Forever In Love

 

In love with the season?

 

Get in line.

 

Check this out.

Lots of things to smile about here.

 



It Is So Monday

I've not been sleeping well lately.  Blame it on hormones.  I think.  I don't know.  I gotta blame it on something.  So I keep adding to this mounting deficit.

This would be me.



Something's gotta give.  I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of molasses today.  And my surroundings, the backdrop to my world, it feels like everything is in black and white, and really bad clarity.  You know, like the TV channels from years ago, the reception not strong enough for a clear picture, no matter how much you adjust the "rabbit ears."   That's it.  That's what I see today. 



Add to that mundane happenings in court.  I hear words, but they all sound alike.  Rhetoric.

 

Oh. No.

Now what do I do?

 

I have to find the energy to drive to the post office,

stand in line,

and wait, wait, wait...

then drive home, change clothes,

and go to my son's JV football game.

No nap in sight.

 

Tuesday will be a better day.

I just know it.

FNL Only You

Sometimes you just crave classic. 
Melodies that trigger a memory.  A heart tug.  A stirring of  something tangible. 

Credible. Timeless. 

The present generation has a lot to learn.  They've lost touch with what music was SUPPOSED to be about.

This was real music.  Meaningful, enduring, unforgettable classics.

 

Cheers.

 

Happy Friday

 

 

Nature's Fresco

Fog...

the mysterious iridescent fresco

across earth's tapestry of color.

If it had a voice,

it would be whispers and sighs.

 

 

 

Sentimental Journey

 

More than once I've admitted to being one of those sentimental types.  Not just a wee bit.  I have it pretty bad.  I get attached easily.  And I can’t let go.  It’s like little tugs at my heart – the kind that hurt! – and I have to disconnect sometimes, depending on what it is I’m “pining” over.

I was cleaning out our laundry room last weekend looking for my natural sea sponge that I had likely stashed away in one of my craft boxes while giving new life to my ugly/dated jewelry armoire.  I spent nearly an hour looking for the sponge.  Why?  Because there is no rhyme or reason to all of my paints, arts & craft supplies.  They’re everywhere – the laundry room, the garage, closets.  It’s so pitiful.  I need a studio, people!  I digress.

 

So I’m digging through cabinets, opening boxes, and discovering long-forgotten (misplaced) sentiments.  

And there it goes.  My heart.  That familiar tug, followed by a hollow ache...followed by my inner voice:

Don’t look at it, T … put it away … 

 

OH-kay.  Moving on!  (exhale)

Why am I like that?  What makes me so sentimental?

 

I passed by Zach’s room the other day.  Someone had thrown a homemade fleece throw across his bed.  It was one made by a friend, given to Gavin’s at the end of his senior year in high school.  She'd sewn it in W&J colors for him, a special congrats-you’ve-been-accepted at ______.  She thoughtfully made one for each of her son’s closest football buddies throughout their four years together.

 

A fleece throw.  It did that to me, that silly heart tug yank thing. 

 

Letters…

recipes…

gifted trinkets…

homemade ornaments …

even a wine bottle --- yep, that too.

 

Does this mean I’m one of those disgraceful hoarders in the making?  Oh, please.  Say it ain't so.  Me?  A hoarder?  I'm too refined for that label.  I prefer to believe it anyway.  Maybe I need to keep a closer eye on this...seek treatment.  I heard on the radio the other day, by the way, that men have it worse than women according to a recent study conducted by an insurance company.  Fascinating trivia that left an impression with me.  Toss a little guilt out with the trash.

So what does this say about my personality?  Okay.  So I establish these indestructible bonds and I never let go...the collateral damage ever increasing, sprawling cracks in my rupturing heart.

 

I’d like to think there is an ocean of deeply-wired mortals who behave in this fashion.  But I visit other women’s homes and see zero clutter.  Their closets are tidy and neatly arranged.  Their garages are perfectly organized and streamlined.  Perfect.  Methodical.  Classic and conventional, neatly chiseled homes.
 

And then there’s me…shoe boxes of letters, cards, Christmas cards.  Closets stuffed to the brim with animate memories.  Laundry room shelves overflowing with boxes of keepsakes.  Stacks of storage boxes in the garage – stacks and stacks!  And yes, atop the kitchen cabinet sits an empty Ergo wine bottle, displayed with a reverence, subtly lit with an adornment of intrigue.  Ancient artifacts.

So blame it on the wine.  I can’t let go.

 

These are all pieces of my past.  Am I just to look the other way as I toss them carelessly to the curb, out of sight, out of mind? Is that what people do?  Is that how it’s done?  Toss it aside and don’t look back, right?

 

 

I may need that counseling someday.  But in the meantime, I’ll start with a compromise.  My plan is to make an honest effort to gather ALL of my art supplies into one centralized location.  I promise I will do this.  Sentiments are one thing.  Disorganized art supplies are simply clutter in disguise. 

But toss my sentiments?  I simply cannot commit to that at this point in my life.  And I realize that I will inevitably spend precious moments now and then rummaging through drawers and boxes and closets, exploring, touching, remembering...along with an ushering of voices and smiles and laughter...as I affectionately relive each and every step down Memory Lane.  I guess I'll always be a sentimental fool. 

 

 

Living (or Drowning) in the Comfort Zone



In lessons learned over the years,
I'm aware that to grow and realize our deepest dreams
we have to be willing
to step outside our
comfort zone.
When I'm at the gym pushing myself, gasping for breath, thinking there is no way in hell I can eek out another rep, I know that I have it within me if I want that extra rep bad enough.  If I say to myself:  I cannot lift more than X, and believe it, then I'll never lift more than X.  And life will go on.  But what if I WANT to lift more than X?  What if it bugs me until I know for certain that I'm capable of lifting X?  I will never know until I try.  Until it hurts a little.  Until it's a little scary.  Uncomfortable. 

Go head...jump.

It's like that with my other passion too -- painting, projects, creating.  I read up on HOW to do it, and I think:  But I'll screw it up.  I don't have a good grip on "the how-to" of it.  It will take too long.  And the list of excuses goes on and on ...

I have a jewelry armoire I've been wanting to get rid of.  I hated the color of it and was tired of looking at it.  It was headed to the garage to wait on a garage sale, and then I decided to ... jump.

I'd read about the many ways to paint wood furniture, give it new life.  So many ways...so many methods...overwhelming.  Yes.   "But I'm not that good," said my inner voice from my comfort zone.  "I can't do that."  That was just before I JUMPED.

This was the color before I began (shown with light sanding)

This is the base coat

I hand-painted cheetah spots on the sides first.

Then, sponged all over two shades darker than the base coat.

Then I brushed on an ebony Minwax stain,

wiping off with a rag, leaving heavier deposits

strategically for an aged look.

This is my comfort zone!

Seriously.  It is.

I LOVE "COLORING OUTSIDE THE LINES" WITH CREATIVITY!

And it's okay to be a little messy.

Neat...perfect...?  NAH. Way too boring.

 

Oh, and this incredibly sexy song I discovered

while dabbling outside my comfort zone!

 

 So.  The finished product?

 Stay tuned.

Hey Beautiful - FNL

 Simply irrestible.

 

Why do EYES fixate me?