To be listened to in a head stand.
Two weeks later:
Beckett and I are walking down Peacock Lane, attempting to ogle the lights and holiday kitsch swathed around houses. "I have to poop" she whines. "Look at Charlie Brown" she screams. "I have to poop" she cries.
I am offered a new art director position - and take it.
We are invited to a gigantic Montessori preschooler party and brave the torrential rain to make it. When a fellow mother amongst a crowd of 75 people asks me how I am, I decide to be honest and say "actually, I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed at the moment." She totally agrees. Giant parties for preschoolers suck rotten ass.
I dreamed I sliced off the bottom of my foot. It looked like a giant slab of ham, the kind some people eat for Easter. The doctor taped the slice of my foot back onto the other part of my foot, taped it up with a flesh-colored tape and told me to stay off of it for at least a month.
Resting in balasana is almost as comfortable as it was for me before I busted my knee cap nearly 7 months ago. My atrophied quadricep is finally responding to my insane demands and has grown a whopping 4 cm in the last few weeks.
I'm piecing together lyrics for the next rendition of backup. This time it will involve the backup singers singing to me as I attempt to put my dear, stubborn toddler to bed.
Post- it Notes:
exactly what they are
so far so good!
Sticks to the outside of files perfectly.
There are plenty of stickies so the supply will last.
The colors are bright and stand out ,so that people know there is an important message pertaining to the folder.
I feel like Amfortas in Richard Wagner’s last opera Parsifal. Amfortas has an abdominal wound for years & would not heal, causing him severe pain. Parsifal near the end of the opera touches his wound with the “Holy Spear”, and the wound heals immediately. I have had a bad right knee for two years which would cause severe pain after running for about one minute. Six days ago I have applied the new Ace 4 inch bandage to my right knee—no pain—ran for about ten minutes. Immediately ordered sixty more ace bandages from Amazon. I have run the following five days—NO PAIN. Miricale—or Mind oer Matter. I believe it is the “Ace Bandage”. Thank you “3 M” company and thank you Amazon.
It's a nice bandage. Purchased this for our earthquake/disaster first aid kit.
What can you say - These are standard sized cellulose kitchen sponges. They are good quality and work like you would expect.
I haven't been able to find these plain sponges in the stores nearby for awhile. All they seem to carry are the scrunges, pot scrubbers, etc. For quick wipes and washing dishes, I like a plain sponge.
Perfect for my needs!
I purchased these for my mother, who is allergic to dish soaps. The ones in the stores aren't as thick as these, according to her. She likes them just fine.
I've never used plastic gloves -- thought they were wimpy. But facing some tough cleaning chores, I decided to spring for a pair. These fit perfectly and were 100 percent waterproof.
My fiance would always steal my gloves to do other things around the house or garage, so I bought these in medium and now he leaves them alone because they're too small for him. <grin>
I try not to wish for things, to hope for things, to crave things outside my peripheries, but 68% of the time I'm unsuccessful. I wish for more time, less global chaos, extra money, better ideas, longer vacations, abundant peace. I hope I don't fall into a fire pit. I hope my knee will heal so I can run from ferocious predators. I hope an earthquake doesn't devour Portland. I hope I can visit my grandma soon. I crave bread and butter, wine, feta cheese, Vietnamese soups, chocolate lava cakes, a new haircut, less pilly sweaters, a firmer bosom and rump. The wishing, hoping and craving turn into mental skyscrapers that prevent me from seeing the sunset, the shape of the trees against the sky, and the moon edging its way into night.
Thanks to my daily meditation practice (and a million other spiritual cliches), I know, deep down in my aortic valve, that this wishing, hoping and craving stems from a place of fear. The yucky kind that likes to smother its fowl entrails all over the place. The kind that permeates every nook and cranny humans have chosen to be. So, my goal for the moment (which sort of feels like a wish, but it's not), is to recognize my fears before they turn into desires, and those desires morph into a sticky web of patterns that become harder and harder to climb out of.
Growing old and being ignored or forgotten in the process, losing my creative zeal, disappointing my family, not being a good enough mother, wife, friend, neighbor, artist, employee, stranger, something horrible happening to my family, and of course, death are the fears that currently inhabit my brain. Instead of just allowing these fears to move in and out of my consciousness, I tend to build little barriers to keep them out, but in doing this, the fears are affixed to my innards like old gum on a tree and are manifested in a multitude of ways. I rub my hands together, peel my nails off, change my clothes more than 2 times in the morning, drink another glass of wine, make art, go to the gym, get defensive, over "like" things on facebook, scratch my head, sigh, turn up the music, huff, write, pick up the guitar, eat ice cream, buy another pair of shoes, apply lipstick. Obviously some of these manifestations are much more productive than others. It takes another level of questioning to decipher what is healthy versus what is pattern inducing.
Man. Keeping this brain in check is strenuous. I need a drink...or to remember:
"Mindfulness is cultivated by a gentle effort. Persistence and a light touch are the secrets. Mindfulness is cultivated by constantly pulling oneself back to a state of awareness, gently, gently, gently."
- Bhante Henepola Gunaratana