Faith

“Think of yourself as an incandescent power, illuminated and perhaps forever talked to by God and his messengers.” ― Brenda Ueland

When I came upon this quote today, it struck me so, that I read it over and over.  As a young kid, (wait who am I kidding) even as an adult, writing has not been easy. In 6th grade I wanted to write well.  Sitting at the small oak desk in my upstairs bedroom where it was quiet, I wrote a few words on a loose-leaf paper.  Dissatisfaction crumpled the paper into a tight ball and hurled it across the room.  This was repeated over and over until I collapsed in a heap of despair and anger. With gritted teeth, I tried again only to leave my room defeated, carrying a waste paper basket full of unwritten words.

Only recently have I been able to trust that the words will come. Faith is about the search for truths.  Isn’t writing about truth too?  No wonder art is worship.

my girl

Determination and grit:  the twin essentials of life. She has it. Today was my girl's last meet of her elementary career.  I am so grateful to the coaches who gently nurtured the athlete within with encouragement and acceptance.  I am so excited of the possibilities that come with high school.

Contemplation of a Habit

At this point of the early evening, there ain’t much left.  Like every other working woman; I’ve worked all day rushed to two medical appointments, went to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, dropped a kid off, picked another up, wrote 750 words, made a gourmet meal and I now look forward to a walk in a bit to clear my head.  

Once I start the habit of walking, I wonder why I ever stopped.  The routine soothes as does the normal route of travel-along the shore path and through town.  For a stretch of two years, I walked everyday.  Nothing stopped me.  A little grouchy, there were days that my husband would offer to cook supper if I just went for a walk.  My hope in life is always renewed after a walk.

For weeks now, I have been thinking about going to the gym. The reality is that I am just content to walk outside.  I tend to walk the same route, starting in the same location, but taking an opposite direction each day.  The view remains the same, but from a different perspective.  The tide changes and the light varies with the weather. Boredom is never a threat.

Tonight as I walk the path that winds along the craggy shore, I will contemplate all the good that comes and proceed through the evening content and at peace.

Exercise Fun

 

     Photos courtesy of Angela Dalrymple

Although it was a weekend the alarm was set and  I was up before it went off at 5:45.  We were all off to a 5K Color Run.  Water bottles filled, bananas on board, we drove over an hour to get there. Gabrielle and I have been walking everyday.  A little over three miles? No problem.  We let our long and leggy girl run the race and come in second for woman, while the rest of us brought up the rear.  Walk, walk, walk, jog, walk, walk, walk, jog.  There was not really any rhythm or method, but whenever I felt the urge; I jogged. It was fun exercising amongst a crowd. The rain waited until the afternoon.  I'd say the day so far has been a success! My First 5K.

Growing Accustomed

I am recording everything I eat.  Years ago I lugged food diaries in my pocketbook for easy access.  Today I just use an application on my iphone. Remarkably it can save individual items that I eat and provides a bank of foods that I can choose for future meals. It tracks water intake and exercise too.  Already I feel more in control of my health and that is a good thing.  

 

Here's a view from many of the walks I have taken recently. And why wouldn't I walk?  I live in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. This photo was taken with my iphone that was slipped into my pocket.  

Some of my best little poems or thoughts were written on my iphone.  What would I do without it? I have grown accustomed to the ease of organizing a crazy busy life through technology and having fun doing it.

This Time

Every time I do it, I start with the notion that this time will be different.  

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I was about eight sitting in the back yard in shorts.  I grabbed the inside of my thigh. Fat I thought.

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Where did my convoluted self perception originate? And most importantly, why has it been perpetuated into middle age?

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I loved climbing trees and found the perfect set of branches to nail a few boards across.  Perched high above the world, I would stand and gaze in all directions; imagining that I could see all the way to the White Mountains.  With books piled high, I would sit and read.

Not all the neighborhood boys bullied me, but a pair of brothers did.  A large shed stood at the corner of their property. They liked to climb up on the flat roof.  They wouldn’t let me up because, “The roof will cave in.  Too fat,” they said laughing and snickering. I walked away and retreated to my own high place and dreamed.

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Over the years, I have lost a few hundred pounds.  Losing weight has been easy.  I never starve myself, but begin determined to make lasting changes.  It just never sticks.

Now it will be different. I am working on accepting my imperfections and loving myself bits at a time.

 

Go Girl!

“I’m a runner.” my youngest announces to everyone at the table.  I had all I could do at that very moment, not to swipe the table clean and shock the family with a dance, but I had to play it cool.  

Today she ran in her first official 5K placing 8th in her age division (20 and under) and running 43rd overall among over 300 participants.  

“There’s over 200 runners,” I told her in nearly a whisper, not wanting to freak her out.

“No big deal.  I’ve done that before.” she replied confidently.  She led the crowd of runners up the hill.  That girl has determination and is not afraid of hard work.

Go girl go! A mother couldn’t be prouder.

Promises

The wipers squeak intermittently shoving the snow and freezing rain to the side. Visibility is not bad, but the roads are considering the calendar will soon promise May flowers. By afternoon, the sun hangs in the cloudless blue sky. It remains cold.

On the ride home I think of tea.  Afternoon tea with soy and somedays a touch of honey. Comfort.

An empty house gives time to write.  The door opens to a set of wagging tails and kitties coming in and going out.  Rap music blares. Undaunted, I sit in my bedroom.  The sun streams in.   The wind gusts. I type words-whatever comes to mind.    I am not sure I like it.  Discipline is a requirement of this practice-as is letting go of control.  Yet, I continue to do it, with the hope that it is doing something, anything.   Everyday promises to include something worthy of our attention.  Today it is the act of delicately stringing words while I sip my tea.