Wistful Wednesday: Fun, Flowers, and Facing Fear
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I remember it’s May Day. I remember making little paper baskets of colored paper and filling them with flowers for all my friends in my neighborhood. I remember running up to the front doors, leaving the baskets on the porch, ringing the bell and running off, hoping no one saw me.
And then my mind drifts. I’m thinking about how much flowers have always meant to me. Not an expensive bundle, but one flower. Flowers you pick as your walking. Flowers you hold to your face with you nose stuck in their faces, smelling them, lost in the moment…
…then I took another sip of my coffee. I surfed through all sorts of beautiful flowers until I saw the meadow at the feet of the mountains—perfect. I thought, now a quote. Then I told myself, no Erika, explain what the picture means to you.
So I wrote this little piece about challenge and beauty and how our dreams are filled with both. How when we dream, we’re also given every capability to reach them. Strong. Capable. Just a belief in ourselves that we’re worth it. The fight is worth it.
And then I think about my novel I’m editing right now, how my main character, a seventeen-year-old girl is born with an incredible gift to help heal the hurts inside of people. How she was born to teach them how to deal with pain and spread hope. It’s scary how her gift transforms her, and she runs from it in fear—something I think we all tend to do at times.
…and now I’m sitting here, my cup of coffee is done, I’m listening to my husband play something amazing on his guitar and I feel so happy. I’m ready! I’m ready to make my dreams come true and face challenge and fear with a few imaginary flowers in my hair. ;0)
How about you?
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Who Ripped My Duck? Friday’s Unsolved Mystery.
“Who stole my_____?”
You rush to the pantry grabbed by an emergency sweet attack. You see the bag and grab it—EMPTY! Or the bathroom towel in my husband’s case. ;0) Maybe you’re hair dryer winds up missing, or your shoes. Back in my college days, whatever I needed in the moment my freshman year—gone!
This week, the mystery involves my daughter’s favorite yellow duck, a cloudy location, and a few rascally hands—
I pull up to my kids’ school. My daughter flies at me from the playground.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! My duck!”
Her voice drops low. Her lip quivers. She hands me her little limp duck. “My duck’s ripped. Can you fix him?”
We get her coat and I search the duck finding a hole the size of quarter, ripped on its belly. I ask a series of questions: Did we share our toys today? Who did you play with? How did your poor little Duck get ripped?
Wednesday’s story: “Sam did it! He grabbed it and the teacher saw it!” I felt distress as a parent. Was my child bullied? Did she bully? Did she not share?
Thursday’s story: after contacting the director at school to get a few facts down, my daughter’s story shifts as she answers the director’s questions meekly, ”My brother did.” Staff were questioned. No one saw a duck on the playground. The boy from yesterday pleads the fifth with innocent eyes, and of course, I suddenly have a very hurt big brother from the shift in the accusation of the duck ripper.
Friday’s story: ”No mommy, big brother didn’t do it. Sarah did!” Another girl in her class. Another good friend of hers.
I still have no answers and the story continues to shift and evolve.
Lesson Learned.
Right and wrong is a difficult feeling for anyone, especially a three and a five-year-old. Stories are emotional journeys. There’s an emotional tie to the truth and the discovery to understand what took place to create your current moment. Any event has a beginning, a middle, and yes, an end. It may not be the answer you want, but oh well, sometimes the answers don’t always matter and in my case, the ending needs a little revising. My daughter is happy again. The duck is happy and healthy, mended in all the right spots. All last night and still to this morning my daughter says, “Mommy, thank you for fixing my duck.”
The end.
Wistful Wednesdays: Waking Up And Picturing The Roses
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5:00 a.m.
I sit at my kitchen table and I stare out the glass door at the dark cold sky and the rain spattered deck.
Do something, I think because I have a lot to do today and I want to be happy and cheerful.
Mood matters to me. Sun matters to me.
I scan a few pictures of nature and I stop on the rose. Just a single rose takes me everywhere I need to go in a few careful seconds, to my memories of flowers and wearing them in my hair when I was little girl. Next, I find a quote to match the rose, and before long, my morning wakes up into something wonderful.
― C. JoyBell C.
I am beginning a new project this week. A huge challenging task of putting myself in a 16-year-old girl’s head with nothing—no mom. No relatives because her given name was purposefully changed to mask any tie to her wild family. She’s not even wanted by a foster care family—all because of an odd and special gift no one gets.
Then I start to think about odd and special gifts. We all have something great about us. My old boss had double jointed fingers and elbows. My husband’s dad can stay calm through just about anything—he also has one of the best whistles I’ve ever heard. One of my girlfriend’s can sing lovely like a bird. My husband can dance. My brother can master any sport he tries, and me? I have my dreams and my words.
It’s really great to think how we all have something special and different about us. So when you feel sad, think of something wonderful, just about you.
So that’s my wistful Wednesday. Just a track of thoughts leading me to another really great thought.
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Tuesday Tips: Some Days, I Have To Fake It To Make It Happen.
I have to face the truth. I don’t always want to get out of bed. I don’t always want to do everything I have to do each day. But I made choices to bring myself to the present moment. To be a wife. A mother. A Public Relations person. An aspiring author. An aerobics instructor. And yes, because of my choices, I try to figure out what I can do to bring my best every day. Even when my best isn’t always that great.
So fake it to make it. Here’s a list of tips that work when I’m worried or feeling blue. There’s one I’ve included that doesn’t really work for me, but it might for you.
Quotes on My Mirrors. I have a favorite one taped to my bathroom mirror by Ray Bradbury. I have post-notes all over my desk, and I also have a really fantastic quote about Soul, Love, Hope, and Dreams on my glass patio door. Words are important to me and I love surrounding myself with them as reminders to stay strong and stay positive.
Music. It is a driving force for emotion. When I’m really feeling down, I love Jason Castro. He has a few great positive songs like “You Are” and “Over the Rainbow.” There’s nothing like a rainbow to cure my mood.
Exercise. I always do some of my best thinking when I’m on a machine at the gym. My dad says it’s because you’re pushing a huge amount of blood straight to the brain. I think it also has to do with flushing out the stress and the worry. I know. I’m weird. I like to sweat, too.
Chill. This one doesn’t work for me, not when I’m all worked up. I’m too wired in a moment to let go. I’m too visual and again, the one word I always use to describe myself is energy. It’s hard to channel it when it’s out of control. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to visualize all sorts of things; but, it could be that I still need a bit of practice on this one.
Sing! I turn up the music in my car and I sing so loud sometimes the windows shake. ;0) Never am I on key by the way, so this one doesn’t always work in the summer…or maybe…hehehe
Love. Hugs work. Being at the bottom of a giant dog pile in my household tends to push out the worry. All I have to do is lay down on the floor in the living room, and the rest takes care of itself. ;0)
Dance. I turn on some great tunes on the TV, pull up some music videos and the kids and I dance. Not only does it help me knock a few rungs of stress off my back, but it’s exercise for the kids and it diverts some of their wild energy. I highly recommend it.
Faith. Whatever yours may be could very well help put you in your happy mood. Mine is in God. Sometimes a really great prayer helps me find my peace. Here’s an example of one I sometimes say at night: “God, I know life could be so much worse, but I’m feeling a little heavy about this … Could you help me? Could you help me find the patience, the understanding, and to guide my thoughts so I can find the right words when I speak?” I feel comfort as I’m praying. And most of all, since I believe in the power of prayer, when I open my eyes, I feel happy and I know, I can do it. No matter what it is.
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| my sweet Valentine’s card from my son this year. |
Cloud Nine Girl 