Throwback Sunday

My granddaughter

My granddaughter

Dai kept repeating, “This is my best birthday party ever.” Now, you have to understand that she is 4 years old and that there were exactly eleven people at this “party,” Still it was her “best birthday party ever.” The joy on her face said it all. A fun time was had by all and for the guest of honor, well, she taught me a little lesson.

Before hand, I was anxious that due to my illness, my house wasn’t as clean as I’d like and that I didn’t have the energy to throw a proper party for a 4 year old. I was worried that everything wouldn’t be just right and the party would be a disaster. I wanted Dai to have a fun and memorable day. As usual, I over did it, worrying about insignificant details that mattered to no one but me. In the end, everything wasn’t just right (Is it ever?) and guess how many people noticed. NO ONE. All of my stressing and worrying succeeded only in increasing my pain level.

Dai cared only about the plastic Minnie mouse tablecloth, plastic birthday banner, balloons, the accompanying paper accessories, pinata, blowing out candles on her cake and of course presents. The rest, it simply did not matter–at all. I should follow her lead, and let go of all that does not matter. I’ll never again have the energy of a 4 year old, but I’d love to once again see beauty in the simple things in life again. What a gift that would be!

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Note To Myself

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This is what it feels like to rest “in the moment.” I am sitting on the beach surrounded by laughing strangers, seagulls soar above searching for their next meal, innocently listening to snippets of conversation that ride the wind to my ears, caressed by a constant breeze that tempers the Texas heat, and watching my husband’s seemingly tiny head as it bobs to and fro far from shore on his boggie-board. I sit here without thoughts of cleaning, cooking, the mountain of clothes taunting me,  or the morning’s dishes that await washing.

All too often, just “being” is a luxury that we cannot afford. Our go-go-go existence urges us to stay busy doing one thing after another. Doing is our religion, and we kneel at its altar daily.

Our minds are inundated with thinking,  an anathema to just being and dwelling in the moment.  The groceries,  picking the kids up from school,  the upcoming school board meeting and tonight’s soccer game flood our minds. But, what if we make the conscious choice to embrace the art of being, the joy of being.

I intend to return home a changed woman. There is a stack of books beside my bed that has been there too long. I pass it each morning and night with barely a glance. I love to read but “doing” has taken a priority over such frivolousness. There is the bird feeder outside my bedroom window where the birds gather to eat and humor me with their antics. Watching them warms my heart,  but again the “doing” draws me away.

Today, I issue my manifesto: I shall spend as much time “being” as “doing. ” I will listen to the symphony played by the breeze as it swirls through the wind chimes.  I will revel in the sacred quiet of the early morning with my journal,  pen and a cup of hot coffee in hand.  Instead of the hustle and bustle of entertaining guests, I will sit with them, giving them the gift of my full attention as we truly connect. I will seek the mystery of the ordinary,  because in it I am apt to experience the extraordinary. I will listen to my inner voice that resides in the place of being.  All in all,  I vow to slow down to breathe in the fullness of the everyday moment.

When was the last time that you allowed relaxation to overtake you as a state of mind? When was the last time that you stopped and been carried away by the heart stopping beauty of the moment? Can you remember? You think that you shouldn’t but,  my dear,   that is exactly why you should. No one is stopping you, but you.

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Creative Writing Saturday

Sea Bride

Across the white sand watersmeld of teal and turquoise hue, in sunlight, emerald facets, in shadow, grays of blue, first breaking light of heaven, tinted sky in tones of shell, dancing lights, pearl pink and saffron, fleck the bosom of the swell. On waves of crisper coral the majestic sun ship sails, bright bride aflame in glory blushed beneath her misty veils. Such beauty blinds my vision; my gaze is downward drawn to vanilla foam soft swirling in the footprints of the dawn.

Copyright © Faye Gibson, April 16, 2014