold now we're still fighting." All hands together, we can accomplish anything. With hands united, we do.

It's All Going Down the Drain.

Sometimes you can just feel it, all slipping down the drain. Sometimes that is your sign. Sometimes it is the aftermath. In an attempt to be upbeat, you can always say to yourself, "Well, everything must be emptied in order to be filled again."

Perhaps.

I tend to believe these kind of signs are more tuned into self-awareness. Examining what is being lost.  Maybe it is something you have been losing for twenty years.  Maybe it is something you have no control over, and yet feel it is all due to you.

Maybe it is the realization that no matter how good you are, how much you overcompensate, how hard you try, when you don't fit the bill, you simply don't fit. You can perservere, you can attempt to shape shift again, or you can evolve.  Regardless, sometimes you just have to learn to live when it's all going down the drain.