laugh

Stop and Smell the Daisies

daisiesStopping to smell the flowers and/or roses, depending on how you heard it, is actually a misquote. Thanks to google, I now know the true quote to be…

“You’re only here for a short visit. Don’t hurry. Don’t worry. And be sure to smell the flowers along the way.”

~ Walter Hagen

On the way into work today I saw a huge bunch of beautiful white daisies in full bloom on the side of a forgotten shack. I stopped.

I didn’t pick any. I didn’t even get out of the vehicle. I simply pulled over on the side road, smiled at them for a few minutes, and let the flowers do what the cloud covered sun couldn’t this morning—warm my insides. I heart a good daisy. They’re like dandelions to me. More weed than flower, more wild than tamed, will grow anywhere and do whatever they please. Little rays of stubborn sunshine no matter the cloud cover.

It’s been a rough week or so. I’ve had dayjob hell getting quarterlies done with new tax crap we have to deal with for the locals and preparing for the upcoming tax season. I’ve had fun with teens (who can be as fickle as daisy petal plucking—I like him, no I don’t, I like him, no I don’t). I’m still fighting with the insurance people from the car accident. We have two new kittens (because one cat cannot replace a lost needy cat, it takes two!), a critter in the garage and a graveyard that stands alone (oddly, I haven’t decorated much this year. It’s not cold enough here for my brain to trigger October). And because I cannot be one of those that sits by and watches, I reported abuse and played safe haven for an adopted teen or two that needed us. Life is crazy.

Daisies are nature’s way of saying, “chillax, dudette.” So I did. I stopped and smiled. And as I sat there I thought about other little things that make me smile. Silly things. Simple things. Things that earn me both an eye roll (for being 12) and a chuckle from the Hippie—bubbles in the house, talking to bugs, sidewalk chalk, cartoon bandaids, jumping in puddles, crayons. Even when I want to hide or scream, I can smile…

So. It’s Thursday. You know what that means. What was the last silly, stupid, little nothing of a thing you smiled at? Not your kids or your partner, that’s cheating. Something out there that is just for you. That warms your internal sun and heats your blood. What was your last daisy?

And if you can’t answer, perhaps you should look around and find something… Instead of watching a child, play with them. Or better yet, just become one for 10 minutes a day. It does a psyche good!

Stop and Smell the Daisies

Stopping to smell the flowers and/or roses, depending on how you heard it, is actually a misquote. Thanks to google, I now know the true quote to be…

“You’re only here for a short visit. Don’t hurry. Don’t worry. And be sure to smell the flowers along the way.”

~ Walter Hagen

On the way into work today I saw a huge bunch of beautiful white daisies in full bloom on the side of a forgotten shack. I stopped.

I didn’t pick any. I didn’t even get out of the vehicle. I simply pulled over on the side road, smiled at them for a few minutes, and let the flowers do what the cloud covered sun couldn’t this morning—warm my insides. I heart a good daisy. They’re like dandelions to me. More weed than flower, more wild than tamed, will grow anywhere and do whatever they please. Little rays of stubborn sunshine no matter the cloud cover.

It’s been a rough week or so. I’ve had dayjob hell getting quarterlies done with new tax crap we have to deal with for the locals and preparing for the upcoming tax season. I’ve had fun with teens (who can be as fickle as daisy petal plucking—I like him, no I don’t, I like him, no I don’t). I’m still fighting with the insurance people from the car accident. We have two new kittens (because one cat cannot replace a lost needy cat, it takes two!), a critter in the garage and a graveyard that stands alone (oddly, I haven’t decorated much this year. It’s not cold enough here for my brain to trigger October). And because I cannot be one of those that sits by and watches, I reported abuse and played safe haven for an adopted teen or two that needed us. Life is crazy.

Daisies are nature’s way of saying, “chillax, dudette.” So I did. I stopped and smiled. And as I sat there I thought about other little things that make me smile. Silly things. Simple things. Things that earn me both an eye roll (for being 12) and a chuckle from the Hippie—bubbles in the house, talking to bugs, sidewalk chalk, cartoon bandaids, jumping in puddles, crayons. Even when I want to hide or scream, I can smile…

So. It’s Thursday. You know what that means. What was the last silly, stupid, little nothing of a thing you smiled at? Not your kids or your partner, that’s cheating. Something out there that is just for you. That warms your internal sun and heats your blood. What was your last daisy?

And if you can’t answer, perhaps you should look around and find something… Instead of watching a child, play with them. Or better yet, just become one for 10 minutes a day. It does a psyche good!

Hindsight

Outlook

“May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, The foresight to know where you are going, And the insight to know when you have gone too far”

~ Irish Blessing

Ah yes, all those times we should have shut our mouths and actually listened to what was being said to us. With an open mind. Either by others or our own internal narrators. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Hindsight, that’s the crux. Learning after mistakes rather than in lieu of them. Hindsight that could have easily been foresight but for the lack of insight. If we even learned something from them…

My mom rocks. Sure you guys hear me say that a lot, but you need to understand just how serious I am. Those that have met her will agree 100%. Those that haven’t should be jealous. She’s full of hindsight that can be turned into insight, and yes, foresight. And after one particularly important phone call last spring I went and found this image. And then summer happened and life got insane and I forgot all about it until today.

The thing with hindsight is that it comes with an evil step-sister, fear. Fear is a funny thing. Hindsight makes you feel silly. Fear makes you pause. Keeps you from moving. It holds you in its clutches and preys on your worry to do exactly as it wants: nothing. Hindsight and fear work in tandem to pick scabs rather than letting things scar over.

Fear never met my mom.

During that phone call last spring, I requested she be a friend, rather than a mom, and had one of those really serious adult conversations we have with our parents as we age—you know, like the one where you realize you didn’t know everything, they weren’t stupid, and you are compelled to apologize… sometimes through laughter, sometimes tears. As is true of the wisest woman I know, she was dead-on accurate with both her assessment and advice. And I’m old enough and wise enough myself, to listen to advice when I hear it. One particular gem from that day is this week’s garage talk: Forgive yourself.

She told me to forgive any and all guilt associated with anything in the past that I didn’t actually have control over. To let it go. To clear the blackboard of misplaced blame and be able to move forward. It wasn’t about forgiving those who had wronged me, but forgiving myself for being naive, for listening, for believing, for falling for whatever I should have been wise enough to see for what it was. I listened. I heard her. I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. And when I hung up I sat quietly and contemplated what exactly she meant and how to put it into effect. Hindsight. That’s what it boiled down to. Accepting hindsight and moving forward with it tied up in a pretty little bow, a Bitter Box™ of sorts. A lesson learned. A hindsight to be used as foresight for future situations that may be similar.

For garage talk this week there is no question. I want no stories or tall tales, no tears or anger. I don’t want to know what you chose, only that you chose. Nothing beyond that silent nod I won’t see. This week, I want you all to forgive yourself for some 20/20 hindsight mistake.

Get your coffee. Go sit on the stoop, porch, couch, wherever, and think of one thing from your past that that holds you, but has no business doing so. Forgive something you feel guilty or stupid about, something that shouldn’t be a scab from but a well-healed scar. Something unhealthy to your psyche, to your chi. Perhaps that one thing that is forever a trigger of anger or anguish. It’s in the past. Let it be the past. Allow yourself to have been wronged or a victim or just plain naive about something. Forgive yourself for whatever it was and your part in it.

And then move forward…

Scattered

metaphorAsk me no questions…
And I’ll tell you no lies.
~ Oliver Goldsmith

I googled “metaphor” and got this image. The gypsy said “what?” and the child said “use it!”

I don’t have the wit today to properly tell you about the baby squirrel.

I don’t have the strength to discuss Chaos.

I don’t have the fortitude to allude to unspoken truths.

And I don’t have the energy to explain why the sky is blue.

I thought about blogging in metaphorland. Debated discussing secrets and desires, wishes and hope. Briefly toyed with the idea of relationship tricks and the sheer amount of words that go unspoken. Unexplainable pain and frustration flitted across the thought process and were spit out the other side looking very much like a car after the junkyard has reduced it to a cube of useless metal. I even erased several sentences worth of a scream I’ve been holding in, that wants nothing more than to be heard from the tallest building.

But no. I can’t. I won’t. Whatever.

Instead, I’m going to go to work and lose myself in numbers. Then, I sense a very hot shower, nap and possibly some journal time before I emerge from my cocoon—family none the wiser—to sing while I cook and smile at the little things in life that people don’t usually see.

As I’m expected.

Because I am the gypsy, the wench, the twelve year old, and the tomboy. I am the best friend, the little sister, the daughter and the danger. Today, I am a puzzle purchased at a garage sale. I can still be put together and appear wonderful, but missing one piece…

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