Month: January 2017

The silver linings will find themselves.

2 weekends ago, I was relishing the happiness of gardening on my own patch of land. 2 Mondays ago, I went from content to chaos in a matter of hours. It’s funny how quickly life can change. Overnight things can move from order to chaos with no warning.

I’m sorry to say that the chaos consumed me completely. It’s been a roller coaster week which has left me depressed and drained. Just as an FYI here, when someone is losing their shit, absolutely do NOT tell them to calm down. In the history of calming down, not a single person has calmed down by being told to calm down.

This morning I got a package in the mail from a friend in England. A fluffy woolen hat with a pompom. It made me smile to realise there’s a ray of sunshine out there and it’s not all doom and gloom. God bless that woman!

Since moving house, life has been turbulent. Winter, moving, holidays, unpacking, finances, work, visitors, unscheduled mishaps. Writing is my happy place and I’ve made no time for it. It was the first thing to go instead of being the first port of call. Sometimes my thoughts don’t find order until the words appear on the page. I don’t know what I’m thinking until my fingers show me.

I have been so very fortunate to have my own home. Many never have the chance or means. Instead of being grateful for the blessings and opportunities in life, I worried about everything going wrong. And then it did. There’s truth in the saying ‘be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.’ The Law of Attraction is as real as the Law of Gravity. It exists whether you believe in it or not. My worry manifested into the very things I was worried about. It’s happened, so that’s done. Now it’s time to create the solution.

When life turns out all the lights, it’s difficult to find a way out of the maze. So we’ll start small. Laugh at the pompoms. Enjoy the hell out of everything that makes you happy when it makes you happy. Do not defer or neglect your happiness because it is transient. It’s there one minute and can just as easily be gone without warning. Enjoy it when it shows up without worrying about when it will disappear again. If we cannot be grateful for things that make us happy, why would the universe bother giving us more?

Cooking, baking, photography, writing, music, painting. These things make me happy and I’ve made excuses to avoid every single one of them. My kitchen is gutted, can’t cook/bake. It’s too cold outside, can’t go out and take photos. There’s no time to write. My piano is out of tune so can’t play. I haven’t arranged the spare room so there’s no space to paint yet. Enough.

Ask for help; you’ll be amazed how many people are willing to help. Have a wobbly; it’s ok to not be made of concrete all the time. Curl up under a blankie; solutions are clearer when your brain isn’t exhausted. Pamper yourself; it’s allowed! One thing at a time; it’s harder to put out a fire when the hose is pointed at 87 things. Solve something small; it will give you a sense of accomplishment in the chaos. If it’s all falling to pieces, find a kickass battle anthem and play it full volume. Sometimes the warrior within needs a matching soundtrack before she’ll get off her arse and do something.

I came home and nailed up my Saltire. I might not be in Scotland but I have Celtic blood and we’re fiesty as hell when life tests our will. It’s time to draw on that and battle this out.

Find the thing that gives you fuel. The silver linings will find themselves.

There’s a reason I never settled down

Being a gypsy is embedded in your DNA or it isn’t. You either have roots or wings; it’s rare to have both. I’ve always preferred wings, even if I didn’t always use them. Roots are terrifying.

In an attempt to grow roots, I bought a house. When the sun was up and I was ankle deep in mud playing in the garden last weekend, it was pure bliss. Monday was a completely different can of worms.

The water heater died and the floors on the ground floor have been gutted down to the concrete. The frustration is it was literally scheduled for middle of next month to be replaced. It was meant to be this month but I had unexpected visitors so figured pushing it back 3 weeks wouldn’t make a difference. Yeah, right.

While dealing with that, I had my water tested only to find it’s not fit to drink. Enter stage left: black mold, which was deliberately hidden by the sellers.

The silver lining is if the water hadn’t flooded my house, the mold would still be neatly hidden and growing out of sight. The ramifications don’t bare thinking about. So all the new floors are gone; half the kitchen is gutted down to the studs to remove the mold; I have a shiny new water heater; 19 industrial fans that sound like an airport runway at rush hour which will be blowing for 4 days total; every square inch has a layer of dust over it; my furniture is strewn around and everything is out of place; using the kitchen is out of the question unless you like dusty food; my furnace and AC  were ripped out and replaced because they’re old and about to go so before they destroy what’s left of my house, they were replaced; I haven’t slept since Monday; it’s safer to drink wine/scotch than the toxic shit in my taps; and I want to find the sellers and rip their spines out and feed it to the neighbour’s dog.

WHO DOES THAT?! How do you KNOW there is black mold and instead of dealing with it, just cover it with laminate, knock a board over it and paint it white?! Karma will level their playing field at some point but right now I’ve imagined every conceivable way to dismember their rotting bodies…. Maybe I really did live in the Dark Ages with a side gig as a prison warden/executioner.

Upgrading the floors was on the list to do in about 2 years; that’s now been ramped up to immediately, so maybe that’s a blessing. My budget doesn’t think so right now. I have to believe that this too shall pass but at this sleep-deprived, caffeine-fueled moment, I wish I’d never changed my name. If I hadn’t, I’d have my visa and be living in the only place I want to be.

Instead I chose roots and it feels like I’ll never have wings again. Regret…. this is definitely topping the list of regrets right now. I’ll get my wings back and it’s safe to assume that roots will never cross my horizon again.

When spring comes early.

It’s January in the Midwest, which means subzero temps and snowflakes for days. Not today! What a perfect day! 60F in January – I’ll take it!

The heating went off, doors and windows open, outside barefoot on the grass doing gardening. I stopped at Home Depot to get some bags and secateurs and decided to use the break in the weather to tackle an overgrown bush outside the kitchen. Not something that’s usually done in January.

I’d forgotten how much gardening relaxes me. The only difference today was the garden is MINE. I own that little patch of land and it’s all mine! For the first time in my life, I’m gardening for me and not someone else. Gardening is the only thing I’ve found that totally empties my mind. The constant chatter in my head goes away and all that matters is the task for the task’s own sake. It’s like nature’s therapist.

It’s been years since I’ve had a garden to potter in. To be barefoot in wet mud and soft grass, with a bit of sunshine was just what I needed but didn’t know.

2 full bags and about half a bush gone. I will need to wait for the summer to tackle the root system on that thing, but most of the branches are gone. The previous owners seemed to use that bush as their dumping ground because the sheer volume of crap that came out from under it was impressive. From a garden hose to a pair of scissors, 3 balls, a plastic doll, 2 plastic cups and a pile of kiddies coloured chalks. Granted, I had to hack my way through the branches to get to them but still. Geez Louise….

There were no other doors and windows open around the neighbourhood; a tragic waste of an unexpectedly warm day in the middle of a brutal winter. For the first time in a long time I can honestly say I’m truly content. That little bit of sunshine and relaxation has done more for me in a few hours than a week at the spa could have done. When life gives you gifts, grab them with both hands. Put your phone down and savour the bliss of simple things.

Simplicity restores balance so give it a go. If you’re fortunate to live in a temperate climate, make use of it. Walk barefoot on the grass, get your hands dirty. The rest of the world can wait a while.

 

 

Why do we do it?

A while back, I was chatting to a friend about her love life – let’s call her Friend A. I don’t remember the exact details of it all, but I remember telling her to stop writing in the guy’s backstory. It was similar to a conversation a group of us had over a year ago, her, myself and a guy friend. We were talking about a mutual friend (Friend B) who wasn’t having great luck in love. The consensus was that she was giving these guys a story that made them seem perfect for her. It was Friend A who made this observation.

The same thing I was now telling her to stop doing. So what have I gone and done? The SAME DAMN THING. The same thing I did with the last guy I was involved with. He told me about himself and when telling my friends about him, there was an extra layer to his story. A layer that made him seem like a great guy. Now I’m not saying he wasn’t a great guy before the layer; he was just a better guy after it. More heroic; more perfect for me.

The layer blinded me to what I should have been seeing. The half-hearted hugs, the canceled plans when it was something I really wanted to do, but he was less interested. The quick visits that were obviously booty calls.

After he made a flippant comment on the wrong day, it was like my 20/20 vision was restored and it became so obvious. I ended it and we never spoke again. That was 2 years ago.

And I’ve gone and done it again. Attached my heart strings to the wrong balloon for all the wrong reasons. Why do we keep doing that? Taking a perfectly regular guy and mentally adding on all the filters and layers that make him a hero, when he never tried to be that? He never asked to be the hero and that should have been the first clue that his heart strings weren’t attached to the same balloon.

Maybe this is the lesson I’ve refused to learn and it keeps coming back with a different face, handing out the same disappointment and sorrow.