I'd say it is certainly about that time...
Set the table, cozy into the nook in the office, hide from the heat, work, sip, be, heal...
It is time to savor the here and now. I have had a grueling summer, mainly with the fact that I fractured my foot at the end of April/beginning of May, whilst slamming a flip-flopped foot into the corner of a shovel, in an attempt to dig a hole in dry hard dirt (I normally wet dirt first).
Breaking glass electrocuting pain.
And, because I am soooo smart, I did not do anything about it at first. I was certain the pain would go away. Until my foot swole (is that a word?) up and turned blue. Not one of my more brilliant moments. I finally sought help, and took the advice. Although I chose against a cast or boot. Then, I carefully hobbled all summer, slowly, through all of my chores, with ice and belladonna/arnica salve as my best friends. Rotten.
When I was almost healed a couple of weeks ago, I forgot about my injury and jumped up onto my hurt foot, and into bed with a re-crack. Yet again, not another Einstein moment. I have troopered through it. Grinned and sunk into pain with each step. And then, I ordered a bunch of foot healing shoes, and did all the things the powers that be had told me to to in the beginning. Hard head alert. I feel better. Light, tunnel, hello.
They scared me with the fear of lifelong pain.
Although, my foot hurts less in heels, and doctors say that is common for folks who are used to heels and have high arches. I will say, the fit flops, saving grace from heaven. Until I got them, my foot throbbed.
So, 4 months of forcing myself to do everything through pain, and now, I succumb.
Tea, nook, breathe.
As I cozied up with the American Pickers and my new Wii last night (thank you Mistah Lovah lovah! Yay instant netflix on the television), beloved Miles took a springing leap and landed with his heavy paw + nail right in my left eyeball. I was pain confused at first, then afraid. I have never had an eye injury, so I didn't know that your eye will simply not open when hurt. Boy did it hurt. Man oh man. It was all so very scary, until I could see again this morning (hello prayers, pain killer, ice, tea bag, lovee). I feel like Raggedy Ann. My goodness, so silly. So so silly.
I know it's all trivial compared to all going on in the rest of the world, so I am not complaining, just sharing real tales of my little orb.
And, because I teeter on the seesaw of being logical and superstitious, I say, perhaps I should heed the warning, and stay away from ladders, sky diving and all other sort of adventurous activity for now.
Why yes, I don't mind if I do.
This sounds so much better, cool room, hot goodness in a cup...
Real cream.
Ooo, aaaaaaaaah.
Gentle.
I won't bore you with garden things (too much), but, zinnia seeds. As I have said, plentiful beyond words.
I have been pruning a lot, and the more I prune, the taller and taller and taller they become, and the more flowers they gift.
Pruning is key.
And now, 4 foot marigolds, from last year's plant seeds I collected, are springing up.
Just the place to be.
A book, clay, safe...
Pretty, calm, so needed this...
Sometimes, you just have to follow the path life wants to push you into. I must learn to pay attention better...
I see, I savor, but do I really see and savor?
It's in the calm & silence, isn't it?
Keep the pouring up, I am in heaven ;)
I have been obsessed with haunted tales lately. And, I am sad to report that I am having a hard time being spooked. I guess, once you go into my granny's attic, and then down to the witch's house (plus ancient tales of family witches and spells + ghosties of old ladies), it is sort of hard to get scared of haunted house tales? I am sure if I was actually in a haunted house, then I would be mighty spooked to the core.
But the tales alone are soooo much fun.
I am actually on a haunted plantation kick. I just finished reading about the Myrtles...
Anyhow....
If you need me, here is where you will find me...
Catching up on long over-due e-mails, sculpting, sipping, being.
Oh and, if you'd like to own the book about the haunted plantation and the writer's journey into owning it (below), grubby finger graced and all, let me know in comments, I am giving it away. If a handful of folks want it, I'll pick a name out of a hat.
Love, V
ps: One of Tori Amos' songs, off of her new September release album "Night of Hunters" (with a classic flair) was leaked, I love it, listen here. So good. Amazing that so much time has passed since this. Sigh... She gets so beat up with words by critics. I think she is amazing. People inevitably change so much as they age, and when you are young it is hard to understand it. It is in the going through it, that you start to understand little by little. And then, it clicks... You realize that, perhaps not only has your favorite artist changed, but the listener has too changed. We long for our fave artists to make us feel how we felt by their songs early on. But, the trick is, both parties have changed. We all long for our youth from time to time. Rarely does the listener realize this, and so we hold the artist accountable for our feelings, and bash their new work (not to mention how they look etc.). Maybe it isn't our taste anymore, which is fine, but the listener is so often intent on searching for that early original feeling (I am guilty of this too). Alas, change is inevitable, we can't be 28 forever. If we change our perception, we might see and hear things differently...?
pss: In June, Miles left me the most helpful little tool on earth. A perfectly Nanny McPheeish cane. It works like a charm, and was so helpful on the extra tough days. (He loves sticks and keeps a nice stash of them. He left this one on my office stoop)
Isn't that funny?
psss: Something extra fun up my sleeve in a couple of days.
