As I post-processed this photo from the archives, this idiom formed in my mind. It sums up a lot of what I've been processing over the past few months. My second blog post I wrote on this blog 4 years ago was about the ferris wheel of my brain where I said:
"I have this process in my brain that I like to envision as a ferris wheel--each bucket of the ferris wheel containing an idea that I need to process and mull over."
The wheel rotates around so I can mentally work on each bucket for a time and then move on to the next. Each bucket in this ferris wheel in my head holds on to its "occupant" until I've revisited the idea enough to find a solution sufficient enough in my estimation to let the idea disembark and go into the area of my brain where things of those nature reside.
Now personal epiphany time...
My mental ferris wheel is almost always full, but if it's always full, where do new ideas go? Like eager kids at a carnival, do these new ideas stand in a proverbial line waiting and waiting for their turn on the ferris wheel... a turn that never comes because I'm holding on to riders in the buckets after they've occupied them for far too long when said "occupants" really need to get off the ride and move on?
If I expand my view this goes far beyond old notions and ideas. It can also include gripes, resentments and even views of myself. In the real world, a ticket to ride a ferris wheel is for a specified and finite period of time. So why do these mental riders get to ride on my ferris wheel longer than their tickets should allow?
Hmm... It makes me want to free up some buckets.
Today I stood at the pond's edge
Under the shade of the lemon tree
Watching orange fish dart in the water
From the shade of one lily pad to the next.
As the waterfall burbled
The fish at play kept me transfixed.
The hot August day didn't feel quite so hot.
A sleepy garden kitty spotted me,
Left her shady slumber spot
Traversing each patch of shade between her and me
To greet me and welcome me to her world for today.
I lost track of time.
I don't know how long I watched the fish
From my shady vantage point.
But as I left it to walk back to the house
I could smell the heat of summer
Radiating from my skin and clothes.
As the sun slips down behind the hills to the west,
geese fly low over the water
honking as they slip home to their nests.
The water laps quietly against the rocks of the shoreline
gently bobbing the boats in their berths.
Ducks and geese get a bedtime snack
from a family's offerings of bread crumbs and bits.
Lady ducks glide over water that shines like a rippled mirror.
The oak-dappled hills are ready to stand guard over our sleepy town
and the wetlands that are ready for the restfulness of night.
Goodbye sun. We will see you tomorrow.
Ever have a span of a couple of days where there's a lot of deep thoughts on your mind? That's been me for the past weekend--a combination of soul searching, self-analysis, meditation and prayer... heavy stuff.
Yesterday evening as Hubby and I sat watching a show we had on the dvr, I had an epiphany. Fortunately, Hubby is good at pausing shows when I say, "Can you pause it?" and is wonderful at listening to me as I vocalize a cascade of jumbled thoughts that can't seem to find a focus until I've spoken them.
My epiphany was the realization that up until last January, I've spent my entire adult life (and most of my teen years) trapped by a disease. That concept sunk in hard.
I could see myself like a little baby chick chipping away from the inside of an egg.
Chip... chip... chip...
And suddenly I find myself a wet little chick with my head and body spilling out of the egg that took so long to break through. I feel wobbly. I feel weak. I feel vulnerable. But I feel free.
Freedom is something so new I don't know quite what to do with myself. My dream for so long was to finally be done with chipping through that eggshell... now that the eggshell lays behind me, I'm kind of stumped for a dream... a plan... some goals.
In the past, I've tried to define myself with titles based on what diversions I'm interested in at that given moment--artist, photographer, gardener. But I've flitted so much from one interest and pursuit to another over the years, those close to me have wearied of the long list of titles I've accumulated.
Yesterday, I realized the reason for my flitting is because no one thing was really my dream as in "I've always dreamed of... fill in the blank". They were really coping mechanisms to get through the rough things I was dealing with at the time. The days of "when I grow up I want to be..." were so long ago I've forgotten what I would say. The only real dream I really remember wanting more than anything was to find my soul mate. I found him. And fortunately he feels the same about me as I feel about him. *grin*
I'm just a funny looking little wet chick with my only dreams being getting my feathers to dry and my legs to not wobble. Maybe that's a good dream for the time being considering how long it took to break out of that blasted eggshell.
Seems like more and more every day is a Shania Twain "Today Is Your Day" kind of day...
Labels: personal insight
Two summers ago I bought this hibiscus, potted it and placed it in a sheltered area of the garden. It did well until the frosts of December and January hit.
I thought I'd lost it.
Over the next year, I kept it alive until deciding to relocate it. It came into the garage over last winter and then took up residence on the deck in a part-sun location right outside the back door.
I've anxiously awaited the day when it would finally bloom again. I've watched it grow lots of new greenery all spring and summer. Then finally a couple of weeks ago I noticed it was putting out buds--at least a dozen. I've been waiting impatiently for the first to bloom so I could see the lovely tropical blossoms again (the reason why I bought the unique variety in the first place).
This morning was the morning that my long anticipation was finally rewarded. It is beautiful!
Our one Santa Rosa plum tree produced a bumper crop this year. Almost every evening last week, we went out and harvested plums filling 5-gallon buckets with them--six in all. As we harvested, I also pruned. This species of plum tree is such a fast grower that it sometimes needs a post-harvest haircut. This year it needed one desperately after having branches laden with plums.
Even though I had a long pole lopper for pruning the branches high up (Hubby called me "Cindy Lopper"), there were some plums that we just couldn't reach. So those plums get left on the tree for the birds.
The scrub jays particularly like to hop around in the branches pecking at the juicy sweet plums. They are having quite a feast this year. I'm happy to provide them with such a yummy treat.
Now the back garden has huge piles of plum branches laying about. They have to dry out so we can send them through the chipper and make them into mulch. Hopefully, those piles of branches will be fun for some other critter.
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