I can't remember the exact story behind these pictures. It went something like: one sister sits on the other, the first sister objects loudly and with much indignation, the second sister is asked to get off, to which she also objects loudly and with much indignation.
The mystery as to why one would want to sit on one's sister in the first place remains unsolved.
It's a holiday Monday, and we spent part of the morning in the garden, which is to say, I watched while Warren and Iona spent part of their morning in the garden. I do some of my best work that way. The marigolds that were planted for pest control are our best crop, but the tomatoes sprouted a respectable harvest, and we are on to our second lettuce sowing. There may only be a single cucumber on the cucumber vine, but it is one hell of a cucumber.
I think I know why it is that people who garden tend to live longer. Even from a distance, every time a new plant goes in the ground I can feel the hope for the future that goes in with it.
I get lazy this end of Summer. Work on the blanket has ceased, though it's nearly finished, as has work on almost everything else. It's hard to function in this hazy muggy heat when you are less a tropical flower and more a mountain daisy.
Still, a lot of reading in sheltered corners gets done. There is always that.
Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough. ~ Emily Dickinson
A baby's blanket. Because the height of summer's humidity is the perfect time to sit for hours with a pile of wool on your knees. I'm not sure about the colours I have chosen; I have trouble with colours. I love colours, am happy to do nothing else with my day other than stare at them indefinitely, but when it comes to choosing one over the other, I dither. The world stands and falls on the right shade of blue.
Fabric is even harder. I usually muck around so much that I end up all disoriented and pick something-I-quite-like-but-not-really, for reasons known to absolutely nobody.
This time I had help. My colour blind husband assured me these were just fine. They are for pillowcases for me and my girls, because I get sick of plain old plain pillowcases. And plain old plain everything else, of which my house is full. I'm pretty sure if houses were people, mine would be one of Cinderella's ugly sisters. Or their even uglier cousin. And after I have made said pillowcases, I am going to crochet the edges and officially announce the return of Megan the Domestic Queen Goddess Lady.
There are many things in life that will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart. Pursue those. ~ Anon
My second attempt at writing this post. It's hard, admitting desires (and even, as Ali and The Coffee Lady point out, finding them in the first place). I feel like I'm in that dream where you're standing in front of a room full of people in just your undies.
Nevertheless. Here is small list of some things I would quite like.
1. One full rest day off every week.
2. To attend a photographic workshop at Whitecliffe Art School.
3. A few days on solo retreat at Southern Star Abbey.
So, they're not big wishes, and quite do-able with a bit of organisation and fiscal restraint. But they mean something important to me, something I can't quite articulate, something to do with freedom and muses and imagination. Now I sound like stoned hippie.
How about you? What do you wish for? Name one thing in the comments below, as big or as small as you choose, as long as it gives you a frission of excitement/fear when you contemplate actually getting or doing it. I'll put every comment into the draw to win one copy of The Wishing Year (disclosure: Noelle's worldview is very Zen Buddhist and if this is going to bother you, we might want to negotiate another book...).
We'll meet back here this time next year and compare notes. 'Kay? Kay.
...worrying, it seems, is the shadow side of wishing. For it begins not with the vision of something desired but of something feared, something to be repelled. And whereas desire is a powerful form of fuel for actually making something happen, fear is less so. Rather than energizing us, motivating us to take action, it tends to deplete us, to make us feel helpless, overwhelmed, lying there flat on our backs in the darkness. ~ Noelle Oxenhandler, The Wishing Year.
"Less fear" didn't seem like strong enough talisman to see me through an entire year, though it is at the heart of what I am wishing for. Courage wasn't the right word either, or bravery, or any of those synonyms. It wasn't until I spent a couple of relaxing days re-reading The Wishing Year that I found the word I was looking for:
Desire. A longing, a craving. An expressed wish; a request. Not just a wish, but an expressed wish, an outward request, an admittance to the world at large that, yes, this is a thing I long for and please can you help me find it? I am so afraid of doing this that even sitting here writing these words I am embarrassed, physically uncomfortable, and trying to talk myself out of writing about any of it at all. It's not the desiring I have a problem with. I am, I realise, deeply ashamed to ask.
If you don't ask, you don't get. I don't think there is an entire universe out there waiting with baited breath to fulfill my every desire. I don't think that getting my every desire is even a good thing. I certainly don't think that by wishing I can keep tragedy at bay, as if it were some magical protective forcefield. I also do not think that wishing replaces one micro-ounce of the hard work and persistence it takes to make a dream come true. What I do think is that admitting to the things our hearts desire is an important way of being true to ourselves and the people around us. It opens us up to possibility. It focuses our intent.
And who knows? Maybe there is also a small scattering of fairy dust thrown in there somewhere.
There was food. We ate it. Good presents, excited children, lots of happy things. For myself though, I like Boxing Day better. It's calmer, more relaxing. We slept in late, went to the movies, had pizza for dinner. Today we are gardening, though in my world what that really means is half-heartedly planting a couple of things in the vain hope they will grow. I am rubbish at gardening.
I haven't much been in the zone these holidays. All week I have been distracted with thoughts of 2012; I'm not sure why, 2011 isn't done with yet. To get through another graduate year, and three more after that, however, I know I need to be more intentional in what I do and how I do it than I have been. I suppose, in a kind of way, it's similar to gardening. If I don't give the values and goals that matter most to me the time and attention they need, they will likely be smothered by the metaphorical weeds.
Profound.
I like the idea of completing 2011 first, though, and there is a worksheet created for this purpose by Andrea Scher and Jen Lemen that you can download for free here. Rituals are useful. We need rituals. I am going to fill mine out today (sans the out-loud declaration. I am sure people do that and I am equally sure none of them are me), and then I am going to write down what I want out of 2012. After that, I will chop my list in half, and then half again, while lowering my expectation by two-thirds. That will probably put things into the realm of achievable. Maybe.
Hope your holidays have been good to you, and may 2012 bring you whatever it is you need the most.
