that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

when you’re finally done being silent

when the night is two hours too long

when open is all you can be

racing gently towards the lost sun

.

I can’t stop reading. Yesterday I finished one book, read another in its entirety, and began a third. (I also did all my work and cooked dinner, in case you were wondering.)

But, back to reading. I’m sure I’m not good company for my husband these days, with my nose always stuck in a book, er, kindle… but I can’t help myself. It’s all I want to do right now.

Of course, some of it I blame on the weather. It’s too cold to go outside, and a fire is a requirement on nights like these. But still, there are things I need to be doing, like finishing the massive reorganization of all my Christmas decorations for one. And continuing with the painting of all the woodwork in the house that I started last October for another. Plus an entire list of other projects and accomplishment that need ticking off.

But I can’t stop reading.

I’ve become a chain-reader. I’m addicted. I’m helpless. Ha.

I even read a non-fiction book yesterday, and I almost never do that. Which I am almost embarrassed to admit, but hey, it’s the truth–I love fiction. And chocolate.

If words were food, I’d weigh a thousand pounds. And keep right on eating.

But words are calorie-free, and these days, they don’t even take up that much space. And I can begin another at the press of a button (which is part of the problem). And it’s January, the month meant for reading.

Right?

I’ll stop one day soon. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.

Or at least I’ll go back to my habit of an hour or so before bedtime.

Then again, my tree may still be up for Valentine’s Day. It has a heart, and lots of red, so that works, doesn’t it?

Doesn’t it?

Say yes.

Please.

you think you need a beacon to guide you
when all you have to do is listen

your heart is always beating
bleating
making time

silence is a concept invented by the dead
and music is the door to eternity

everything you see is a story
told by the voice of your mind

whisper marry
murmur song

refusing to be censored

fairy tale potentate
in the dark
in the dark
in the dark

lifeblood’s memory

melody

refrain

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us!

.

.

spaces close up and voices grow louder
the din of existence an ever-present echo

i see you
i hear you
i approve of you

or not

there is no off button
no way to unplug
(though we all pretend, often)

we are slicing hearts open
and living out loud

from a distance
cacophony bleeds music

.

I ended 2013 with a whimper. Quite literally.

The day after Christmas, I had my gallbladder out, ending a three-month period of trying to figure out the return of symptoms I first had nine years ago. Symptoms that, back then, I thought were the result of a problem with my kidney. Now I wonder if I had something going on with my gall bladder all along, and the kidney issue truly was an incidental finding. A lucky one anyway, as that problem truly had needed to be fixed, and sooner rather than later.

Then, on New year’s Eve, I went to the cupboard to get some champagne flutes, the special crystal ones my sister gave me almost 30 years ago, and on the way back across the room, I slipped on a dog bone and fell right on my behind, smashing all three glasses and cutting my right hand in five places in one fell swoop. (Fortunately, no stitches were necessary).

So perhaps I ended 2013 with a bit of a bang, after all.

Either way, it was a year I let go of gladly. Not that it was all bad, certainly it wasn’t. But I am ready to get on with life, to move forward, to heal and work and get busy again. Ready to stop worrying about my health and fighting a medical system that seems to get worse by the day. I yelled a lot in the last three month. I refused to sit by and wait. I refused to have tests and get sent to specialists that I believed had nothing to do with my symptoms. I fought for antibiotics and consultations. I was angry and bitter and frustrated and disgusted. And mostly, I was tired of being ill.

So I’m ready to let it all go, with the turning of a calendar page.

I’m ready to see what happens next in the book of my life, ready to write a new chapter.

It’s cold today, snowing and blowing in classic January-in-Western-New-York style. But I’m ready to get back to work.

And fortunately for me, I don’t even have to go out into that weather to do it.

I’ve already made the commute from my bedroom to studio (though of course, I’m still in my pajamas). I can drink as much tea as I like once again (though I’ll try not to get too carried away). I can get back to normal (at least my normal, which we all know is slightly off-center).

I’ll still be a klutz. I’ll still be 51 and getting older by the minute. I’ll still be a hermit who spends much of life in pajamas, working away in a tiny studio.

But I’ll be smiling, and that will make all the difference.

2013, I hardly knew ye. Yet you were mine, just the same.

I’ll remember you, always.

.

standing on the line
between years
looking back at one
toward another

this path has no end
circling the earth
in one bold stroke
drawn freehand

today i walk it
like a tightrope
arms outstretched
knees wobbly

tomorrow i bring out
my pen
begin again
word by word

.

.

wishing you and yours a most lovely of holidays

.

xoxo

.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

I was so honored to be asked by the lovely Kat MacNally
to contribute a prompt to this year’s reverb13!

Day 20: The mirror never lies, but everything in it is backwards.

Look at what you see in the mirror. How does it change if you view yourself
with eyes that can only look forward?

::

a string of tomorrows
beaded with promise

wisdom and experience,
drawn with patience and empathy

old scars that have healed,
new ones to form

sunrise, sunset

a heart refusing to grow bitter
a mind refusing to be defined

a soul, still learning
a hand etched with time

silence
beneath forever’s
painted sky

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 19: How will you practice self-compassion?

::

.

i offer this hand.

.

to the world, to you,

.

to myself.

.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 18: In the midst of living, did you find moments to breathe?
Were there moments that held you in the embrace of peace and quiet and
pure contentment? Did these moments catch you by surprise or
did you create the space for peace to find you?

How will you make space for greater peace in 2014?

::

I’ve learned to find peace in many places. In books and in words, through running and simple, repetitive chores.

But my favorite place for peace is in my garden, which is just a bit ironic because the truth is, it’s always in a state of chaos, as any garden that doesn’t have a full-time caretaker will be.

But no matter… I still find peace there. Most mornings in early summer, I head out there for my first cup of tea, sit in a favorite spot to sip and listen to the birds.

I fight the urge to get up and weed, or deadhead, or control, and try to just enjoy this place that used to be lawn and driveway and mud and is now my very own postage stamp of paradise.

Even the work of gardening brings me peace, a day spent in the sun with nothing to do but plant and weed and tidy restores my very soul. (Mulching, not so much.)

The lessons I have learned in my garden spill over into my life, daily. Patience, of course, being the most obvious.

The cycle of life. The force of nature. Rest and renewal. Death.

True love.

It’s all there, in amongst the chaos.

Now that it’s winter, I will find my peace in front of the fire, dreaming of spring and green and my garden.

Waiting to inhale.