Missing winter mornings

Where the tasks of the a.m. are done, kids out the door and the couch suggests a snuggle, with or without knitting, no matter. And you say yes because the frost outside, the whiteness behind black trees...or just tv then. So the music videos begin, or maybe Regis and Kelly. A coffee held securely, one more later, kay I suppose.

And mornings like these when it's fall, brown leaves only now, so long reds, oranges and greens. The light is dimming, even in the morning, yet the comfort of the ground cover doesn't support as much as does snow.

Daughter calls and I lift off, up the stairs.

More organizing

All about September, that significant time of year when school just starts and you have to get used to it after a summer filled with laxness, a total absorption of freedom and cheer. Starting over each time with hopes of being better. More committed, awake, aware.

So September brings a number of means of expression, not all of them blogworthy OR normal. Just thoughts, intuitions, sudden insights I'll share. On here, among my women friends, just about any and everywhere.

Self-acceptance

There's a few shreds of me who defy the mature notion of deleting everything I've written over the past three years. Why, it would be a step forward into, "no longer defines me" land, however, those regrets.

Not of what I've written, but of letting other's definitions of "me" surpass the soulful spillings I've allowed myself back then. When I'm fifty years and older, won't I just LOVE to hark back to the period when I lost Cooper, to the steps and stumbles all before then?

Comparing and contrasting parts of myself with myself then, with my children and their accomplishments and feelings? I'd like to think I can keep this private package of rantings and railings, and simple ponderings that are so out of character, or in.

It hurts no one to hold onto this past, to slurp through it on occasion, to be different from everyone else in "I'd never, but you can." It's the you can I have trouble giving myself permission for, when sweeping it away produces more of an I am, and did.

Now, and back then.

Culmination

Rolls off the rung of some ladder. Do I join the ol' Girl Scouts with my younger? Does a camping trip with four or less stranger-to-me women, just weeks away (less than two) serve my blood right? I mean, is it my responsibility to take more under my wing, shed those feathers a depth or two, soak the sweat up. I mean just be nervous, like usual.

And then be proud for having pulled it off...group-made trail mix, everyone brings one of the ingredients. Team building for grade school year olds, and lots of nice mothers coming up with the ideas. Like, so many of them.

Can't wait.

Case study

An unappreciated passion, writing this stuff for emptied out ears, my own. Soul's still announcing its presence word by word, put this, no that, okay be in charge. If it feels somewhere in that middle, presents itself as authentic and in the moment, then there. Forgiving itself each time, too many commas, endings too blunt...oh well.

Finding the force deep within, where nothing original can push through until peace is made, within. Not without, fooled someone I'm sure. Keeping an eye on that seeker of truth, where suggestions are made, not thought out, just arising. Open health.

Where now in this privacy I can just listen and respond and allow it all to be right. Or correctomundo someone would resound if I let them. Lengthening thoughts now that an appeal has been made, done just standing around. Being stupid if I let it. I let it.

A glimmer of hopefulness

Small strategies of manipulating word tenses, because tomorrow's gonna surpass today, just like normal. Seeking help, an additional mood lifter, I promise the deep end will be too far away.

A small push upward, to cancel out the pull forever downward. Leaded weights tire my strength before it meets its maximal intensity, just lift. Me from where I am, striking the highest of thoughts but that follow-through, we've missed. Skip beat.

Stablize that middle so I can land, please.

I'll make up for it

Today's breakfast began last afternoon when I thoughtfully prepared crusty banana bread for my youngers. It is they (the youngest two) who benefit most from rhythm, from routines that convince more delights will follow tomorrow.

As I served peanut butter bananas on the side of this morning's breakfast, I patted myself on the back for thinking ahead. A batch of ripening bananas prompted the ingredient-buying trip, no wait, I already had what was missing.

Vanilla yogurt.