This WordPress snow feature has always made my childsoul irrationally happy. For some reason, it was removed for a few years, but now it’s back, and it’s joyful!
I love snow…and it rhymes with crow!
Dust of Snow
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
Robert Frost
I’m searching for whom or what I can blame for my latest stupid injury, like maybe Mercury Retrograde or the 11/11 portal?
I surely don’t think I would set an intention for — nor manifest — bodily damage, so I guess I’ll have to accept 100% of the blame for this one, which I knew was going to happen seconds before it did.
Here’s the scenario: I was planning to step off the deck, about a foot or so, onto some pavers. The wind had blown a small rug onto the pavers but at the same time that I chose NOT to bend down and remove it, I had the thought that there was a real and distinct possibility that I couldn’t see where I planned to step down, so I REALLY should take the two seconds to remove the rug — but I did not, and there I was, once again on the ground because I had not only awkwardly trapped my foot between two pavers that were obscured by that damn rug, but, as I fell, the edge of one of them hit me HARD at the exact location of my previous split-open shin, I then fell on my wrist (one I had broken a few years ago) and sprained the other ankle as it folded under me, an ungraceful vision, most definitely NOT a pretty sight; not princess-like in any way.
Ouch.
Covered in dirt and leaves, I sat there for a while like I always do, assessing the damage and shaking my head at my own stupidity.
The scar from before looks pretty angry and a bit bloody. There’s already a bump and a lump and is blooming some ugly bruises, but no broken bones this time, at least I hope not. I can live with the sprained wrist/ankle; at this point we’re old friends.
When will I ever learn?
Somebody once said “a definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.” It’s been wrongly attributed to Einstein, but some people think it’s from Rita Mae Brown or a 1981 Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet.
Maybe insanity is not exactly my issue, but I hope one day I learn not to be so careless and impulsive about my personal safety.
This isn’t the greatest photo; the sun kind of distorted the sharp lines and colors, but I was lucky enough to capture my lizard friend sunning himself on an orange tennis ball
This other guy visits every day; I can always tell who it is by his sort of mutilated tail. He seems to know when I’m in the garden and runs over to greet me.
Hello, handsome! They might be referred to as cold-blooded, but still have their own distinctive personalities.
Lizards like to snack on mealworms, but I never seem to remember to buy them at the pet store. I know they have enough to eat because they’re doing a great job cleaning the garden of unwanted grasshoppers, crickets, and beetles.
My frustration level is OFF THE CHARTS.
Here’s what I learned today. Since Angel Girl turned four years old, I needed a new car seat. When it arrived, I didn’t have too much trouble assembling it (although it took an HOUR) but I couldn’t figure out how to properly install it next to her brother’s. I didn’t pay much attention when Dad did it.
I read the cryptic instruction booklet and it was like reading hieroglyphics. I watched several YouTube videos and they didn’t help me, either. This isn’t unusual–I’m not very mechanically inclined.
I figured that our friendly police department would surely be able to assist me, so I drove to the local station. This is where the vortex of frustration began…
Guess what? Our police do NOT help to safely install carseats, but they said OTHER grandmas have come in asking for help, too.
The police department referred me to AAA.
AAA also does NOT help to install or make sure they’re installed properly.
AAA referred me to California Highway Patrol which DOES have a program to safely install car seats but they’re booked up through January 2024. That’s no help at all. AT. ALL.
CHP said the Sheriff does it, but they most likely are booked up too. I called to make an appointment, had to leave a message, and no one returned my call.
I even called a neighboring city’s police department and they don’t install car seats either.
After that, I called Children’s Hospital which does have a car seat installation program but it charges FIFTY DOLLARS per car seat!!!
Our local fire department doesn’t assist in installation or inspection to make sure car seats are properly installed.
The final call I made was to Safe Kids Worldwide’s Child Passenger Safety, a nonprofit organization, and there is no tech in my area. Also, no one responded to my email.
I’m exhausted from running around the dead end rabbit hole with my vain attempt to ensure the safety of the Angel Kids.
I eventually tried to install it but noticed there was no anchor with this particular booster-type seat with a back, and it seemed a bit unstable, so I took an anchor strap from the old seat and tried to attach it. I’m not sure if it’s OK but at least it’s not moving around and seems more secure.
And from the manufacturer, I read comments and questions from others who wanted information about no latch/anchor: “Thank you for your interest in the Turbo Booster 2.0 Highback Booster Seat! Unfortunately, a LATCH system is not offered for this product. We hope this helps! – The Graco Team” Well…it doesn’t really help at all, because why NOT??
Friends have said I should just leave it for Dad to do it again but I wanted to make life easier for all of them when I pick up at the airport. It’s much less stressful to jump in the car and head straight home than to have to sit at the curb and wait for him to hook it up.
This says volumes about lack of community service and safety from the entities that should absolutely care. My very final outreach was a call to the community relations department of our police department to suggest they recommence their former program of assisting/examining installation of car seats. Not surprisingly, I’ve received no return call.
Frustration level? OFF ALL THE CHARTS.
UPDATE: A neighboring city’s sheriff’s office returned my call, I made an appointment for this morning, and their in-house certified car seat tech examined both car seats and gave me a few tips to keep the kids extra secure. It took less than ten minutes–peace of mind = PRICELESS. I’m still concerned that it took so much effort to get it done. I don’t think most people are as tenacious as I am, and if they quit too soon, their children might not be secured properly in an accident.
Yesterday I drove to an appointment for a physical therapy session to work on my knee, the one with the torn meniscus. Since I hate parking garages with low, oppressive ceilings, I chose to park a block or so away.
The sky was blue, the sun was out, and I briskly walked to my destination. Restaurants were full of happy people enjoying balmy weather on the last day of spring break.
I crossed the street and noticed a gnome-like, wizened, obviously homeless guy on a bench.
Exactly as if he had been watching and waiting for me, he stood up and blocked my path when I approached. He held out a pen and asked me if he could write his name on my body.
(Yes, for a nanosecond, I imagined he was holding a knife. Adrenalin production ramped up in my body, but it was just a pen.)
I shook my head and firmly replied, “No, you CANNOT!”
He said, “Why not? Because then you’d belong to me.”
This wasn’t a pleasant encounter — his demeanor was filled with contempt. With those few words, the tone he conveyed was sarcastic, sardonic, mocking, even derisive.
I continued to walk, shook my head at the oddness of his words. Many times, I’ve been asked for money by street people, but this was out of the ordinary for sure.
Instead of “homeless”, advocates suggest the use of language like unhoused or unsheltered to describe people “experiencing homelessness” to imply a worldview that sees homelessness as a structural and societal failing, not a personal problem.
Whatever language one uses, we have a large population here, and I think our city has a fairly responsive and compassionate approach to this crisis. Not great, but better than their past one-dimensional militant approach.
About an hour later, I retraced my steps as I made my way back to my car. The little man was still there, perched on the same bench. This time I noticed that his feet didn’t touch the ground, which means he was even shorter than my five feet. I didn’t feel like I needed to take any effort to avoid him.
This bench was positioned in the middle of the sidewalk and near the intersection at the stoplight where I needed to cross the street.
As I walked by, he cackled and stuck his foot out as if to trip me. I circumvented this potential ill-mannered assault as he called out to me with an abundance of animosity, “Hey curly!”.
Of course I didn’t respond and made it safely back to my car, but I was curious about these two slightly peculiar encounters in an otherwise completely normal day.
As I pondered the deeper meaning of what occurred, it reminded me of a Fellini film; the blending of fantasy and baroque images with raw earthiness — opening a portal to what lives beneath the surface of seeming normalcy.
What did the angry man represent? Why me? Why did he say I would be his if he wrote his name on me? There was an essence of something shadowy and devious and outlier about him; a glimpse into a version of a world I don’t inhabit.
How utterly strange and slightly unsettling, like I was actually IN an art film or an alternate reality or another dimension.
The only way I can describe it is how Caryn James in an old newspaper article described a Fellini film…”that moment when you walk headlong into a scene so strange you think you’re hallucinating; then it turns out to be real.
What I know for sure is that it was borderline creepy and I was SO glad to go home. To be home. There’s no place like home.
What’s going on here? I dunno, you tell ME!
This is one of my favorite photos. It’s actually a sort of mistake but if you’d like to play along, tell me what it’s all about.
I like image-driven inspiration, don’t you?
Splash!
P.S. I’ll reveal in response to comments.
(An alternate title could be “Please scream inside your heart” like the signage at that theme park in Japan meant to discourage screaming on rollercoasters and reduce the spread of Covid-19.)
I’ve blogged since the summer of 2012. On one sunny day in June, my DIL told me I was really funny and I should write things down and begin to blog.
I knew nothing about blogs; never even read one, so she took the reins and opened a WordPress account for me.
That was eight years ago, as I was reminded by my WP anniversary.
At its heyday in 2014, my little blog averaged around 7,500 visits a month. For some unknown reason, my highest read posts were recipes.
After attending a BlogHer convention, I was excited and energized, ready to monetize, to grow and expand my brand and my voice.
I’ve always been a writer, especially about things that cause me to wax passionately: saving wolves, rescuing abused animals, finding humor in life from my own lens; researching and meeting and learning about all kinds of people (from Al Gore to His Holiness the Dalai Lama), reviewing cool products, and most of all, I LOVED responding to readers and comments from all over the world.
I still do. I respect and appreciate your time and the effort to reach out to a virtual stranger and engage in conversation.
Now I notice that my posts only have a handful of likes and some none at all.
My overall followers from all platforms is around 3500.
Did I lose my enthusiasm?
Nope.
I know why, I DO, but I still can’t talk about what happened except to say that if you read between the lines on certain posts, you might catch a glimpse of infinite profound sadness, more death than death because I’m still alive and breathing.
The walking dead. An episode of the Twilight Zone in real life. A literal black hole.
As I’m slowly getting back into the rhythm and comfort of writing, finding my voice again, I’d like you to know that I appreciate everyone who has stayed faithful to my blog and continues to read my words, even the ones between the lines.
Much love. Seriously. ‘Cos if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s what love is. And what it is not. On any planet. Stars might be crazy, but I’m not, so I’ll continue to scream inside my heart. And my head. In a princessy way, of course.
IMHO, this is one of the best descriptions of what it means to hold space.
There will be times when you have to release and trust the awakening process. It may not be an easy thing to do, especially when a connection exists. Let others know you are there, offer support when asked and hold space for them in a kind, loving manner. The rest is up to them and The Universe.
Holding Space The Creator Writings, one of my fave blogs.
I had heard the term but couldn’t wrap my brain around it, and as a slightly OCD Taurus who likes answers to questions and details and timeframes to be specific in order to feel safe, holding space is a confusing and nebulous and ephemeral concept, but I’ve been determined to understand because it resonates deeply with me. I’m relentless when it comes to understandING.
It’s a way of not doing anything when I’m all about doING and fixING and solvING. (All of those ‘ing” words that we’re trained to edit OUT of our writings.)
To hold space is to do nothING but BE.
BeING.
That very beINGness of taking a breath and stayING silent and havING faith and trust that everything is happenING as it should–well, that’s nearly impossible for me.
But here I am. I am. So hum.
At least four of my friends took a chance and stopped coloring their hair and are in the process of allowing it to return to whatever natural color it might have been.
Some of them actually started doing it before the salons were shut down, while a couple of friends decided to use this opportunity to embrace the gray.
Oh, that’s not ME: I like my hair color a lot, and it’s been pretty easy retaining it on my own, but I decided that my blog needed a makeover. I’ve been blogging since 2012 and color palettes have changed. I’ve changed too, and wanted to move away from pink and turquoise.
I spent a bit of time doing a photo shoot with rocks and seashells and pearls–I’m pretty satisfied with the results as it clearly represents the things I love.
In general, I love the color gray. I have gray carpeting, I love silvery, sparkly things, and is there anything more beautiful than a gray beach rock, almost too hot to touch from a million years of absorbing sunshine?
In the color palette, gray is the midpoint between black and white. Some people think gray is boring, but I find it elegant and calm and a great canvas for all of the other colors in the rainbow.
Gray is an old soul, having endured countless life experiences, and is thought to be wildly insightful. However, gray only offers its pearls of wisdom when asked to, unlike me, who might at times offer unsolicited advice.
The color gray respects boundaries, making it a peaceful presence. It offers tranquility and serenity, and can’t we all benefit from more of that? I know I can.
How could I forget the silvery moon? Tonight is the Flower Moon (supermoon), so actually, it’s named after me, haha. This full moon in Scorpio has a spiritual, healing, and compassionate influence. This is the first positive moon phase for six weeks, and a great night to manifest positive intentions, compassion, and love.
Are any of my fellow bloggers using this forced isolation to re-do your blog themes?
I do. Have a secret.
Not gonna tell.
Not yet.
But you’ll be the first to know.
Well, not the first, but high up on my list.
Maybe not super high on the list, but you definitely won’t be the LAST to know.
You can guess, but I’ll never tell until I do.
P.S. A good secret, nothing bad, neg, dark, sad.
Happy Wednesday!
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 