My Happy Place

Sitting on my deck, vast and beautiful. My happy place.
The air is humid and hot and thick. A bead of sweat builds and trickles down my cleavage.
The sun is bright, almost unbearable, the grass so vibrant I can hardly look at it. I shade my eyes from it’s glare, closing them even. I don’t need my eyes to tell me it’s beautiful.
The lazy dog lies at my feet uninterested in any exertion of energy, as am I. He lies without a worry in the world. This must be why they call it the dog days of summer.
A wasp circles overhead, doing whatever it is that wasp do? I have no idea and I couldn’t care less, just leave it be and hope it gives me the same courtesy.
The birds are squawking insistently, communicating to the others in near by trees.  The gossip goes on for hours. Do they ever tire of something to talk about?
A breeze stirs, just enough to rustle the leaves and give me a moment of relief from the swelter. Then it calms, the the air thickens again.
I have air conditioning inside the house. Relief just through those doors. I could go in and be cool and comfortable in the artificial air and sit on my cozy couch. But inside there are chores to be done, people calling me mom and honey, a television blaring some radical cartoon character that only yells his words when he speaks, and lunch to be made.
No, I think I will sit here. In the heat, and the blazing sun, with my lazy dog. I will relax my muscles to the point of wondering if I still have feeling in my body, I will soak up the rays on my skin, enjoy the sweaty trails running down my body as it soaks through my clothes. The world can live without me for a little while longer.  Right now, I am in my happy place and carefree.

 

 

 

Smooth Moves

I knew we had something real. I even knew that we were breaching that scary line where “like” meets “love”. We spent every waking minute together possible and a lot of that time was hanging out with his rowdy family, giving me new experiences everyday (some that my parents worked my whole life protecting me from) most of them just honest to goodness simple fun!

He was so crazy and made me laugh at his total commitment to physical comedy no matter how ridiculous he looked. He was real and honest and it was refreshing. Not to mention utterly hot! That bleach blonde hair, those broad shoulders and arms that were built by carrying lumber and swinging a hammer…and the legs…those glorious legs…so long………………sorry I lost myself for a moment.

He loved cars and music and everything that combined the two. He took me places that smelled like oil and fuel and somehow made it fascinating! He was rough around the edges, untamed by a woman’s heart and at times frustrating and unruly. But it was all part of the grand package. A package that made me dangerously teeter the line.

That day…no, that moment, when I fell hopelessly, willingly and completely. The tight rope that I clung to in order to make sound decisions and keep my guard up was swept out from under me so fast my head spun. It was so simple and so sweet, I never saw it coming.

Here we are in a room packed with people lining the walls awaiting their turn at the table or simply observing and cheering on their favorite shooter. Country music played on the stereo as it did every time I was there, I assume it was never actually turned off considering the house never really slept.

I stand with my back against the wall, my foot kicked back propping me up and sporting my little summer dress that I know drives him crazy as it hugs my curves nicely. I saw one of the other players take notice as well but it didn’t phase me. My eyes were glued to the misty blues gazing back at me across the table. That smile….oh that smile.

The stereo music was mindlessly rotating songs that we all knew, some caused the whole room to break out into a medley of horribly off key singing that was fantastic! But then “the song… that song” came on. Know one payed any mind, the conversation never paused. But somehow I didn’t hear them. In fact, the room cleared and it was just us, gazing at each other. And he was singing softly. It took me a second to hear the song. It wasn’t even the song at first that was so special, it was his eyes as he sang it. It was his mouth as the words came out with so much emotion and sincerity. The melody spun the room and made my heart explode. I knew, at that strange moment that my heart was his. As George Jones gave the background melody and that beautiful man in the room sang the words…”you’re as smooth as Tennessee Whisky, you’re as sweet as strawberry wine….you’re as warm as a glass of brandy and I stay stoned on you’re love all the time”……I lost myself wholly.

Twenty years later as me and that beautiful misty blue eyed man hold hands while driving down the road, and good ol’ George Jones pours out of the radio, my heart melts, I am back in that room falling in love all over again.

The Day Dreamer

 

I was listening intently to her speak, I swear I was.  Her subject was something about the ancient world of Greece, I am pretty sure of it.  She was pacing the floor, occasionally writing something down for us who are visual, and speaking long drawn out sentences for those of us who don’t need our eyes to hear.

Her heals clicked on the laminate tiles, and her toe scuffed the floor when she set off in a new direction.  With all of my intent I followed her with my eyes.  For all anyone knew, I was studious and aware, but what only I knew, was my eyes did not see her standing in that room any longer.  I was present, only in body, but the sound of her clicking heals and the hum of her mundane subject sent my mind into an emergent need to be elsewhere.

I heard the invisible beat powering up inside the room, getting louder and louder, the bass so strong the windows vibrated in their seals.  The screechy sound of a violin type instrument starts playing rapidly in the air.  The bland yellow florescent overhead burst, creating a kaleidoscope of colors on the walls and everyone’s clothing.  STOMP…skip skip …STOMP…skip skip…STOMP… the rhythm oozed off of my feet and infected everyone in the room… it rapped off of the desks, and pounded on the walls… even the high heeled “clicker” found herself marching unknowingly to the powerful cadence.

I rose to the soles of my tennis shoes, with my arms swaying left then right in unison…STOMP..skip skip….STOMP…skip skip… my body moved in time with the music… I  began to gather all hands around the room celebrating in the deliverance from reality while we encircled the chairs and desks.  Twirl….dip….twirl….dip………………

…………….as my eyes come back into focus, the monotonous droning of the woman in front of the room started to bleed back into my brain.  The music faded into the back of my mind where it started, all of the other bodies in the room are staring blankly ahead..too bad they were not there to experience the historic event that just happened in the room around them,  the ancient celebratory dance of the Greeks.

I believe that sometimes we learn more from our dreams than we do from reality.

history-of-Greek-dancing

 

 

The Brick Road

Daily Post  – Brick

 

The Brick Road

Multi-colored puzzle pieces

Stretching as far as anyone’s memory

Packed down from decades of travel

The “clop clop” sound like wagon wheels in modern day

A symbol of strength through ages of wear

The hat shaped house sits above the curb

A child sits on the porch unaware of the historical creation below

One day when the road is no more

She will understand its significance.

Sumnday

Sumnday is my favorite day of the week.  It’s the day I do nothing.  I sit on my porch swing and watch the world stand still.  I listen to the birds chirping, and the breeze blow and feel the perfect 75 degree temperate on my skin. Today my flowers are blooming in perfect unison with a brilliant fragrance that fills the fresh air and my grass is cut to perfection like a carpet under my feet. My house is sparkling clean with the no cobwebs and the dust bunny’s have packed their bags and gone willingly to live with someone else. My darling children are amazing little angels having completed all of their chores the day before without asking allowing them to enjoy their Sumnday as well.

This is the day that lies peacefully between Sunday and Monday.  It’s not on the calendar because if it were there would inevitably be something penciled in, scheduled or consuming to do. This is the day that lies in secret, that everyone knows about but no one speaks of.  It’s almost as if it doesn’t exist at all.

So when Sumnday comes around, don’t forget to slow down, forget your schedule and enjoy your perfect day. Because, you know Monday will surely come and the world will turn again and chaos will ensue…but for today…just today…life is perfect.

My-Perfect-Day

Sumnday – Enjoy it!

Ol’ Buddy, ol’ Pal

My first tribute to the daily post – Buddy

I just can’t find a way around this subject without paying tribute to my one and only son, Storm.  My husband wanted a son so badly, and as fate should have it, three daughters later he decided he wasn’t up for a 4th daughter. So rather than try our luck again, we did the next best thing…we got Boxer brothers, Thunder and Storm (I know right).

Thunder and Storm

They were the cutest pups ever, and as you see here, when they became slightly larger pups it only made them more adorable. For a year they were the best of pals.  Thunder the rowdy attention hound that would not let you within sight without being loved on.  Storm, the more laid back brother, loving the attention when he got it, but seeming to understand his brothers desire for the center stage.  Basically he was the strong yet silent type.

Sadly, around a year old, poor, poor Thunder found his little cloud in doggy heaven.  It’s still a mystery today as the cause of death, but it appeared quick and painless.  He is buried on the hill behind our house watching over us.

Storm mourned the loss of his brother, but realized rather quickly that he was now an only child.  This allowed him the attention that he willingly relinquished to Thunder.  He became the most amazing furry son I could ever ask for.  My youngest daughter and him are the same age.  One day she was just learning to toddle and headed for the country road we live on.  Storm noticed the danger that ensued and quickly went to her rescue.  He paced back and forth in front of her, blocking all of her attempts to get around him until he had her facing away from the road and guided her back to the house.  We knew then, we had something special.  He allowed her to tug on his floppy ears and even put her little baby hand right in his mouth and down his throat…she giggled at the slobbers that she retrieved from his bowel and he just gagged slightly and patiently until she was done (gross) incredible!

Storm has not only assisted in raising my children, but along the way he took on the domino2responsibility of raising our baby goat Domino.  He gave him the same guidance, taught him the boundaries of the yard and how to be a dog.  Yeah, our goat had no idea how to be a goat.  He thought he was Storms son and acted accordingly.  Sadly, Domino has a special place on the hill next to Thunder with a watchful eye over the valley.

peaches2Over the past year and a half, he has acquired yet another sibling, Peaches…a little half pint, toy Schnauzer. He seems very content having another sister around and teaching her the ropes, although she isn’t always as obedient as the goat.  She is extremely playful and loves to drive him completely bonkers and as par for a big brother he returns the favor by taking her toys and holding them up in the air so she can’t reach them.  There is no lack of entertainment in our home.

Our lives have been so complete with Storm by our side. He is 7 now, showing some grey in his muzzle and reaching the expectancy of a boxers life.  With a little cancer in his leg, nothing seems to get him down. He is still a spry little guy who forgets he is not a puppy anymore.

So, there you have it… our good ol’ buddy, ol’ pal Storm.  The best dang son a mother could want! storm and peaches

Losing Control…where the rubber meets the road

Hello,

My name is Hyacinth and I am a control freak.  There, I said it…out loud for the whole world to hear. Tina sang about R-E-S-P-E-C-T, but my theme song at my funeral will most certainly be C-O-N-T-R-O-L.  Not something that makes me a fan favorite sometimes, it can really drive people nuts (especially my husband). But when stuff gets “real” and someone needs to sit in the drivers seat… people like me take control.  There are rare moments that I willingly relinquish it, and there is generally hell to pay if you take it from me.  My world feels rather upside down with out it.  However, there is one time (only one I can think of) when I lay it all out there.  I hand it over like a virgin, I am free of decision making and just one with moment.

Have you ever been on a motorcycle?  If not, i’m sorry you have some living left to do. Either way, I am going to take you on a sensual adventure in your mind that may help you experience losing control (that sounds terrifying).  Living in the moment is something we rarely have the luxury to do these days.  But when you are on a bike, there is no other time but the moment.

o-TEEN-LOOKING-OUT-CAR-WINDOW-facebookWhen you’re in a car, we look out of the windows, we see other cars, we see the blur of the scenery and that paved means to transport you from A to B beneath your tires. Not a tangible thing, not something you even pay any mind to. Your not really “seeing” anything, you are merely “looking”.  You’re inside of your vehicle, surrounded by metal, restraints, air bags and whatever other asinine safety equipment the manufacturer decided to charge you for. Sure, you put your faith in the driver, but even if they are an idiot your odds of survival in a crash are pretty high. Your relatively safe.

Now, close your eyes and experience your trip from A to B on a bike.  In fact, lets forget about “B” and only think about the “to” portion of the trip.  Gear up, helmet on… driver start your engine.

You are now perched on the back of the bike. A seat beneath you, inevitably smaller than your hind-end, your feet firmly placed upon a set of pegs (or if you spoiled like me, foot boards), no seat belt or air bag, just you, the driver and the road, and off you go (this barely sounds legal).

As you are rolling down the road your senses 1480654_10206391001789443_8144831634826724234_nimmediately heighten and you become aware of things you forget even exist in a car.  Your eyes immediately are drawn to the road.  No longer just a blur of grey but a living, breathing entity. You notice every dip, pebble, stripped line. You smell the road, you feel the heat beating off of it, you are now one with it, you respect it and it’s power to consume you.

You realize your seeing in high definition, the colors are brilliant and the depth is spectacular (have I always seen this way you wonder?).  The trees deep in the woods stand out like an army of soldiers holding their ground as they tip their leaved hats in greeting when you pass by.  You see the birds and squirrels, and the rushing water in the creek as it races you to an unknown destination.  Sight is truly an amazing sense that we often fail to use.

Now listen, what do you hear?  The wind, the glorious soothing, cooling wind.  It pulsates through you clothes, it creeps into your helmet and whistles in your ears. You hear it pound off of the trees, the guardrails, “fwump, fwhump, fwhump”.  You take your arms and spread them like wings…your worries just flew right off into the wind behind you. You have now been cleansed.

When you are on a motorcycle, there is no time other than the moment.  The world stands still around you.  Did you see that old man on his porch swing, watching the world pass by? He sees you.  You lock eyes for a blink of a second, and in that moment time stops.  No past, no future, just now.  A once in a lifetime event just occurred. You will never lock eyes with that stranger again. But you shared a moment that you can never take back.

Your nose is experiencing smells that are nearly foreign. The smell of asphalt, the cool crisp smell of that creek you are racing,  the freshness of the air, the green of the grass and the scent of brightly colored bushes in that old mans front yard. All of your senses are on over load.

The driver is your lifeline.  He holds all of the control.  You must rely on his skill, his eagle eye and reflexes because your life depends on it.  It’s a delicate dance between driver and passenger, he leans, you lean…he sights the upcoming curve to position his course and you look over his shoulder to do the same. He feels every move you make, every shift of weight, your thighs as they tighten on his hips anticipating his next move. You become one.

When you have reached the “B” portion of your trip and the engine comes to a stop youlive-for-the-journey-not-the-destination
take a deep breath. One because your butt hurts from that less than appropriately sized seat and your not happily anticipating the dismount, and two because you have returned to reality. The 2 dimensional world you live in.  But your ride was successful, you and the road are still respectful friends and your faith in the driver has lived up to your expectation.

 

Biker

 

There are few moments in life when you will hand total and complete control over to another human being (as an adult).  But, every once in a while spreading your arms into the wind and letting your cares fall behind  you on to the road, is exactly where you need to be.