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

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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.

Monday

Monday, the first day of my week.

Have you ever loved someone strongly/deeply and just as strongly really looked forward to their going to work/visit/vacaion…away.

Backstory.

When, 19 years ago (the SWMBO, 39 and me, 50) I married the SWMBO we were different people.

She had grown up with, and over the years closer to, her family (mom, dad, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, neices and Great-Grandpa/Grandma built a house, when Greandpa married, GGPa and GGMa, built him a house, next door (GGP and GGM could watch kids, train new wife) and everyone was happy.

When the time came, her Dad and Mom married, GP and GM built them a house, two blocks away (GGP and GGM had several children as did GGP and GGM’s brothers) and we had a village, a cohesive clan (an anthropologist’s dream).

I, I came from a rather dissimilar background. Leaving home at sixteen seemed quite all right, for all (my single greatest accomplishment in this life; I graduated from High School with my starting class). Ileft home, I didn’t leave town.

I enlisted at eighteen, I was Honorably Discharged at twenty-four, a father at twenty-five and I left home at twenty-eight. My son (not my, singular, accomplishment…rather the greatest gift the world has received in a very long time) and his mother thought that I ran away to “become” a hippie.

(A touch more backstory) In my early youth, I could be found in many “underground” establishments, coffeehouses, home of the beatniks, full of smoke (take your pick), many percussion instruments and questionable poetry. They were the “non-conservatists”. I later discovered the definition of the enemy, the “conservatists”: A conservatist is any individual that refuses to conform to the present standards of non-conservatism.

I never sought ‘hippiedom’, it was a convienient title that was besowed upon me. I was hoping to practice a ‘counter-cultureal’ movement…it wasn’t there. Peace, Love and Brotherhood, sadly replaced with Sex, Drugs and Rock ‘n Roll.

I encountered kids persueing the dream, an ideal they would never find with their ‘establishment’ (conservative) family, they would never understand. They would never understand.

And like a man glancing in a window, capturing a snapshot of the life on the other side, I saw others, older, with longer hair, brighter shirts of many patterns, head bands and beads, extending theirs hands, not to embrace but for the gelt…always the gelt.

Titles change, decades pass, the definitions are the same.

The SWMBO is upset that I have choosen to grow my hair long, once more. “You want to look like a ‘hippie’ again, don’t you. I want you to get a hair cut.” It’s winter and the hair keeps my ears arm…and to be honest, I ike the way I look with long hair.

“I’m planning a fishing trip, Cyd, fly fishing near Daloneagha…a few days, in March.”

“Good, we can visit Steve and Pat then go down to Daytona for the flea market…we haven’t been there in years…down on Friday, back on Sunday morning…it’ll be fun”

“Steve lives in ST. Augustine, way South, not North…I want to go alone and I don’t want to ‘shop’.” That conversation was five days ago, she hasn’t spoken to me since.

I love to fish, the SWMBO hates water, standing still by a body of water I have found oh so many things…Peace…in comes in many forms; silence, the lapping of waves, great and small, life all around, solitude…I have to laugh, solitude; if I’m lucky that will last for the briefest of time, a nano second in contemporary speach.

When you fish you watch the tip of your pole, the epicenter of your world, feel the flow of the river, the ocean ‘s tides, the way water always moves; watch the way light catches your line before it is lost in the flow. Connected in this way to a stream, river, lake or ocean no two alike, color, reflections of sun, stars or moon…all different and you’re connected and connected to everything around, above and below it.

I don’t always fish to catch, fish that is, I fish to get connected, to belong; the fish are a bonus.

At age sixty I was told I had cancer (I’m good, in remission), I went fishing, I need some Peace and I found the Holy Trinity. Only from a place of Peace do some things make sense. I like definitions and the thing I most enjoy really defies definition: Peace, but there were components of that elusive Peace that allowed me to understand what Love and Brotherhood really are.

Peace was found in solitude, being;  but not alone. I had looked in the Bible, The Koran, The Torah the teachings of Lord Buddha, interpretations of Kafka, in my youth and didn’t know what I was really looking for. I found it…in every one of those literary treasures.

The eleventh commandment sums it up nicely: Luke 13:34 I give you a new commandment, that you Love one another. (Jesus goes on to explain this further) Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” He broke bread with tax collecters and the one that would betray Him, He cured the deaf, the blind, the afflicted and the lame without checking their voter registraion or sexual orientation; He died for everyone.

Most people have access to a Bible and can check the reference, please do, please do. Then go fishing, or walk or watch the moon and the stars at night; do or go whatever or where ever you find Peace and just Love the brother or sister that’s holding the rod or filling the shoes that are walking as Jesus loved you, as Allah embraces you, El has taught you and all the teachings have lead you.

And smile.

Peace out. mw