The Day I Learned to Love Nasty Weather

Sleet: small balls of ice that fall from the sky.  Typically occurring along with temperatures that numb fingers and chill bones.

I am sick today.  When I finally stumbled into the living room this morning, wearing long underwear and a sweatshirt, still freezing, my son informed me that it has been raining ice from the sky since 7:00 AM.

I believe I went back to bed.  The details are hazy.

There are so many things on my "Should Do" list.

In the movie "Bull Durham" an exhausted team of baseball players complained to Crash Davis wishing for a rain out.

Sleet works even better.

A bed covered in, well, covers beckons.  I accept.  What else is there to do?  The Brady Bunch is playing quietly on TV.

A big pot of chicken and noodles waits in the fridge, prepared when I was in better health.  That was yesterday.

Driving roads glazed with little balls of ice would be foolish.  Why bother?

As I sit in my rocking chair, having added a pair of flannel pajama pants, socks and a knit toboggan, I reflect on the fire.  I try to decide what to do next.  Keep reflecting on the fire or crawl back under the chenille bedspread and two quilts.  Maybe The Brady Bunch is still playing, I think it was a marathon.

If I feel better later, I might make a pecan pie.  Nothin' else to do today.  No "shoulds" today, just a day of rest.

Sleet never felt so good.

m

34 Days of Blooming, and what I learned by falling short

Wrapping up the Bloom Where You are Planted series, I am a few days late and a few posts short of the 31.  Here is what I learned when I committed to writing on one topic for 31 days straight, and what I learned when I just didn't keep that commitment.

AS A BLOGGER, I DON'T LIKE TO POST EVERY DAY.
I turned my "want to" into a "have to" it became a chore.  Now I know why some artists aren't that interested in selling their creations.  They just let it pour out when and where it comes.  That's better for me, too.

I may have to let go of some possible futures, but that's okay.  Life is simplified when you let go of unrealistic expectations that don't make sense for you anyway.

AS A BLOGGER, I DON'T LIKE TO POST EVERY DAY.
I never did like worthless words.  Posting every day requires that I have something to say every day, something of worth.

At this time of life, I don't.

Sometimes, I just got nothin'.

BUT WRITING EVERY DAY IS GOOD FOR ME.
Everyone's process is different.

My thoughts benefit from fermentation.

Wallowing in the feelings of the moment, putting them down by whatever means I can as soon as possible, then walking away.  Letting the words ferment, and His Word redeem the moments.

Coming back.

Stirring the pot and finding the blessing.

Adding some hindsight.

Sharing when I am coherent and not before.  

WHEN YOU LOOK FOR SOMETHING, YOU TEND TO SEE IT.
Watching for bloomin' moments to share created a synergy between my plans, my actions, actual life, and my interpretation of that life.

Because I was posting about making the most of life right where you are, I was watching for signs that my family and I were doing just that.  I made plans to facilitate living life fully and acted on those plans.

When life spontaneously happened, my interpretation was already happily prejudiced toward seeing "blooms."

YOU CAN SEE FROM THERE TO HERE.
About a month ago, I was struggling with the feelings and realities of starting over with my family in yet another place.  I wrote desperately about it every day, for two weeks.  Then the writing slowed, the issue became less prominent and the posts wandered.  The need was lessening as the goal was accomplished.

We were blooming.

Only a month ago, I was happy but lost.  Thirty-one (or 34) days later, I am calm and confident in this new life we are building.  Though we still have many decisions to make and adventures to explore, we are so different...in just 34 days.

Thanks for sharing the journey, it means the world.

m

My favorite posts from this series:
Bloom Where You're Planted
My Neighbor is a Super Hero
Love Does, our story
Pecans Come from Pecan Trees