I am an admitted sucker for neatly packaged, pre-organized, easily translatable remnants of knowledge that some people might call gimmicks.  Especially if they rhyme.  Not that full bodies of information or complete works of literature are lost on me; I just have a subterranean appetite for smaller doses of wisdom that can be absorbed and digested in a flash.  

   Same goes for quotes, especially when they are credited to people who have already earned my admiration. Like Albert Einstein.  I do try to make note people who have been quoted and seem worth a revisit then try to measure their full spectrum of opinion or experience against sturdier belief systems already in place.

   Why such a sucker?  Because life gets busy, baby, and my mind gets distracted.  And I cannot afford to waste even a little bit of my limited brain power by NOT learning something or motivating myself to do something.  I also get bored easily in my relative isolation, so shaking things up with fresh perspectives and newer incarnations of the same good stuff just does my soul a favor.

   My love affair with gimmicks started young.  I would never have learned where is east and where is west without once being taught that you EAT with your EAST hand (assuming you are right handed, I suppose).  And the notes on a treble clef?  The spaces are, from the bottom, F–A–C–E and, for the lines, Every Good Boy Does Fine.  (Or Fart, depending on whether my piano teacher was within earshot.)

  For a more recent example, cardio.  There will always be running and elliptical machines and jump ropes and trampolines, but I saw on Pinterest the neatest little poster outlining a 20-minute cardio routine I just had to try.  My fancy was tickled.  Anything can be endured for twenty minutes, right?  And this workout could be done in a hotel room sans equipment, sans judgmental audience, and sans push ups, which are from the devil.

    For the record, I did actually try this both yesterday and today.  Well, I completed almost two thirds of this both times, repeating the cycle not quite thrice.  It is more difficult in the flesh than it is on the computer screen, but that’s a good thing, right?  It got my heart pumping wildly in a very short period of time, and I didn’t have to leave the security and privacy of my hotel room.  I jumped immediately into the shower and called it a day.

   Another excellent find is always anything that will boil down my thoughts and get me to focus.  Are you like me, prone to melancholy over old hurts or losses, unsolvable problems, or possible future catastrophes?  That stuff is paralyzing, man.  And wasteful of our abundance in the present moment.  Shake it off and admit what you’re doing to yourself.

   

   With regard to actual literature, the sources of inspiration are endless.  I have my online reading lists and my friends’ lists; my sister’s friend Julia who is also now my friend, who works as a literary publicist and feeds me titles like they were solid gold sunflower kernels; and my fellow book clubbers.  (Our Oklahoma book club has grown from four to eighteen women, all filled with excellent ideas about what to devour next)  Feeding off of the recommendations of trustworthy, vastly interesting women has become a beloved source of inspiration for me.  Yes, some of this is a bit gimmicky, but who cares?  Not me.

   This week at the zoo I saw a series of small, wooden signs bearing the same quote over and over again, and the message has been echoing in my heart in a very genuine, movement-begging way.  Here it is paraphrased, because I failed to snap a photo and I cannot find it on the internet:

-Unknown

   I believe the context there was animal conservancy, but of course we can choose to apply it at will to any situation where action is needed.  Even though the delivery was gimmicky (about two dozen matching wooden signs strewn along a landscaped pathway), the effect is real.

   I guess all I’m saying today is that if you are drawn to appetizers of knowledge now and then, don’t feel guilty about it; let it fuel you!  And let it prompt a healthy intellectual menu.  Use the thinky calories and nutrients you scrape up from all over this beautiful world to improve your life and deepen and enrich your experiences.  As long as gimmicky snippets are only part of your nourishment, not the whole of what you ingest, I bet you’re okay.   You have nothing to regret in surfing and collecting and reading and observing.

   

  

   She had positioned her very old and well used two-cup Pyrex glass measuring bowl on the kitchen counter to pour in buttermilk.  She took one step back and leaned forward to get a close up view of the fluid level (the buttermilk should be measured precisely, after all).  The red lines had faded over the years, and the glass was a bit clouded by time and heavy use, so she had to step back further still and lean in even more closely to focus on the 1 ½ cup mark.  This put her in an unnatural position with her rump more in the air than it usually is, and without warning she felt something catch in her lower back.

   But to the injury tending she returns, and her garden sits, unattended, becoming slowly reclaimed by the wild.  The tomatoes will rot on the vine, she thinks.

Not too awful much to say right this minute.

Just a little encouragement to enjoy your life.

Whatever your task, whatever your burden, 

whatever meal you find on your table,

even if it is just good, sweet hay,

and even you find it on your head, not the table…

Enjoy it to the best of your ability.

Life is good, and is passes by too quickly 

when we wish away the difficult days or the mundane moments.

Soak it up.  Get messy.  Be happy.  Count your blessings.

Pass it on.

  Once upon a time, there was a rare little girl born to a family who had been wishing and waiting for her for a long time.

   Her parents were madly in love with each other and anxious to have a sweet, pink little baby girl on which to shower their frills and kisses.  They yearned for a daughter who would need the rivers of love and attention they had to offer.

   This little girl was born into the protection and adoration of three wonderful big brothers and many far-flung grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins who were over the moon excited to see her for the first time.

   She entered the world with eyes that would soon turn the color of Caribbean shallows, but she lived in the desert.  Already evincing miracles.  She was a delicate, whispery thread of loveliness spun from the heart of her unusually beautiful mother.  And she was destined for grand adventures.

   Clearly on a path to uniqueness, this little speck of a girl delighted her family by preferring edgy rock music to nursery rhymes.

   She started off life as a good eater, nursing and bonding and cooing throughout the day, every day.  All day long, even at parties.  Never stopping except to breathe.  Even at The Lazy W.  She was hungry because she had a lot of growing to do.  She knew deep inside her wordless but thriving mind that she would be needing the energy.

   Every strand of her gypsy tutu represented a wish bestowed on her life.  Cheetah print for speed and agility when she might need it, red lace for romance when the time is right, gingham for wholesomeness.  Graphics for sharp thinking.  Blue seersucker for extensive daydreaming beneath the clouds, paisley for growing things, denim for hard work

   Now the whole world, and not just the desert, is waiting to see what this special little girl does with her life.  Which paths she might follow, what webs she might weave.  How the blue of her eyes might change when she falls in love, and how she uses the magic in her tutu.

 

   We’ve had a particularly busy, happy, productive week at the farm.  Even more so this week than most, probably.  I am so pleased to close up shop today with a few projects finally in the “done” compartment in my crowded mind, although I am stunned to realize that these whirlwind five days have suddenly brought us to almost dinner time on Friday.  My Joy Pockets are easy to count, as always.  For this I am so thankful.

 

• I mixed and have been feasting on Roasted Olive Dip.
• I got to hold an eight week old (human) baby for whom I am not even one bit responsible.  I got to sniff him and cuddle him and make him grin tiny baby grins.  I propped up his beautiful, wobbly head, sewed him a little shirt, kissed him good bye, and felt not even one scrap of longing for new motherhood.  It was a stand alone pleasure.  
• A short list of sewing orders, which I had allowed to vex both my mind and my promises list, which affects my relationships, is now completed.  The relief of having these done and having happy customers cannot be overstated.