sometimes
on the journey
you come to a crossing
and it looks one way
when you start,
then when you’ve gone
a bit farther,
you look back
and realize
there was . . . is
another possibility.
a wholeness.
Category: Blog (Page 78 of 101)
News of The 70273 Project with a side of Jeanne’s Barefoot Heart
sometimes you create something
and it just doesn’t feel right
even though you created
the image you saw
as your waking thought.
and you value waking thoughts
more than anything.
so you sit with it a while,
in case something
surfaces
and changes things.
but eventually you realize
that it just doesn’t work
so you cut it up
then you cut it up again
and again
and tomorrow
or the next day
you start over,
weaving the parts together,
in a new way.
bringing in new pieces
and weaving them in and out
over and under
and you don’t stop
until
it tickles
you.
She’s coming next week,
the new girlfriend,
and though i’m eager to meet Her,
i worry i’ll embarrass
my son
when She sees
an overweight,
out of shape
redhead from a bottle.
a woman who has
pretty teeth
(thanks, mom)
but too many chins
and a face that
increasingly
resembles her
daddy’s side of the family.
i know nothing about Her
save her name.
that’s unusual,
but He tells me He wants
me to meet Her
with fresh eyes.
does She like to read
and if so, what?
does she paint?
dance?
draw?
stitch?
garden?
does She
laugh easily and often?
does She enjoy long
philosophical talks
that go into the
dark:thirty hours?
does She cheat at canasta?
shop off the list?
will She be territorial?
possessive?
will i feel the need to
ask Her permission to
spend time with my son alone?
will He make apologies
dressed as
explanations
on their way back to colorado?
there was a time
when i lived to
embarrass Him,
but He’s not in
high school any more.
i remember the first
time i took my husband
to my grandparents’ house.
it was as though i were
visiting for the first time, too.
seeing the concrete block steps,
the small, rickety handrail.
the rusty screen door,
the mesh full of holes that
allowed flies to traipse
in and out of that kitchen
at will.
the gold ceramic fish
with three different-sized
bubbles that decorated
the single bathroom.
it was the first time i noticed
that their feather bed
with the vinyl-covered headboard
was in their den,
the room that housed
not only their bed
but two rocking chairs, a space heater,
grandmother’s treadle sewing machine,
the dresser,
home of necessary toiletries
and fabric scraps,
the telephone on the wall,
and the television
that all but dialed itself
to live atlanta wrestling
every saturday night.
it was the first time i saw
that the combination
bedroom/den
was illuminated by a
single bare bulb
hanging down from the ceiling.
i wasn’t at all embarrassed,
just surprised that
i’d never really
seen these things before.
that the place where i’d spent so much
of my life
was new to me
on that day.
Today I am tired – tired to the molecular level, I tell you – and that’s why it could have gone either way: I could’ve gone ballistic, or in the interest of energy conservation, I could’ve said nothing . . .
Today is my brother’s wedding anniversary, you see, and last night he called from Afghanistan asking me to send flowers to his lovely wife, Robin – something I wasn’t able to do until around 2:30 this afternoon. I went online, googled florists in her city and state, then scrolled down to find the magic words “same day delivery.” The one I decided on promised to deliver the same day provided the order was placed by 3:30 p.m. Eastern Time Zone and you paid an additional fee. Having an hour to spare and the $2.95 in additional fees, I finished placing my order with 20 minutes to spare then turned my attention back to wrestling the to do list.
Thank goodness the email was up in the background, so I saw the confirmation email followed minutes later by the dreaded there’s-a-problem-with-your-order-call-us-at-your-earliest-convenience email. Well, things immediately shifted and right then became my earliest convenience so I called, and after 7 minutes on hold, Dianne answered and explained that there were no florists in the area willing to deliver today, but they’d all be happy to deliver the flowers sometime tomorrow.
Dianne said something about florists sometimes not being able to get their drivers back in time – to which I said quietly and calmly that I’d met the deadline and their web site was pretty definitive about same day delivery provided orders were placed by 3:30 p.m. Eastern time, which I had done. Dianne then said she’d call Robin and explain that it was their fault and promise her that they would deliver the flowers tomorrow – to which I (still using my best calmly and quietly tone of voice) said that I thought the element of surprise was part of the charm of receiving flowers, didn’t she, then I explained about the anniversary, and being the hopeless romantic she must assuredly be, Dianne then sat up straight (I could hear it in her voice) and said she wasn’t making any promises, but she’d call around and see if she couldn’t explain the situation and find somebody willing to delivery the flowers on their way home or something.
In less than 5 minutes, Dianne called to say that she’d found a florist who, after hearing the story, was willing to drop the flowers off on her way home.
AND they were going to upgrade the order, add a few flowers and a bigger bow or something.
AND they were covering all upcharges on same day delivery.
So you see, sometimes moving a mountain is as easy as 1, 2, 3:
1) Lead with friendly.
2) Be patient.
3) Tell the story.
and TA-DA – everybody goes home smiling.
i declare my independence from self-deprecating humor that’s used only as a non-threatening tool designed to subjugate myself so that others might listen to what i have to say. i pledge my allegiance to using my true, authentic voice, trusting that even when using my native language of humor, i will clearly express what i’m experiencing.
i declare my independence from the stories i’ve conjured or constructed or otherwise bought into, using them to protect me or aggrandize me. i pledge allegiance to birthing and living fresh, new stories that truthfully portray who i am now and who i want to become.
i declare my independence from living as though if i can do it, it is of no value. i pledge my allegiance to knowing (and living, accordingly) that the tasks i tend to regularly, and the things i create, have value and sometimes – every now and then – that value is expressed in terms of money.
i declare my independence from the notion that doubt is always and categorically a bad thing. and i pledge allegiance to give doubt a voice, a chance to be heard, realizing that sometimes doubt has much to say that i need to hear.
i declare my independence from the need to always present as positive and perky. upbeat. i pledge my allegiance to honesty, to risk revealing the lows and less-thans, trusting that doesn’t enkindle an irrepressible need-to-fix response from others.
i declare my independence from planning something right out of existence before ever getting started. and i hereby pledge allegiance to trusting my lizard brain more often.
paint the picture you want to hang.
make the trip you want to remember.
take the photo you want to view.
build the house you want to live in.
cook the meal you want to eat.
lay the stones you want to walk on.
run the race you want to win.
dance the dance you want to feel.
plant the tree you want to sit under.
sew the dress you want to wear.
write the music you want to sing.
craft the play you want to star in.
stitch the quilt you want to use.
weave the cloth you want to stitch.
write the book you want to read.
tell the story you want to hear.
create the blog you want to visit.
live the life you want to live.
(psst: that’s me there
in those last 6 lines.
starting something new
today,
putting a new spin
on something quite familiar.
skip on over to
rootsofshe.com
to find out more.)
i am a grove
a copse
a rich, fruitful orchard.
my tree of she
bears the fruit
of music
and cloth
and sparkle
and words.
my tree of she
bears blooms
of food
and flowers
and a strength
so soft,
it’s often mistaken
for weakness.
my tree of she
bears leaves
of dance
and duty
and generosity.
leaves of
preserving
and nourishing
and protecting.
my tree of she
is rich
in the red roots,
of blood
and hearts
and spirit,
and tears,
in the determination
and tenacity
and quiet boldness
of the women
who precede me.
their fierce independence,
their unbounded love,
their unending creativity,
unlocking the wonder
and the aching beauty
that is
my tree of she.
Today’s post is inspired
by the lovely Lindsey Mead
who sweeps me away regularly
with that special brand of wisdom
she shares over at a place called
A Design So Vast . . .
do you see the silhouette there?
the face in the stone?
you need to know this about me:
i am bad to personify.
equally bad to tell stories . . .
every morning
at dark thirty,
she pulls her soft, wispy white hair,
a gift from her matriarchal lineage,
into a bun at the nape of her neck
to keep it out of her way
while she feeds fabric
under the needle
that dances up and down
in direct proportion
to the cast iron pedal
she pumps up and down with her feet.
the steady whirring
of the old singer machine
fills the air with music
as she creates quilts –
one for each child,
one for each grandchild –
from assorted scraps of fabric
purchased from
her friend across the street,
paid for with one of her
award-winning
pineapple upside-down cakes.
Ways to Donate
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integrity
This work by Jeanne Hewell-Chambers is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://www.TheBarefootHeart.com.
here ‘n there