Weed Garden Update

There have been changes to the “Weed Garden”.
As always there is hope that the wild flowers will emerge once again; this year I’ve added two new members to the collection.
There are red raspberries, that may provide a treat for the aviary community ( there’s little or no hope that I will be able to harvest anything) and central to the garden is a knockout rose bush.
For those that are not aquanted with variety, know out roses are the “mutts” of the rose community. These roses are not entered in the horticultural shows, no one hopes to add their name to this flower; mildly scented there are no perfumes made from them.
These roses bloom nearly year-round and to those that take the time to look they are so pleasing.
This one bush, in the Weed Garden, this mutt is the living memorial to my dear, dear mutt: Duchess. I can work in the yard, take my morning coffee and visit and talk to her and no one thinks I not (too) mad.
Knockout roses can make one a little less lonely.
I have a thing for mutts (genetically speaking; I’m a mutt too).

Peace out, pilgrims

Yep, September is Special

Being kind to oneself is the start of being kind to others, any other show of kindness is just show.

Tomorrow is the first day of Autumn.

Leaves are changing colors, Day light Savings Time will end.

I have begun my Halloween preparations.

This is Dystonia Awareness Month.  And to think you almost missed that…I have been aware of TD (Tardive Dystonia) for years now.

I have many things to be grateful for because of TD: My ‘Shedding “Spaz” status’ handle (I can talk to you here annd you’re not distracted by my spastic presence); I have saved a small fortune on dinning out, afraid to attract too much attention in restaurants (admit it, the people that are a little different always get your attention); I have become intolerant of unkind judgements of others toward the “imperfect”.

Not all aspects of Dystonia are the same.  Imagine waking up in the morning, getting out of bed, stretching and looking down at your toes…and that will be your pose…for the balance of your waking day.

You can be sure that the buttons of your shirt are well done, belt perfectly positioned…but unable to lift your head to look in the mirror; apply your makeup with the mirror flat on the counter, put on the finishing touches to a lovely face that no one will be able to see.  “Remember to make eye contact during the interview, hon.  Oh, sorry.  You’ll be great.”

That would be Cervical Dystonia…for some.

I have the distinction of being a lunatic and as such have been given “mood stabilizers”, “anti-psychotics” for years (read that decades) and I ‘suffer’ with Neuroleptic Induced Tardive Dystonia; at times I can’t talk, the vocal chords are constricted and don’t move, whereas my face doesn’t stop moving, my left arm and hand look as if I’m working on some elaborate chord progressions for my next ‘air-guitar’ concert.

Upshot, read the warnings on your Rx’s, talk to your doctor.  Some are born with Dystonia, some acquire it and like many motion disorders, there are treatments.

If you have been diagnosed with Dystonia, run do not walk to a neurologist that specializes in movement disorders and find someone (professional, friend, a chat room) and talk…self-induced isolation and demeaning oneself is not the answer.

There are times when I stop the jitters; when I sleep, when I’m concentrating on a project and when I meditate.

The best definition I have found for meditation is:

Sit softly in the silence between the noise of your thoughts.  This is meditation.  This is real love.

I have been away from WP for some time, caught up in my own muck and mire of depression and self-pity.  One of the “projects” that takes me out of myself are the few Vlogs I’ve done.  I have another to tape and post this afternoon and in honor of Dystonia Awareness Month, this will be sans the motion editing.  Be warned.

peace out pilgrims.

be ever so kind to yourselveskindness

Image from unknown photographer posted Feb. 2014, titled “Kindness”.  If anyone can identify the artist or the post please let me know so that I may properly credit and please, all, follow this person, he has the eye and the heart of a true artist.

The Day and A Half After the Snow

The SWMBO has still not recovered completely from her ordeal; she has had no reference point,  set point when drilling, of the damage stress can do.  Bit by bit she’s remembering events that were before just muddled together.

The last twelve miles (7 hours) of her twenty-five mile journey, is on Hwy 92; beginning in Roswell, passing through Alpharetta, Marietta and home in Woodstock.  It’s well lite four lanes of blacktop were lightly covered with snow but in the 15 degree weather, there was more than enough ice to make up for the lack of snow.

Some of the drivers, in the literally thousands of cars, on that stretch of Hwy 92, just gave up and walked away, leaving their vehicles where they were.  Cyd heard the slamming of the doors and the crunching of their footsteps as broke through the icy crust of the snowy sidewalk.

And then she heard the sounds of ATVs and an army of shopping carts; vehicles driven, pushed or dragged by men, women, boys and girls…no flags or banners declaring their membership in any congregation, organization or society; they were not organized in any discernible way other than a desire to help (read that ‘glow with a magnificent love’).

Everyone, anyone was offered, water, food; some had coffee, another hot chocolate; kitty litter for spinning tires, and axes to break up ice ahead.

For those last twelve miles all seven hours of it, the SWMBO was escorted by a sea of faces, walking up and down a Highway on a frozen night in Georgia.

She swears that she doesn’t remember seeing any wings among them…but she knows in her ‘knower’, they were there.

The following morning.

The thermometer had not risen above 20 degrees and thanks to the shortsightedness of the individuals that had purchased the model homes in the subdivision; short sighted in so much as they forgot to turn off their irrigation pumps, the entrance to the subdivision and three quarters of hill after were covered in ice.

No one was leaving their homes, well not the adults…not by car.  The privileged few children that own snow discs were giddy with delight as they claimed all roads, lawns and frozen gutters as their own.

Now here is where I must apologize to today’s youth.  I have seen them with their electronic devices, glued to TV sets and I had judged them as lacking any real imagination.  I was oh so wrong.  The young ones that slide past their less fortunate peers did so only once…I had to laugh as I watched in awe as lids to storage boxes out numbered and out paced the pricier discs.

The last entry in this contest of ad hoc racers set me off with the kind of laughter that hurts the sides and the face and goes on and on and on…an eight year girl, lives five doors up went whizzing past our yard in a laundry basket.  She masterfully guided her craft by leaning left or right, hands on the sides, using the lift of an ice covered curb to gain more speed…like a F1 driver is deftly maneuvered between and past her opponents.

“See, that’s what a girl can do!”  She said as she placed the laundry basket over her head and started back up the hill.  I could hear the boys talking among themselves as passed the house, “Ya know, I ready to get back to school now.”