Flo

Monday morning I awoke with harried negative self-talk going in cirlces in my head.  There was no sense of calmness anywhere in my body or brain.  Mornings like that rarely happen but when they do, they’re paralyzing.  It’s as if the needle of the record player got stuck on a scratch on the album (I grew up when vinyl was “in”).  The negative thoughts got to the point of boiling over. I was too distracted to figure out how to get out of it.  My saving grace that morning was a phone call.  One phone conversation and the hovering grey cloud was gone, as if it had never been there. 

I wanted to make a list of ways to get out of such a space.  I knew it could help me in the future when I was too preoccupied to come up with options.  Anyone out there might want to add their suggestions as well - what distracts one person from negative thoughts might not work for another.

Here’s the beginning of the list:

1.  Talk to a friend

2. Read

3. Meditate

4. Go for a run

5. Journal

6. Wallow with the bassets

7. Sing along with a John Denver song (after all, you know all the words).

8. Dance to “Footloose”

keep the list going.

Morning tea - the sun eeks its way up and I see the side of the barn brightening with its rays. (I will not declare or analyze what day it is).  The sun is now hitting the neighbor’s pear tree, whose leaves have turned a golden rust color.  I love fall and all its colors, the way this season leads us to winter.  I also feel a sense of unease as I watch the summer flower blossoms bend over, freeze and shrivel when the frosts begin.  Last year, unable to watch, I pulled several summer planters inside for the winter - the house looked like a poorly kept arboretum.

Makena creeps around the deck, checking in around the door, ensuring I’ll let her in if she is too cold and she wanders away again.  I watered the planters on the deck this morning. Their leaves are no longer upright and green and I try desperately to breathe life back into them again.  I want to see the deep purple petunia blossoms, the pink and striped geraniums, the purple fountain grasses that waves in the very slightest of breezes. 

It’s Sunday (I am noticing I frequently start my blog writings stating the day of the week.  Hmmm, lets analyze that…).  It’s Sunday morning and although there is always a “to do” list, nothing is so pressing I can’t sit and relax, drink my tea, read last month’s “Real Simple” cover to cover (which I never get to do) and write.  It’s a luxury in my life to just sit and read.  It has been since before college (a LONG time ago) that I can remember whiling away any time at all reading.  As easily distracted and distractible as I am, one stray thought and I pop up from my reading spot to do some random thing.  In the summer, it’s mowing (such a heavy, weekend, time-intensive chore) or gardening and prior to this summer, there was always a feeling of “overwhelmed”, that I never settled down enough to focus on what I was doing, because there were so many other things that “needed” to be done.  To a large degree, the things that “need” to be done are all made up in my head.  Occasionally, outside forces impact this (you know, like the IRS, work or socially related deadlines), but really, most deadlines are self created and self imposed.

Today I want to read about carving jack o’lanterns and organizing my clutter.  I want to find out how to cook the perfect roast, learn to store my shoes and what are the nine stand out coat styles.  I want to remind myself why this time is important, that the quiet is restoring, that the things around me that cause distraction are just things; they don’t really need addressing at this very instant and self soothing cups of tea and a magazine are good for my soul.

Namaste’

It’s Tuesday morning and I am working on cup of tea #2.  The sun is barely peeking up, so the sky is a grey-ish color.  It’s light enough out to be able to see how the leaves have drastically changed color in the last week and are more on the ground than in the trees.

The garden is harvested.  The last part, garlic and potatoes, sitting in a box in the kitchen.  The pumpkins left from the pumpkin party are in the yard, scattered like litter.  They are white, yellow and orange and stacking them together might be a good idea.  Minus their treasures, the pumpkin vines are wilting and it looks like last night might have been our first frost.  The tomato plants continue to give red*yellow*orange tomatoes, however I wander off and quit looking for them.  Isn’t that funny?  At some point, the garden loses its appeal and I’m ready for it to be done, while plans for next year’s garden evolve in my brain.  Looking ahead, I’m missing out on the fact that I can still eat the tomatoes now.  That’s not too unusual and I doubt I’m the only person who misses out on what is right in front of me because I’m looking ahead, past fall (golden, red, brilliant leaves), past winter (hibernation, snow shoes, skiing) to spring when the earth is renewed. 

Excuse me for leaving.  I need to go look for tomatoes to eat with my morning cups of tea.