Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

daughter dreams, blackberries, & wellness habits

Last night I dreamt that Jocelyn came home. It was a happy, lighthearted dream. Bridget was with her, and everything felt natural and smooth. Fearless. Complete. It was so seamless with reality that waking up required a few minutes of unraveling. Sometimes when I have dreamed about the girls during a long separation, I am emotionally wrecked for a while, at least for the day. This time, all day today, I have felt a new kind of buoyancy. I believe in my bones that the right time is fast approaching for us to reunite in a meaningful way. As exciting as that is, I am in no hurry. I most of all want it to be right for her.

At one minute past 6 a.m., Klaus and I slipped outside to watch the morning take hold. Though cloudless at that hour, the sky was visibly dome like, its pastel spread dazzling and saturated with humidity. We launched into the front field, taking every curve of the new Enchanted Path. The mown-flat walkway was dewy, the ground both hard and spongy, yielding, the feathery native grasses as high as my shoulders now, begging to be touched. Wildflowers continue their bloom display, and I am ready to scatter more seeds.

The moon hung on the southwest corner of the farm, waning by almost a quarter on this 117th day of quarantine. It drew me over to the horses, who arrived yawning and snuffling for breakfast. They will need extra fly spray today.

The squash blossoms were already awake, riotous, trembling with dozens of industrious honeybees. No monster vegetables to harvest yet this morning, but having unburdened the vines this week, and having fed and watered them, we will find more soon.

We fed the front coop flock and collected seven heavy eggs, three of them so recently produced they were still hot to the touch. By the time we meandered back around the house to feed Romulus and his fleecy companion, Handsome had stepped outside. The workday was about to begin in earnest. Every bird, both wild and domestic, was roused and singing.

On my run a few hours later (mostly trails, very sweaty, supremely refreshing), I saw the local high school Cross Country team warming up. This always reminds me of Jocelyn and the one year she was able to run for McGuinness. She is such a talented runner, a natural athlete. I wonder if she knows that a big part of why I started running was to feel modestly connected to her during our longest separation.

Also on my run, I saw a middle aged woman (younger than me but not my much) and a teenaged boy. They had stopped running, both leaning over, hands on knees. I had the distinct impression of either a recent or an impending vomit event. I slipped an earbud out of my greasy right ear and asked the pair, because I couldn’t really tell who was suffering more, “Are you ok?” The woman answered with a weak but warm smile, “We’re just having a pep talk.” We nodded briefly at each other, and I ran on. I wondered actively for the next 3 miles who was giving and who was receiving said pep talk. Mostly I was happy they had each other. My own pep talks are always just between me and myself and it can make me feel crazy.

This big bowl of sweet, ripe, perfect black berries is poised and ready for either a cobbler or a syrup recipe or maybe some jelly. What would you do with them? I am amazed by the productivity of my two little vines this year. And I eat them constantly while gardening! This is just what actually made it to the fridge.

I have been thinking lots about a “Wellness Toolbox” concept, and I hope that soon you will join me in a long conversation about that. Today, though, in case you need it, I want to share a list of fundamentals offered by Steve Magness, author of both Peak Performance (which I have purchased but not yet read) and The Passion Paradox, which I devoured this past winter alongside Atomic Habits (different author). Magness imparts some very adaptable wisdom that has been especially useful to me during this weird and shifting pandemic season. Here are notes from my journal:

Take what you want, leave what you don’t. But I believe that most of us can benefit from these fundamental habits, no matter what the unknowns are:

  1. Focus on what you can control.
  2. Move your body regularly.
  3. Spend time in nature.
  4. Lower expectations.
  5. Create a routine.
  6. Practice optimism grounded in reality.
  7. Mood follows action.

Friends, thank you for your tomato recipe ideas yesterday! I shared a few pounds of especially pretty ones with our new neighbors, and I am excited to dive into some for our own pleasure, too.

Happy Thursday night!!

I want to remain all my life
a devout lover of reality
while seeking Spirit
XOXOXOXO

the cult dream

Are you dreaming extra weird dreams during this pandemic? Bonus points if this is even weirder for you because of Shark Week hormones.

Last night I had a whopper, a real story line worth sharing.

THE CULT DREAM:

On a whim I attended some multi-cultural creativity retreats that turned out to be a cult. We were promised dream catchers and meditation and book studies, among other treats. And instead of a locked down compound, it was the kind of cult where you can leave, go home, and come back at your leisure, as long as you wear your name tag and sign up for enough community service.

Weirdly, most of the members didn’t seem to like anyone else in the group very much, but they acted happy. Everyone had glossy, curly hair, except me. They kept coming back for more and just stayed in tight little two or three -person cliques. The overall lighting was wanting.

As far as I could tell, the biggest “initiation” ceremony had to do with being submerged in a giant tank of choppy water and keeping just the tip of your nose exposed for breathing. It was scary, because you had to tread with your legs only, not use your arms to stay above water, and if just a few splashes of the water entered your nose, your chances were ruined. I don’t know what the prize was, besides membership, but tension was high. Drowning was the least of our worries.

We never got around to crafts or studying. Not even yoga. As far as I could tell, the only special power held by cult members was the ability to hear animals’ thoughts as clearly as a person speaking English. Voices, accents, inflection, everything. This might be the bees knees and quite fun, except that the cult meeting room was filled with puppies who were terrified and in pain, and nobody cared. It was excruciating.

At some point, the whole cult took a field trip to the zoo, and the leaders were soon cornered in such a way that a secret lever was activated, and a giant fake hollow rock cave was lowered over them, trapping them. Like a real Scooby Doo moment. My husband was suddenly there with me, and he said, chuckling, “How’s it feel to be caught?” Hehe.

The confusion reigned for a while longer, and I eavesdropped on several conversations about who was there and why and who they hated most and why. The leaders’ entrapment did little to soften the mood, apparently. And nobody took the opportunity to leave.

Then a meeting was called to order, and without warning I was dismissed for all of eternity, rejected and barred by the whole cult. My offense? Writing too many inspirational messages on the walls. The walls were plain, exposed lath and plaster, horizontal relics of twentieth century home construction, perfect for sentences.

I left the cult, hurt by the rejection but also relieved to have my freedom.

The End.

You‘re in a cult, call your dad!!

jessica michelle

You were here with me again. Did you know?

Somewhere between Monday and Tuesday, in the sueded navy blue deep, you illuminated everything.

You were all at once young and vulnerable and old and wise, but this time you were no longer gritting against pain.

Instead, you were pulsing joy and radiating love with the most gentle pink and gold peace. Your aura had a fragrance better than any perfume.

We chatted and giggled and I touched your velvet skin and you played with my hair and asked me about my herb garden.

I asked you about your writing and are you in love? Your twinkling brown eyes said that you want to be.

One minute we were on your grade school playground, noisy and happy, the next floating on a muddy lake, blue sky above us, quiet and calm.

A new face emerged around the corner and wondered who I was, then she knew and turned away. Running. Not afraid, just… ashamed. You smiled at me and wrapped your arms around my middle, squeezing tight. I held you still and inhaled sunshine from the top of your head.

There’s a change happening isn’t there? I feel it. I feel you. And this opens such a floodgate.

I have been smiling through my pain, too.

But while you were here, glowing in the dark, neither of us had to.

Because nothing is stronger than love.

jess sweet 16

I’m linking up this week with Kat Bouska, grateful for her invitation to write in twelve lines.
I took some liberty, but she is very forgiving.
And without the safety of restraint I might not have even tried to share this.
XOXOXOXO