February...the month of cold rain, possible snow/ice and Valentine's Day. Blech.

I generally am not fond of January and February. College football is over, post holiday blues and the weather in Alabama tends to suck a big giant donkey crank.

Add to that that I've never been fond of Valentine's Day. In grade school there were always kids who didn't get Valentine's because they didn't have a parent (or an awesome sister like me) to help them decorate a shoebox to collect said Valentine's. It was just sad, even though there was candy. Then, as junior high and high school droned on, it was a contest to see whose boyfriend could send the most obnoxious, gigantic conglomeration of flowers and balloons known to the free world. Deliver me.

Please know I in no way WHATSOEVER begrudge those in love. I don't hate you or covet your situation. I'm genuinely happy for you folks. But it doesn't change my opinion on V-Day. I find it to be a marketing scam of the highest order. And don't get me wrong, I'm not unromantic. I just prefer that I get a special gift or flowers because someone who believes the sun rises and sets on my ass just decided on a whim to get me a pretty on a random day.

I guess I'll own being a smidge jaded. I say this only because if someone wants to get me some fabulous Valentine's Day candy, I will consume it with carefree abandon. Except the fruit creme ones. Those I take a bite out of then throw out.

Happy February!

There are angels allllllll around us.

That's a line in a movie, right? Maybe not. But I'm feeling it today, and these beautiful flowers are why. How we came together, and stayed together, is one of my favorite journeys in life.

My sweet friend David Blackwell Waites died on January 26, 1996. The lily you see beautifully displayed here is a gift I received from him. David had an amazing green thumb. He had a successful landscaping business in Atlanta for years, but when his battle with AIDS became too much he moved home with his parents in Florence, Alabama and kept a small greenhouse. That's when I got to know him. And love him.

David used to tease me because I had a decidedly brown thumb in 1996. And 1995, and all the way back, I suppose, to my birth in 1966. Brown. thumb. So a couple of months before David died, he called me. The conversation went something like this:


Me: Hello?

David: Hey girl, I want you to come by the house. I've got something for you.

Me: Oooh, what what what?

(Sidebar: David was crazy creative on about a gajillion levels. He painted, wrote and could just take any old piece of shit and make it look fabulous. So any time he said he had something for me I was giddy with anticipation of what beautiful thing he had made.)

David: Two plants.

Me: Oh.

David: (laugh laugh laugh) Don't worry, they are low maintenance and I'll tell you exactly what how to take care of them.

Me: David, you love your plants. Why would you give me two of your innocent plants? You know I have a brown thumb.

David: I'm going to prove to you that you don't. Get your ass over here as soon as you can.

So I picked up a Mother-In-Law's tongue (which I still have) and the lily. The holidays came and went, and I kept them alive. Thriving, even. I did exactly what David said. Kept them near the sun, and watered them when they started to droop.

Then David died in January. I made it my life's mission to keep these plants alive. I wanted to over water, over feed, hover. But I didn't. David's advice stayed with me. They continued to live, and grow. I split and re-potted them both. But the lily didn't bloom. While I was a bit disappointed, I was so thrilled to be keeping plants alive that I didn't much care.

Fast forward to 2009, thirteen years after David left us. My father had just had a heart attack. I was in the middle of the biggest emotional shitstorm of my life. I felt beaten down, chastised, less than. And for the first time, the lily bloomed. Right about the time David died. Just a couple of blooms, but I felt so strongly that those two flowers were a sign that David and my Papa Land (who died in 1989 and was the dearest man ever to walk the Earth) were watching over me. Those flowers represented my guardian angels, at least to me.

The lilies have continued to bloom, about the same time every year, with a couple more blooms here and there. With each additional bloom, I felt another guardian angel in my life. My dad, my mother, friends I've lost. One year I had five. I was thrilled.

Then there's this year. 2012. When I'm in a state of emotional and financial flux. When I don't always feel steady ground under my feet. When I'm unsure sometimes what step to take next. This year, there are SIXTEEN blooms on my lily. Almost four times the number that have bloomed in the past. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16. That's a lot, my friends.

When I saw the blooms earlier this week, I had a really lovely cry. Not sad at all, because I realize David and my grandfather and so many others that I'm not even sure I know are all around me, guiding me every step of the way.

Today, I wish for all who read this that you may have all the guardian angels you need to lead you on your path.

I love you, David. Thank you for this amazing gift.

Though April showers may come your waaaayyyyy.....

Felt like this much since April 1? I know I have, both inside and outside. Oy.

I just finished "The Wisdom of Menopause" by Dr. Christiane Northrup, and boy, does she know what's in my head and heart. Life feels like a whirlwind these days, sometimes bringing torrential rain, sometimes thunder and lightning, and sometimes those pesky straight line winds that blow you off your feet. According to Dr. N, that is not at all uncommon. That in and of itself made me feel better because for months now I've just been feeling slap ass crazy.

It's not in my nature to go with the flow on this sort of emotional unpredictability, much less the unpredictability of everyday life. I feel God is pressing me hard to give up some old defense mechanisms and negative ideas about myself and embark on a journey of really finding wholeness in my heart and soul for the first time. It's scary and exciting at the same time. Sad and exhilarating. Even if something isn't serving your best needs any more, letting go of it is a bit like letting go of a friend from whom you've grown apart. It's part of life, but there's a hole there for a while as you absorb the change.

So, if you have or ever have had a uterus, read the book. It's amazing for women of all ages. And if you love anyone who has or ever has had a uterus, it might not be a bad idea for you to peruse it as well.

Stay dry if you want, or just toss your umbrella aside, raise your face to the raindrops and let them wash over you. Whatever feels right.

Why, hello stranger!

So glad you stopped by! Come on in, have a cup of coffee, let's catch up!

My last post here was over a year ago. Life and karma/God/kismet have continued to open amazing doors for me, and I've been smart enough to walk through them instead of being so scared that I wouldn't even peek inside.

(Did you see me just use that door metaphor right by this photo of a gorgeous door? I didn't even do that intentionally. Pin one of those beautiful roses on me!)

I shall try to recount some of the many lessons I've learned in the last 16 months since I last blogged:

1. I'm following my gut more, but praying first.
   
2. I'm learning to really like myself.
   
3. I'm learning that after taking aforementioned #1, if I still feel strongly about something in my gut, I stick with it.
   
4. I'm infinitely better at picking my battles. So many things just don't matter like I thought they did in the past.
5. I'm learning to be gentle with myself, and as a result I'm becoming gentler with others. I have forgiven those who have wronged me and prayed that they receive peace, blessings and contentment in their lives.
   
6. I'm reading more, for fun and to keep learning and growing.
   
7. I've begun to really, seriously appreciate the unconditional love that my father and I were able to share in the months before he died. That is a gift far greater than I would have ever imagined us giving each other in my younger years.
   
8. I'm learning that love is a process, and it grows and changes every day.
   
9. I'm laughing more.
10. And yes......last but not least.........

wait for it........




I've really started realizing that I can only control myself and my reactions to life. By "realizing" I mean I'm feeling it, not just knowing it on a conscious level. I've known it for years, yet still tried to control as a way to cope with my fear. I'm letting that go, a wee little bit at a time. Some days it's two steps forward and three steps back, but I'm not where I was and I'm happy about that. I don't muck things up *then* later think "oh, why did I try to control that situation?" God stops me smack in the middle of it, and I hear him. I step away, I save myself and others grief and unhappiness and I can be at peace with that.

One of my recently adopted mantras is "this is not my journey". It's a good one to ponder.

Things I have to be happy about today

The sun is out, and my mood matches this beautiful day!

There is no God higher than truth, and that is proving more true in my life every day.

My husband and I are laughing together again. I didn't realize how much I had missed that.

I have peace about the decisions I make that enable me to make sure my father's last wishes are carried out.

Gap's Christmas commerial.

I haven't hit the Wii once this week, and I'm not kicking myself over it.

I've cooked a couple of really good meals for my family this week.

This week's Family Guy was one of the funniest ones I've ever seen, and I have it on TiVo.

My amazing friends. Ice cream. Marble Slab, Brewsters (sp?), you name it.

Pumpin spice lattes.

Easier said than done, huh?

I was just looking at my Facebook page and my message, posted much earlier in the year, states "2009 will be a great year!" or some such hopefulness.

In a way it was. Though I lost my father, I got to spend some amazing time with him, and resolve some issues that helped us both say goodbye with no regrets. I was able to help facilitate a move for him that brought him, in his own words, a peace and contentment that he had never experienced before. I'm eternally grateful for his faith in me and my sister and in giving us that opportunity.

But I lost my father, and my faith has been tested because of some things that are out of my control. I've been angry at God, and haven't been comfortable in my own skin because of some intense negativity toward a select few.

I can't say all my anger is gone, but that's just a stage of grief, so it will come and go for a while. What I can say today, for the first time in a long time, is that I will come out of this with a renewed faith, stronger than ever in the knowledge that God has a plan for me that is spectacular beyond anything I could measure in my limited human brain. I don't always feel it, but I know it to be true.

I had a good cry recently and told my husband that I feel like I've been swimming upstream lately. I then remembered something I heard on the radio a while back. If you feel like you're paddling against the stream, don't just turn and paddle in the opposite direction: LET GO OF THE PADDLES AND JUST LET THE CURRENT CARRY YOU. Seriously? That's the shit we're supposed to do to give us inner peace? I throw up a little in my mouth just thinking about it.

That fight for control has been the true battle of my life. It's the part I've always fought. When humans grow up with abuse, it appears we spend the rest of our lives trying (in vain) to gain control over every aspect of our lives. I know on a cognitive level that control is a fallacy, but that scared little girl needs it right now. While I grieve for my father on an adult level, I grieve in an entirely different way from a child-like level at times.

I remember the night my father packed up and moved out for the first time. He and my mother were screaming at each other about something, and as I sat on the edge of my bed sobbing, I was simultaneously relieved that he was leaving and terrified that this man who called every shot in our lives was leaving us. How would we survive? How would we eat? Where would we live? I hated him and felt completely dependent on him for my existence all at once. While the feelings about him aren't the same, the feeling about the situation is quite similar.

I knew things would surface after he died, issues that I thought I had resolved or maybe never even considered. I knew my grief would take me through a maze of emotions that made no sense, and that my mood and feelings would turn on a dime without explanation. I'm tired of that, and I think I'm just getting into the thick of it. So I can't lose my faith, and I won't. My soul will grow and expand and be more capable of love. My ability to forgive will grow by leaps and bounds. I will let go of old survivial patterns that no longer serve me well. It's what he would have wanted for me.

Time heals, this too shall pass, blah blah blah

My father died 21 days ago. We are having a memorial for him next weekend. I am so ready to have this next week over. I couldn't be there when he died, so this, I feel, is the closure I need.

We've been battling to ensure his final wishes are carried out for five months now, but today is one of the days when I feel like it has been five years. I'm tired, physically, mentally and emotionally. My husband's family reunion is today, and I just couldn't make it. I knew I couldn't stand in the middle of a crowded house full of people, a majority of whom I don't know. They would wish me well and give me condolences on my father's death. I have no doubt about that. I just couldn't do it today.

Today I need to hide. I need quiet. I need to watch mindless television and perform mindless tasks like folding laundry. If I perk up, I'll try to study a bit. I need to gear up for rehearsal tonight so I'm no just a lump of flesh sitting there with nothing to contribute.

I have had some good days in the last 21 days. This just isn't one of them.