laughter

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!

Tiny Reminders

MIsunriseMoving on is simple, it’s what you leave behind that makes it so difficult.
~Anonymous

Sunrise on the Mackinaw Bridge… one of the few things on the 19-hour road trip that I enjoy. Others include cherry coffee, 4am boat counts, and of course, the two dead hookers. But I digress.

The sunrise made me sad this time. I almost drove off the bridge staring at it. I nudged a snoring hippie, “Look, it’s beautiful!” watched his blank stare scan the horizon and then one half-open eye turned toward me and I smile-sighed, “Yes, you may go back to sleep now.” He wasn’t awake. But even if he had been, I’m not sure he would have understood completely. Not completely.

When my childhood sweetheart and I broke up, I lost a friend. When my ex and I divorced, I lost the big screen TV. When Wisconsin and I broke up, I lost the entire chain of Great Lakes. I lost my water.

Breaking up hurts. Even after the hurt is healed, the memory can sting. Seeing the water at sunrise, the reflections, the tiny white caps and the boats gliding across it, made me yearn to dip my feet. I wanted to pick rocks and find shells. I wanted to dig my toes in the sand at the edge of the surf and wait for them to be engulfed in a wet mire of tiny crystals. I get giddy when I see the water. I’ve stopped before and taken a twenty minute break from the drive-from-hell to run along her shores, kids and hippie in tow. But I couldn’t stop this time. There was a family wedding to get to and we were late. I swallowed back a tear and kept driving, window down so I could smell the water and relive a thousand memories.

Even though breaking up hurts, it’s those little things you hold on to that make the occasional twinge of pain easier to bear—the good memories you fall back on, the ones that drown out the bad. Yes I miss my water, but there’s water here. It’s just different water. And I have memories, lots and lots and lots of them—from childhood through teenage years and on into adulthood. Lots.

And I have physical reminders.

Because when you break up, you always take something with you. You hold onto some little physical reminder. When my childhood sweetheart and I broke up, I wrapped the love letters in ribbon and tucked them into my babybox. I still have them, and the half-heart necklace is in a jewelry box. When my ex and I broke up, I put away specific jewelry to be handed down someday. And when Wisconsin and I broke up, I took her rocks. I have stones around the house and several pebbles I keep in my purse. They’ve lost their smell (yes, rocks have a smell) but just the sight of them is enough to allow me to let go of the hurt of the break up. To remember the good times.

Sanka

Remember Sanka?  It’s still sold, I think. It didn’t taste too horrible when I had it [way back when], but it was decaf [pointless!] and instant if you wanted it that way. And because of that, it has a lot in common with this week’s Coffee Talk.  Instant decaf, baby!

Forget about soft sounds like babbling brooks, gentle showers, and warbling birds. What is your favorite loud sound?

My initial response is laughter. The loud outbursts of children that let you know they’re enjoying the moment. The gut-pinching belly laugh that causes you to eventually lose your breath and wipe your tears. Hysterical laughter that spreads through a room, but when everyone calms down, some don’t even remember what was so funny. That same hysterical-style laughter shared by only a few that can be triggered again with a simple look or word [1 missed call… Jesus!]. Hell, even forced laughter is a good noise in the right circumstances.

My second and more obvious response is speaker-crackling, bass-slamming rock/metal music that is so loud you can’t hear your own thoughts. You can drive, clean or otherwise occupy your hands, while your mind is in the moment rather than whatever stress is trying to suck it dry—and your mouth ruins a song you love, but it’s so loud you don’t care and no one else can tell that you’re off tune.

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