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All hands on deck. 

Both hands on the wheel at the 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock positions. 

Houston, we I have am the situation. 

Multiple choice.  Correct answer ~ all of the above.

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These past few weeks have been an exercise in cravings, delayed satisfaction, impulsive choice making, setting aside, procrastination, misplacing my mojo, re-discovering my mojo, percolating, marinading, and popcorning ideas, thoughts, theories, plain silliness, deep convoluted thinking meanderings and missing my blog. 

What I have been up to and the revolving re-occuring topics in my head have included, but have not been limited, to:

the hour and minute combination of 11:11 and the significance I have ascribed to this time

~

Spring Fever, which morphed into Sunshine Fever, which changed to Restless Life Syndrome

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loving my job, total dissatisfication with the same job, searching for new job, applying for new jobs

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retirement preparedness, freaking out that I have failed, as in utterly, to formulate any such plan,

vesting, vacillating between commitment to stay for 3+ years to wear this retirement vest, back

to freaking out at the thought of such a long term commitment

~

health issues, tipping over, milestones in sleeping upright, off low sodium plan, back on,

yo-yo eating plan

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poor body image, hating, shameful feelings, attempts to embrace my physical self

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vacations, destinations, monetary commitment toward vacations, gratitude for abundance

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Setting aside, walking through, moving around, navigating life’s detritus, waking up, being amazed,

feeling flummoxed, groaning disappointment, side-splitting hilarity, tears of pain and surrender,

loving and receiving affection

Man alive!  No wonder I have been absent.  That there is whole hella lot of living. 

Yes, indeed. 

A few weeks ago I wrote about the idea of creating time in a box. My post today includes additional notes I jotted down in my personal journal to help me toward creating my very own time in a box ~

On Joy the Baker’s blog, she posted about her time in a capsule project that she and a friend undertook. They each placed several mementos in a box with attached notes about the item and then wrapped the box and tied it with twine to be opened 7 years in the future. I like this idea. And have been thinking about it for a couple of days.

What is keeping me from creating my time in a box? For it is clear that something is preventing me from doing so. I get excited; feel the excitement viscerally and then… nothing. I put on the brakes. Get stuck. Glued in place. Paralysis sets in.

A very familiar process that has been repeated multiple times in multiple ways throughout my life but with the same result ~ a stymied creative spirit, a damming of creative juices and subsequently a pervasive depressed soul.

So what can I do that can move me toward action, if only a baby step or two?

Time Box Items

1. A lock of my purple hair to remind me that even in my 50’s I still have a sense of stylish fun;

2. A copy of my paystub so I can remember where I was working in 2011;

3. A photograph of my living room or a portion thereof to help me remember where I called home;

4. A photograph of my art supplies on my long birch art table to help me remember that I was an artist even when I was not producing any tangible pieces;

5. My adoptive Mama’s salt shaker, the clear glass one with blue paint circles and metal cap to remind me that this was the year in which I made a major major change in my diet and went super low sodium;

6. A self taken photograph of me so I can see how I have changed in the ensuing 7 years;

7. A photograph of me with my daughter, the grandkiddos, and the rest of my clan to keep safe in a box for 7 years even though I cannot guarantee their safety in the world outside.

So here is proof of artistic life.
One baby step at a time.

Wishes. On my mind of late. Glimpses of things ~ activities ~ adventures ~ special moments ~ that I hope to experience in this life time.

Something about the 50-year range in a human lifespan that prompts one to become aware that there are more days already lived than days that will unfold in the future. This is not a morbid train of thought. Simply a life truth at this juncture in time ~ at this time in my life.

I reject the term bucket list. I just plain do not like the phraseology.
I refuse to plunk my wishes hopes and goals into a bucket.
Particularly not a galvanized metal bucket.
The kind with a handle that squeaks when lifted.

Instead, the container for my wishes is a pretty one ~ velvety brilliant and sparkly all at once. And in this perfectly weighted beautiful container, the following hoped for experiences await their turn to become reality ~

~ be fitted for a squirrel flying suit and go soaring from a cliff, safe landing and all

~ tandem skydive, with skilled partner, safe landing and all

~ return to actively creating art, particularly collage pieces

~ private practice, a collaboration with other like-minded clinicians of color

~ accept and embrace my physical self

~ let go of my fears, particularly the ones I use to hold me and my life’s progress hostage

This list is incomplete and is continually refreshed revised and amended. Life is great that way ~ we get to change our minds. And we get to make different choices.

Enough wishes that is.

A friend’s text asking me what I want to do on my upcoming tropical vacation prompted a spontaneous stream of answers ~

I want to go tandem handgliding ~ ziplining ~ first snorkeling venture ~ eat tons of food without gaining additional fat ~ walk for miles on the beach ~ go dancing ~ have fantasy man and/or woman ask me to dance ~ experience my best ever kiss ~ lie down ~ lie down and sleep ~ speed boating ~ kayaking ~ converse and laugh ~ converse and think deep earth shattering thoughts ~ be completely fear free the entire time ~ yoga at sunrise on the beach ~ horseback ride at sunset ~ full body massage ~ live the good life ~ live a simple life with a few blood churning and fast heartbeating moments thrown in here and there ~

As you can see, this soon-to-be vacationing woman requires more than three wishes.

I am sitting here listening and re-listening to Remember When as sung by Alan Jackson. I heard it on my car radio a while back and after some internal resistence, I downloaded the song from an electronic store.

The lyrics are quite lovely and tell a story of a simple life. Gets me choked up.

Reminds me of how quickly my life has passed. How fast my daughter grew up. How I am now described as that older lady. What the heck happened? And just when did I turn that corner from being considered a dynamic sexual being? I don’t know.

I’m not even saying that I think that the younger, stronger, quicker, definitely more limber me was the preferable one between who I was then and who I am today. I’m just saying that there is a definite difference. A difference in both how I am viewed by others and how I view myself.

I don’t think my neighbors are home. It’s a good thing as I am fixing to play this song again, for about the sixth time in a row.

Some things just take a little more mulling over ~

Do I go short? How long is too long for a woman of my earned wisdom or some might simply say of my age? Bangs or no bangs? Color or natural fade to white?

I currently sport a short’ish to medium cut with grown out at the really awkward in your eyes all of the time but not long enough to sweep completely to the side bangs. The natural black has been highlighted with low lights and some deep purple strands sparkle where the white locks used to reign queen. Daring and classy some might say but I feel a change a coming on.

Oh yes I do.

My fingernails are sporting the shade aptly named It’s Totally Fort Worth It. I like looking down and seeing my nails when they are long and squared off and not chewed off. Yesterday they were showing off in Figi Weejee Fawn.

Life is strung together with the little things in life. Some days are shiny. Some days are dull.

Glad to report that today is a sparkly sort of shiny.

Went to Forever 21 last night. Thankfully flying solo as I would not have wanted anyone, and I mean No one, to witness what I, unfortunately laid eyes upon. Me. Me in the mirror. Me in the mirror squeezed into a series of tops. Tops that were designed for a 21 year old to flounce and frolick about in.

Pretty much convinced myself, on the spot, that I am not Forever 21. Most definitely. I am not.

That’s how my neck, shoulders, and back feel right now as I sit at my table desk writing this post. My liquid concoction of hot peppermint herbal tea with two splashes of unsweetened soy milk does not appear to be lowering the elevated shoulders, yet. I remind myself to straighten my spine and roll my shoulders up and down, a little this way and that.

I am new at my job and the training that is required for the evidence-based model that I will be employing with families won’t take place for another couple of weeks. So I am left with finding things to occupy myself in my office. I am moderately to highly resourcesful so I am not sitting idle, twiddling my thumbs. However, I am far from engaging in dynamic purposeful activities. And I am sitting, a lot.

Thus, I am hunched. Re-framed, my shoulders, neck, and back feel hunched.

Some days are like that.

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