Returning home...

My heart is in disarray these days, and after spending this last week with mom at the assisted living home where she now lives, I have come back home with separation anxiety... my little heart-house feels empty, and darkened by a dreadful feeling of anticipated losses and anticipatory grief...

I have always been very close to my mother.  Attachment is an emotional, long-lasting bond that a child forms and, for some of us, this bond last forever... it does not matter how old I am, we are bonded to each other with "emotional glue" — bonded with love.  The thought of losing her is overwhelming.  I cannot speak on this any further, my heart is shut, and thus I will sit on a field of wildflowers and pretend I'm Alice in Wonderland, or Peter Pan, or Jack climbing on a beanstalk that goes way up to some other better world...

Our bedroom feels cool, or cooler upon our return, and I'm loving all this pleasant fusion of grays and whites... this soft brightest when morning sun hits the windows and the room gets illuminated, and dulled up at the same time by the magic of neutrals. 

Mirrors... I love mirrors 

I would follow this trend again and again, 

in whatever house I live...

They add such glamorous feel to this room.  

Would my white, mirrored wall look better if I paint it in a darker color?    

Say, something like this moody color on this other wall here?

I love this paint so much!  The name is Kendall Charcoal, from BM

The end of August has fully clad the garden in its finest finery.  Roses, crepe myrtles, azaleas, vines and butterfly bushes are clothed in their most excellent showy garments, and I sit in my red garden chair and can hardly believe this is all mine... all mine!  What glorious, little paradise I have created here.  Although I am sure I hadn't work alone.  Certainly, this work of art had not come solely from my fallible, human hands. Angels must had worked very hard next to me.  I am humbled, and truly amazed by every precious gift, small and big, that have been bestowed upon me these past four years.  I cannot even begin to mention all the dreams and desires of my heart that have come true... one by one.  One day, I will share these stories with you, but for now I remain humble, and expectant of what's to come; completely aware that what is truly important are the simple, basic things in life... honest, pure emotions surrounded by the majestic beauty of nature, and love for each other...

Thank you for being here with me, my friends!  I count you as part of all the blessings I've been showered with on this life...  THANK YOU!

A day in my life...

Half an hour late... I started my jogging routine today half an hour later than my usual morning time, and in just that short period of time things had already changed so drastically... the land was already burning, little creatures were hiding, and bird songs were silenced from my ears... the sun-scorched roads sizzled and hissed at my feet like a rattle snake being startled on her path...   

Twice, or three times I've seen this happened here since we've moved to the south.  I mean, men spitting when you approach and they hear you talk (I have an accent - I'm minority - I wasn't born here - I'm not even a Baptist).  It happened again today with one of the air-conditioning guy who came by to work on our air conditioner...  and no, he wasn't chewing tobacco.   I don't know if this even has a meaning, or if it's just something that's passed on from generations to generations through social culture, or peoples' DNA... something that grows on these men by watching their fathers and grandfathers and great grandfathers doing it?  Or is this behavior something that just comes out unconsciously, for no specific reason?  And if is something purposely done, what does it mean?  I just don't know, but whatever it means, this behavior makes me feel terribly dishonored...  

After all I have seen in just the few years we'd lived in the south, and all I have experienced in my last job, I've started to believe that this is yet another form of covert racism... Southerners... they are often the picture of manners and Christianity when everyone is watching. Sadly, it's the rest of the time you have to wonder about... I've seen this happen time after time... and I just have to wonder if perhaps this is yet another proof that tells us we should move back to the North?   Bring those statues down--I will say!  And let our beautiful world be united, not divided. One God, many faces. One family, many races.  One truth, many paths.  One heart, many complexions.  One light, many reflections.  One world, many imperfections.  ONE.  We are all one, but many.  

This August is been the greenest month of all the year.  The garden is laughing in the sunshine, the massive elephant ears grin among the small wildflowers, and in the background laid the dark green wood, every tree and every leaf is a bird nest, and some creature meadow....  

Roses have been blooming again... 

and the butterfly bushes are home to dozens of butterflies and other winged friends. 

They're so into their 'nectar sampling', that you can almost touch them...

Right after the air-conditioning guys left, soon thereafter was another knock on my door... this time it was my neighbor Manuel, who came by with a gift he and his wife had brought for me from their native Guatemala...   

Isn't this the cutest of bags!  And so nice of them!

I am sickened by all is going on in our beautiful world... the news sickens me...  everywhere I see there's destruction, death, hate, horrible attacks executed under the banner of religion. Please Lord Jesus, come back soon!  Peace, not chaos. Love, not hate. Convergence, not segregation. Tolerance, not discrimination. 

News from La-la land...

And we're still waiting... and hoping, and evaluating decisions on the balancing scale of life.  In the meantime, summer unfurls, stretches, creeps, dances, and continue to grow.  Vines are lush and thick, and although I haven't seen a lot of flowers yet, I love this flamboyant way of vines of taking over everything and filling up every space with beauty, and graces...  

The Crepe Myrtles, too, have not put a lot of flowers this year and neither have the roses.  Is there a secret to flowering, and flowers we humans are not supposed to know, or discover, and are only left to pondering and imagination?   

Everything is green and flourishing, and rain has been plentiful this year.  We had such a drought around this same time last year, but things has been especially wonderful this season, and right around 2:00 every day the sky would open up, and it would gift us with a quick, mighty downpour that refreshes, revives, and restores-clean the land, while my heart sings a silent song.  Few things are more precious than rain and rainy days to me.

One of the kois is sadly missing.  Again another mystery, and they had already grown so much, and so beautifully.  What a shame is not being able to see them grow to maturity.  The ones remaining are growing more and more each day, and we love watching them, and see them swim as fast as bullets.   

All the problems that we've been having with mom's illness is putting a toll on us all, and today I was scorned by someone very dear to me, and I was told I live in La-la land.  Is that a real place?  I guess that would make me a Lalalander, then.  Right?  But maybe... maybe it is faith, and living by faith instead of over worrying about every little thing in life what "La-la land" means, or is?  If so, I rather live in La-la land than having to go through life with an open umbrella under the bluest of skies, waiting for that downpour that most probably will never happen...  Life can be so cruel sometimes. 

Decisions

Yesterday was our wedding anniversary... and yesterday the Fisherman received the call of our lives—he was offered the position of vice-president at his old job, up north where the house in the roses resides... which means, we will go back to our daughter and grandbabies, to our old city and our old dear home, where my dear garden waits.  And when they call back again next week to see if we'd accepted the offer, we will say no.  

It breaks my heart to know that we're moving farther away from mom and dad at this stage in life.  It is a tremendous decision to make.  Two hearts are being put in a balance... between the past and the future, between our daughters and our ageing parents. And we stand in the center of it all, dumbfounded, and uncertain.... almost too shocked to make the right move right now, because we can't think straight.  We can hardly believe how life is giving us a second chance... to retake what we'd lost, to reconsider our previous move and go back to what we left... a chance that it won't come by ever again.  My little heart is trapped.  And I cannot leave mom and dad behind.  Just the thought of it breaks my heart.   The opportunity of being near then when we moved south was a precious gift.  For 27 years I prayed that we could live, if not in the same town as then, at least close, and we have been able to share precious time with them since we moved south.  Life's opportunities come by at the wrong time many a time.  And how's one to decide and know you're taking the right path?  

My heart is my guide, but uncertainties are blinding me, and I stand not knowing if there is love in holding or if there is love in letting go...

Dreaming on a summer's day

Oh, let me take you into the dark green woods, like a 'mass of darkness', the ground overgrown by privets and trees of all sorts... a sanctuary for birds and the thrashers that scrape and graze the floors of this place that sometimes become a trail where little rushing rivers converge, and form and run down to the skirt of the garden to quench the wildflowers that grow there...

And now that I'm free again to roam my domains as I wish, I am living the hours of my days here—dreaming under green vines and roses.

In my dreams I'm treading some old witch's track, amid brilliant flowers and long grasses, and far beyond the thicket there must be a shack... a witch's cottage crowned with evergreen leaves and decorated with a thousand beautiful flowers that perfume the air around...

When I wake up from my dreams I refill birdfeeders, and deadhead roses.  I water and feed potted plants with their vitamins. 

Today, I made a pumpkin flan... 

...the pumpkin puree, the eggs, the baking spices, cinnamon and vanilla, 

and a pretty table to go with it... 

Our little white cottage is now almost completely camouflaged by the bounties of summer 

and only recognizable to squirrels and  the random visiting wood elves...

  

As I write, I'm listening to these lyrics... "I will love you in the morning when the dew is in on the ground... I will love you when the sun is rising... I will love you in the evening when the moon is on the rise, will love you all night long when the stars all cover the sky"... from Twin Bandit - For You

Have a good day everyone!

On a rainy Sunday

It is raining, and I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance. I love the voice of thunder and gray dark days.  Here in the south, rainy days mean the darkening of all that's green and lush, and the woods turning into a sorts of night, and birds and little creatures scurrying away... where, oh where do they go and, where are their dwelling places? 

Inside the house little lights are turned on everywhere.  We made ourselves some papaya milkshakes, and both of us went our separate ways in the house; to do just what each love.  I'm sitting by the window writing, and contemplating what evolves outside while I listen to Nature's music and try to secrete it somewhere in my soul.  The Fisherman reads and works on his emails.  

When rain stops, or when it's just a splish-splash of a light drip drip drip, up would come from the ground all those rain ghosts—a faint fog that would lift from the road up the hill, and from people's roofs, and you would see these light-headed, misty ghosts walk away in little dances... moving, shifting until disappearing in thin air... rain, and fog—a most lovely of combination, that only happens here in the south.  

I am going through some old photographs on my computer and I just had to post some pictures I took in 2014 when we moved to our little white cottage and our living room was a hotchpotch of colors and gypsy pillows.  It has changed a lot since, but I still find this decorating style fascinating, and if I have the courage to change things again, I would bring back all that gypsy goodness and make my living room gay and colorful again.  For now, it will be as is—the black and white more modern approach that I so love too.  

I am now going to put on my rain boots and go outside into my rainy garden for some magical time.... I wish we could turn into fairies, or into tiny Thumbelinas and go play together in the rain for a bit!  Wouldn't that be nice!   

I hope you're having a beautiful Sunday, wherever you are!