that's mrs. mediocrity to you

getting up,

scraped,

but laughing.

::

When you live in the same house for 23 years, you get to know the way the light falls at different times of year.

The slight shift in August when the shadows grow longer, the blue tint of January daylight, the way the gold of the sun hits the top of my bedroom windows just before it sets in October.

Subtle evidence of time’s passing, these changing shifts in pattern. Things I might not notice if I wasn’t paying attention, if I didn’t remind myself to lift my head and look around me. To breathe life in, to mark each day as something other than mundane.

Of course, there are many days when I don’t notice anything beautiful, days when my head is buried in work or stress or accomplishing. Those are the days when I fail to notice the beauty of being alive, fail to notice the color of sunrise, the mist hovering over the field outside my door, the sound of a bird singing the world awake.

But on this day, I noticed this light on these curtains as I walked past my green and blue bedroom for the fifth time after something I had forgotten, or to let the kittens in, or back out, in between making supper and doing laundry.

This light reached through the doorway and caught my eye
and I stopped in my tracks, enchanted by its beauty.

Just an ordinary moment on an ordinary day

that suddenly became quite golden.

see more gold for one word wednesday over at jillsy girl

It mocks me, this list, taunting and teasing, growing exponentially while I sleep.

Much of this list I wrote myself, although there are things on it not added by me, things like a house that needs painting, a faucet that needs fixing, a dog that needs a bath.

Others things are self-imposed, opening an etsy shop for my images, making jewelry for two shows in November, losing ten pounds, cleaning up my garden. All projects I chose to start, all now inscribed on my list of things to do.

And I’ve had this crazy cold for over a week now, it has not kept me in bed, but rather half-functioning, feeling like my head is underwater, making me cranky and sleepy all day long, and I think it’s feeding on my words.

I sit here in my studio while outside the sun is shining, just outside my window the monkshood are blooming, one of my favorite flowers mainly because they bloom in autumn, but also because they are purple, the truest most beautiful purple. Just now they are surrounded by pink and white anemones, all backed by the golden tones of an autumn hydrangea.

I feel like this photo, just now. A bit hazy and out of focus, a riot of thoughts and ideas, with quite a few things that need weeding out.

There is too much to do, always, and I wonder if it is me, if I am too much a workaholic, too much the over-achiever. It doesn’t feel that way, it feels like it’s all necessary, this scrambling to make a living as an artist, this life I love that I lead.

For there is beauty in my life, there are flowers and love and many blessings. There is joy and passion, art and writing, and all this living, full and round and bursting at the seams.

And there is this list that mocks me.

But it is just a list, a flimsy piece of paper filled with words of my own design. It threatens to overwhelm me, this list, beat me down with its jabbering demands. Some days its wins, a little.

Other days, it cowers in the corner.

Because it knows, this list, that when all is said and done,

it might very well be bigger than me,

but I can still take it.

Today is the day to pack up summer clothes, the skirts and tank tops, capris and shorts, and those dozens and dozens of golf shirts.

It is time to pull boots from their place ‘neath the bed, the ones I have missed and the ones I’d forgotten, and replace them with sandals, all except for that one pair of flip flops because, well, you just never know. Time for flannel pajamas and warm fuzzy sweaters, long sleeves, wool socks and turtlenecks.

It is time for winter coats, hats and mittens, sorting and searching for all the lost mates, time for scarves to be washed and hung on their pegs, time for that spring green raincoat to hide itself back in the closet.

It is time for the fans to be stored in the basement, time for storm windows to be closed, all except for the window right next to my bed, because hot flashes happen, even in winter.

It is time to split wood and stack it all neatly, four face cords across the driveway, a place for mice to hide and kittens to play, a place we will visit all winter. Time for the wood ring to be set just outside the back door, easy access when snow drifts take over the landscape.

It is time to empty flower pots long past their prime, time for garden furniture to be stacked and put into storage, time for cutting back perennials, the clearing of leaves, and for pulling those last tenacious weeds.

It is time for cozy nights in front of the fire, crisp frosty mornings and dark shorter days, oatmeal for breakfast and tea after lunch.

Time already to start dreaming of spring, begin missing summer,

and waiting, waiting for winter.

This past weekend, in the Adirondacks, this is what I saw when I woke up every morning.

I slept with the window open, all three nights, even though it was chilly and even though on the first night, apparently I stole all the covers and my husband was freezing.

But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help wanting to hear the wind whispering through the trees. Couldn’t help wanting to smell the scent of trees and forest and the nearby lake. Couldn’t help wishing that I was sleeping right out there, under the trees and the stars.

The stars that were visible, so visible, up there away from city lights and pollution, the Milky Way clear as day. Well, okay not clear as day, but very clearly swirling its way across the universe.

The air smells different there, clean and crisp. At home, where I live, it is the country and the air here is very fresh and clean, but, still, you can smell the difference, there in the mountains.

I lay there each night, after everyone else was asleep, lay there for hours actually, because I couldn’t sleep, and looked out this same window, in the dark, thinking and listening.

I used to be afraid of windows at night. When I was a very young teenager I saw a movie about witches and there was a scene involving a window at night that took me years to get over. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. For years, afterwards, well before dark I made sure that every blind and curtain was closed.

Silly me.

Look what I missed.

it all started with the word hope from debi’s post. i couldn’t stop thinking about that word, hope, and about her words, there.

then came graciel’s and debi’s challenge based on these words:

“life is just overwhelming at times, and we are all
standing on a corner with a sign in our hands
needing something.”

and so we are.

so what do i need?

it was so hard to narrow it down,
hope was the one i kept coming back to,
but i knew it wasn’t enough, just hope.
there had to be something more.
something i can’t live without.

words.

love.

hope.

that’s it. mostly.
around the border are other things i think i need,
or wish for, or like or want or cherish.

but if i was standing on a corner,
and you just happened to be driving by on a rainy morning,
you’d see words first, and maybe even love,
but unless you slowed down to really look,

you’d miss the hope.

::     ::     ::

visit debi at emma tree and graciel at evenstar art for more signs

breathing flowers in, after dawn.

simple words that get stuck in my throat, for days.

moments in mid-afternoon that bring tears to my eyes.

sunsets waiting on the horizon, always with a promise.

a mirror that refuses to show what lies beneath the surface.

seasons that rattle through my chest, calling me to remember.

blisters that heal and become callouses, rough evidence of pain.

a heart that breaks in its own small way each time you turn a page.

the constant digging for my soul that wears my fingers to the quick.

a silver necklace that says hope, left broken on the dresser.

making molds of the moon to keep in a glass jar.

standing in the dark, listening for sunrise.

a song that whispers even as i sleep.

threading words on needles and pricking my finger.

that one drop of blood, there, on the corner

of the page.

::

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday

looking in, again, though not wanting to, exactly, having spent some time these past few months thinking the glass was reversed, thinking i was safe in that warm, cozy room with the lamp, the glowing fire, the purring kitten.

yet here i stand, cold feet, alone, in the dark.

i failed to notice my own reflection as the sun set behind my back, failed to compensate for my silhouette, my shadow, the mirror image that smiled, even though she knew the truth.

i never have quite made it, there… to the inside.

oh, i’ve had tickets a few times, given to me by friends, loves, even chance. pretty tickets with golden edges that promised more than could ever be delivered. tickets that were bigger than the event. tickets that looked like the real thing, though as it turned out, were counterfeit.

and now i stand here, watching this woman who sits by the fire of her own contentment, the warmth of complacency spread through her limbs, its glow apparent on her face. there is a book, and tea, and she wears warm socks.

but she is a destination that cannot be reached. she is a mirage.

or a vision.

if i snapped her photograph, right this second, you might see a shadow, or an indentation where she’d been sitting, but you would never be certain she had actually been there. you would question her existence.

i don’t cry as i stand here, watching her. i don’t yearn, or covet, or hope to be there, next to her, on that couch. i simply watch, silently. intent only on the sorrow in her eyes.

she isn’t me.

she’s simply someone else’s yesterday.

some lost soul i followed home who looked happy, from a distance.

from the outside, looking in.

she is not me.

she just

is.

it really does take two to tango.

compromise is hard, but it’s almost always worth it.

a warm hug can instantly change your outlook.

a heart can forgive more than it can forget,
but it can forget more than it can live without.

sharing is a necessary part of life.

no one likes being taken for granted.

it’s nice to be taken care of you when you’re sick.

true love is made up of millions of boring, everyday
moments: it is your job to see their magic.

history repeats itself. it also keeps you grounded.

being polite is very, very important.

love is a covenant based on hope.

holding hands by the fire beneath the moon
is the perfect way to spend an evening.

you can never have too many smiles.

sometimes you both win. sometimes no one wins.

it’s possible to grow in more than one direction.

diamonds might be a girl’s best friend,
but clean dishes are her soulmate.

it’s always a good time for flowers.

love actually will keep you together.

a look can say so much more than words.

in the middle of the night, the touch of a toe
can be just exactly all you need.

::

Happy 15th, Mr. M.

Today I am over at Vision & Verb

enjoying the quiet…