that's mrs. mediocrity to you

I can’t stop reading. Yesterday I finished one book, read another in its entirety, and began a third. (I also did all my work and cooked dinner, in case you were wondering.)

But, back to reading. I’m sure I’m not good company for my husband these days, with my nose always stuck in a book, er, kindle… but I can’t help myself. It’s all I want to do right now.

Of course, some of it I blame on the weather. It’s too cold to go outside, and a fire is a requirement on nights like these. But still, there are things I need to be doing, like finishing the massive reorganization of all my Christmas decorations for one. And continuing with the painting of all the woodwork in the house that I started last October for another. Plus an entire list of other projects and accomplishment that need ticking off.

But I can’t stop reading.

I’ve become a chain-reader. I’m addicted. I’m helpless. Ha.

I even read a non-fiction book yesterday, and I almost never do that. Which I am almost embarrassed to admit, but hey, it’s the truth–I love fiction. And chocolate.

If words were food, I’d weigh a thousand pounds. And keep right on eating.

But words are calorie-free, and these days, they don’t even take up that much space. And I can begin another at the press of a button (which is part of the problem). And it’s January, the month meant for reading.

Right?

I’ll stop one day soon. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.

Or at least I’ll go back to my habit of an hour or so before bedtime.

Then again, my tree may still be up for Valentine’s Day. It has a heart, and lots of red, so that works, doesn’t it?

Doesn’t it?

Say yes.

Please.

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This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 16: Habits and addictions, some are silly, some serious;
when we have issues without answers, they can hold us so tight
that we stop moving forward with the life we intended.

Were you able to loosen those fetters this year, and if you were successful,
how did you manage it? Did you accept outside help, or work alone?

If you still feel that grasp of addiction or hurtful habits,
what will you do differently in the year to come?

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i embrace the questions.

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whether this is habit or addiction, good or bad,

matters less than the lack of answers.

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for me, this is the riddle of life

and each day is an unfinished puzzle.

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i am perfectly mediocre in my lack of perfection,

and my flaws form the map of my existence:

one without legend or destination.

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i embrace the questions.

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This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 9: Who inspired you in 2013?

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If this were an actual mirror, rather than just a photograph of a mirror, then you would have the answer to this question.

I’ve never been a huge fan of celebrity or fame or those that claim to have all the answers… these have rarely been the people who inspire me.

Instead, which I suppose makes sense given that I am mrs. mediocrity, I am inspired by the everyday, ordinary lives we all lead, inspired by those that live with the questions, those that struggle and persevere, those that give and give and give and ask for nothing in return, those that offer kindness without expectation, those who toil and survive, those who find comfort and solace in nature.

In other words, you.

I’ve walked on this earth for half a century now, (why does that make it sound so much longer than 50 years?) and I am blessed to have so many people in my life (both here in this virtual place and in the “real” world) that inspire me on a daily basis. By showing up, by carrying on, by giving and helping and offering kindness in tiny and gigantic ways to almost everyone they meet.

Just yesterday I was cleaning my studio and realized how lovely it is to dust and straighten all the tiny pieces of people that I have surrounded myself with. Works of art, photographs, written words, lovely notes, cherished gifts, both from the closest of friends and family, and from people I’ve never met face-to-face. People who are part of my life, just the same. You are all here, in this room with me, this room that I spend most of my time in, surrounded by the most valuable type of gifts–gifts from the heart.

This room is my safe harbor, my portal to the world. I look out and see you all there, and this space I write in, here, has allowed me to show you tiny pieces of myself.

Always, you have been kind and accepting and generous, and for this, I am ever so grateful.

I aspire to be the same.

You are all, each in your own way, an inspiration.

xoxo

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Because that’s what we do, isn’t it, when we come to the end of our rope (or leaf)?

We hang on until we have the strength to climb back up again.

I took this picture back in May, and while, in general (as a gardener) I consider snails to be the enemy, I had to admire this one, sound asleep on the tip of this leaf, seemingly unconcerned about his position in life.

He got to the end and took a nap. And though I wasn’t there to witness it, I’m certain that when he woke, he started the climb back up, perhaps had a little snack, and carried on. {That is, unless he was eaten by a bird first.}

For me, all the best lessons come from nature. I think we forget, in this techno-virtual world we live in, that we are part of this chain, that in truth, the same rules apply to us. Oh, we want it to be different, we want to be above all that, ignore those rules, think we have conquered the laws of nature.

And perhaps we have, a little. But when it comes right down to it, when we take ourselves out of the modern conveniences that we’ve surrounded ourselves with, we are just as vulnerable as a snail on a leaf. And just as tenacious.

Maybe, on the days when life seems so overwhelming, all we really need is a nice long nap. A bask in the sun. A moment to collect ourselves before we carry on.

It’s all an uphill climb, isn’t it? But I like to think that the view from the top will be glorious.

And if it isn’t, well, then I guess I will stop and take a nap and dream it that way.

And start again, and again and again and again.

Who knows, perhaps I’ll never really get there. Perhaps that’s the point.

It’s the naps that count. The hanging on. The pauses.

The listening.

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..

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How do I feel on this first day of December? (see question below)

Calm, broken, love, light. In that order.

And three out of four ain’t bad.

.

..

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This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 1: How do you feel, on this first day, in your mind? In your body? In your heart? In your soul?

::

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sometimes i wonder

if he’s still looking

for george

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i know i am

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August Break 2013

Already, I find myself taking green for granted.

It’s hot, hot out there, and the landscape has changed from the yellow green of spring to the grey green of summer.

I try to remind myself how much I will crave this green come February, but I also remind myself that human nature drives us forward–always, always–into what’s next. We have such a hard time standing in place and embracing what’s there before us.

I accept this as truth even as I try to change it. I pick bits of time from vine and branch, and savor them like wine. I remind myself how precious every moment is, but just like anything you have enough of, I assume there will always be one more. And another, and another and another.

I try to find the balance between my own pragmatic mind and the ticking of the clock.

And then some days I don’t think about any of this at all, because it’s summer, and really, all I need is to soak up some sunshine.

We are always growing, always setting seed, always reaching for the light. I don’t care so much about trying to control any of it any more, I am happy to just let it happen. I don’t take any path at all, I just wander towards whatever strikes my fancy, with dirty feet and blistered toes.

I always end up in the same place anyway, here, beneath this same old golden sun.

My green eyes match the horizon just now, and if you don’t look too hard, you might not even see me.

But I’ll be out there, wandering, until winter brings me home.

you were all there in scattered whisper
muted sob and rippled
memory

bells of heartache mixed with song
your joy and his sorrow
her hope and your disease

i remember thinking
this is what it’s like to be dead

not the silence i’d expected
but the everything
i’d never imagined

each sound was music
even the bitter tones and
burned out symphonies

i was the stage and you the actor
or you were the curtain and i
the applause

and everywhere
the stars kept dropping

each one a tiny hiss
upon my skin

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us!

today i don’t want
to be greedy about anything.

forget greedy,
i don’t even want to want what i want

i want to stand here on bare earth
naked and white

beneath this sky of broken promises

listen to the thunder

i want to be cracked open
by an errant bolt of lightning

lit, for one brief moment
from the inside out

fed by a harvest of sunshine
and scolded by the red words
of dusk

i want to be hollowed out and left

opened and forgotten

today i don’t want
to be greedy about anything.

i want to breathe fire into blue surrender

hold everything still and empty

wait for hope to fill me up

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

i want to pull an alice and dive into a mirror
surely life looks different from the other side

backwards and cockeyed and filtered through
lint left on the surface or smudges stamped
by florid fingerprints and the brittle bones
of everyone who’s ever touched you

always lit like a window in an opulent dream
this place where everyone wears dresses
and no one ever thinks to ask your name
loneliness is a hamper and heartache
is eternally for breakfast, served over easy

with tea, of course

i want to talk to prepubescent butterflies
smoking peace and posturing philosophy
aces and spades kings and queens grinning cats
roses that bloom and bleed and bloom again
always late all this hate always late

shadows are made from silence turned sideways
and music is the way your mouth moves
time is a harness on the horse of hardship
dragging hard on the carriage of comfort

and i am the queen who wants to be whole
but no one hears me in here, knocking

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

i have seven mirrors in my house and they all
tell the same story

but none of them is true

i drink tea and water and wine
and then you remember

we have not eaten

hunger fills the dark with daydreams
and i open a window so we can listen

to the emptiness of fortitude

you turn your back to me and
shift position to look

for a moon that has not risen

hours later you are asleep and i see her
reflection in the looking glass of silence

but i don’t wake you

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

Also linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!