In Search of the Handbasket

The week has been quite busy for me doing not very creative things. Just more of the same old stuff like cooking, laundry, holding boards, and packing. The buyers are having some difficulty but we aren’t giving up yet. Either way, the work still needed to be done. My feet are giving up though. They announced their retirement at 5:30 yesterday and said enough. If I had a nickel for every time we have gone up and down those stairs, I could take us out to dinner. I never want to see stairs again.

The tiny shrubs I planted 2 years ago are big but gangly.

We have no TV channels here at my son’s house and don’t have the time to watch anyway. At the end of the day, the computer takes care of business and I don’t want to look at bad news anyway. You’ve heard many people say over and over in different ways for many generations that the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Well, I’m wondering what their handbasket looks like. From where I sit here in front of my laptop, I see substantial evidence of a different world and a different handbasket.

One handbasket coming up.

I was reading The Contented Crafter latest post on her blog and once again am totally enthralled by her ability to take little bits of this, that and nothing much GIFTED to her by fellow bloggers from all over the world and turn it into an amazing work of art. Even if you are not a blogger, you should pop by and see some of the wonders of her mind. Her stories of Siddy and Orlando (fuzzy family) leave me giggling for hours.

If this is what a world going to hell in a handbasket looks like, sign me up for one of my own. I see things I could not have ever imagined before I started reading blogs. Who knew what wonders lurked out there? Sweet, kind and caring Gardening Nirvana introduced me to the world of Fairy Gardens that are just delightful. I want one of those baskets too. Add that to her introduction to Little Free Libraries and I was all in.

I shared with you already the delights I received from the hysterically funny and creative Boomdeeadda. When you drop by you will see her magical creations from little else other than paper!

The handbasket I’m carrying these days is filled with a collection of blogging friends who fill my day with mirth, entertainment and motivation when my spirits are lagging.

Lavender is huge but refreshes the soul. Grabbing a handful for my basket

My friend at To Breathe is to Write writes stories that make me laugh or get my mystery fix satisfied. She can spin a yarn or tell it like it is. When I find someone’s blog I like, I check out the people who leave comments or follow her or him. That leads to a lot of great blogs and enlarges my community. This list could go on and on, so maybe I need a larger handbasket?

It’s still not big enough for all the kindness I’ve seen lately

Bells Palsy normally only lasts a few weeks or months for most, just like Shingles. Same virus, different expression. I’m heading into the 5th year with this.  I was under extreme stress when I got it and it expressed itself very much like a stroke. Balance is a continuing issue as well as the visual disturbance it caused. Huh, what did you say? I don’t hear as well either. No one knows why it won’t go away or how to fix it. It really doesn’t matter anymore. I now have a life full of friends in town and online that are constantly motivating me. When I see their creativity and thoughtfulness, there is no time to wallow. I just roll up my sleeves and get busy.

Roses, like good friends are treasures.

 

You can’t tell me the world is all bad. It’s like picking flowers to put in your basket from the yard. Which flowers do you want in that basket? I’ve found the flowers with the kindest energy out there. My basket is filled with beautiful blooms.

What are you putting in your handbasket? It’s always your choice.

Happy Thanksgiving to those in the States.

From my heart to yours,

Marlene Herself

In Search of a Way to Tell This Story

Today is a special day for me and my son. It’s his birthday so the other post I have written will have to wait a day. I woke this morning knowing I had to write about him.

18 month old in Taiwan.

It’s really hard for me to come to grips with the idea of my child being 47 years old. In the blink of an eye he went from being a tow-headed mischief-maker to a shiny domed, salt and pepper bearded mischief-maker. Some things never change. This man who is my son, lights up any room he goes into and makes people smile. His patience is legendary. I don’t know how many false cuts he had to make on molding to get it just right, but not once did he lose his temper and walk away. Nor would he if someone else had done it.

The work just never ends

The story of his birth is one I have tried to write many times. I’m going to attempt it again with my new writing group next year. The sum of it is we almost didn’t get to keep him. He was born with Hyaline Membrane Disease, also called infant respiratory distress. As soon as he was born, they put a gas mask on me to put me to sleep. I didn’t see him for 10 days

The prognosis was grim. No oxygen right away meant likely brain damage and possible or probable death. I was a very young mother. It was beyond my scope to understand but I knew one thing for certain. If I was going to lose him, I wanted to hold him or at least see him. They threatened to tie me to my bed to keep me away.

Many hours had passed from his birth to when the doctors came to tell me how bad it was. I can promise you that if I was being told I would be tied to my bed, the drugs had long since worn off. My in-laws were called to come back to the hospital to be with me and help me cope.

After the bastards doctors left my room, I did what most mothers would do in this situation. I prayed, hard. When I got to the point of the prayer of acceptance for whatever outcome was handed me, I had the most profound spiritual experience of my life. It changed me, and my outlook. When the in-laws arrived, they thought I was nuts. All I could do was pat MIL’s hand and tell her my son would be fine. I was comforting her. I was unconcerned with the diagnosis of brain damage, though we sometimes still question that with some of his antics. I was certain death was not on that day’s agenda.

oops. Can I leave them this way? Naw.

His birth taught me many things. Our children are on loan to us to love, nurture and release. They are a gift, not a possession. At any moment we must be ready to release and trust. I know of many women who have lost children; infants or adult children. I understand their pain. That day changed me from a religious person to a deeply spiritual one.

Dancing around the molding to paint it.

He has dimples where our Angel kissed him to remind us of how much love there is in the Universe. I learn from him daily what love really looks like. He holds my hand to make sure now that I don’t fall like I did when he was young. His kindness and honesty inspire me to be a better person. He makes me the envy of many mothers on how he makes sure I know I’m loved and appreciated.

I won the lottery with both my children but today is his day and his story, told to the best of my ability in fewer words than I would like to use. I could get quite effusive here.

Happy Birthday son of mine. Let there be so many more.

Have you ever had a spiritual experience that changed you?

From my heart to yours,

Marlene Herself

In Search of An End To This Madness

It’s been two weeks already. The photos I have taken make it look like it’s till Halloween. We didn’t dress up for Halloween but any of these get-ups would have worked quite well.

I’m the holder of the balance pole. I

Ninja painter? Scary job

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I have moved a great deal. I forgot to mention that many of those times my children moved with me. It’s become contagious. They have moved more than most of their friends too. Obviously, I don’t think they are done either.

What is it about moving that stirs up so many contrasting emotions? Delight at new possibilities, fear of the unknown, grief over lost friendships and familiar surroundings are all part of those emotions.

My son did the entire job by himself. There was no tub in the master bath.

He had a good start before I got here with the important stuff…books

I was discussing with my son the other night after packing his glassware under layers of baking pans that I should hire myself out as a packer. I pack to get stuff where it’s going undamaged. He reminded me of all the times I helped to move him and his sister as well as my own sister from their places of residence.

In the beginning. The top started out backwards.

It’s complete now but no photo.

How do two small women move an extra heavy king sized mattress down the stairs and across the parking lot to a waiting rental truck? My daughter and I couldn’t lift it so we slid it down the stairs to the front door. Then I started laying out cardboard boxes one in front of the other. As we slid the mattress over one set of flattened boxes, I’d pick them up and place them in front of the mattress again and keep sliding. Then we tipped the mattress into the truck with brute force. Yes, two little women can conjure up brute force when the conditions are right. That was another long story that I will tell one day.

Spray painting is the way to go in very high places

Here’s how I pack artwork without paying for expensive packing. They always make it to their destination safe if properly wedged in somewhere.

Painting slid into still flat box and all the edges taped.

When my last husband and I moved from the home he originally shared with his first wife, we moved a 58 foot 18 wheeled truck jammed full of stuff. They put an 8 foot box on the back of the trailer and we drove a pickup and car…filled. That was the pared down version of my ex’s collection of stuff. I’m living a much simpler life now and never moving it again… I hope. My books are happy just where they are.

So our next project before inspection and appraisal is the moldings around the doors and floors. The main bathroom has had the slow drain problem repaired after the wall had to be cut open. The plumbers installed a clean-out valve so the new owners don’t have to go through that again. It was 90 degrees here today. I’m ready to go home and watch it rain. And rain. And rain.

The hole in the wall bandit at work.

We took the slow way home so nothing blew off. The box lifted molding up for better visibility and we needed one that size.

Moving is madness but sometimes it’s a must. Things happen and we must adjust. Are you dug in deep or still feeling the pull of wanderlust? Can we bring an end to this madness or must we go bust?

From my heart to yours,
Marlene Herself