“Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past can be different”
Today I love …
checking stuff off of my list
fresh tomatoes
morning walks
oranges
intelligent conversation
Tid bits from the homefront:
Busy week here. Yesterday I spent a few hours hitting the street in search of a job. Today I am, again, working on making my own job here. I am going to [finally after the move] get the kiln out and fired up. Today I am working on times/dates to offer beginners glass classes here. I think that will be fun. Hope I can get enough people who think it will be fun too.
It is going to be another boiling day here … so inside work is best for me.
I am closely watching my new tree – so far, so good. It seems to be acclimating itself to the new home.
Garden fun:
For many years people have told me that mums don’t come back year after year … these surely do/have … and I was surprised to see them blooming so beautifully in the midst of a heat wave … always remembered them blooming in the fall.
Babbling:
Another book I enjoy revisiting [often] is Circle of Stones Women’s Journey to Herself by Judith Duerk. I was reading it this morning and because of this following passage, found myself lost in thoughts/memories of my Aunt Florence. What a strong woman she was …
How might your life have been different if there had been a place for you?
A place for you to go … a place of women, to help you learn the ways of
woman …a place where you were nurtured from an ancient flow
sustaining you and steadying you as you sought to become yourself.
A place of women to help you find and trust the ancient flow already
there within yourself … waiting to be released …
A place of women …
How might your life be different?
As a young person I didn’t think about the fact that I was surrounded by strong women; women that gave me a sense of knowing and loving oneself.
Especially my Aunt Florence – excerpt below about her –
1963
She was funny.
She was very smart.
She was a real mystery to me.
Everyone in my family looked strangely at her, and always told me never to eat anything that she brought into our home. My Dad used to get so irritated when she would say that he bit his fingernails because he was in the war.
Boy, did that make him angry.
My Dad liked to pretend there was never a World War II.
She wouldn’t let him forget it.
Maybe that was the problem.
She promised me that as soon as I knew all of my multiplication tables, she would bring a typewriter to me and teach me how to type …
fast, like she did.
I remember, just like it was yesterday, the day she came over through the snow, carrying an Underwood Typewriter.
We had to put it out on the front porch.
Why?
Because my family was very odd when it came to my Aunt Florence. Dad said she smelled like moth balls, and Nana said she ruined Uncle Let’s life.
They never like her. I liked her. I loved her.
She was magical to me.
She floated here and there, almost always wearing red. She was busy and always smiling. Her car was filled with shoes and purses … just in case she needed to refresh her outfits.
Her house was a mess.
It was a beautiful, old, white, two-story house, surrounded by lovely huge trees. Between our house and her house was an empty lot. We played there all of the time. I was constantly distracted by my curiosity. I always wanted to go inside, but, I was forbidden to do so.
A few times I peeked through her porch windows, and one time I walked right in the back door to see … ugh … dishes, pans, clothes, bags filled with whatever … newspapers everywhere.
When she moved out of the house, early in my teenage years, the hardwood floors in the house were in perfect condition. I don’t believe anyone had ever walked on them. For more than 30 years they were covered with debris.
Her husband, Lester, was my grandmother’s brother He was a bit off his rocker [as my Dad would say].
I don’t remember him before he had his accident. At 30 years old, right after he married Aunt Florence, he fell from the peak of a house he was building … right down to the concrete basement. Hit his head pretty hard, and never was the same again.
For some reason, my family blamed Aunt Florence for Uncle Let’s life changing from one of a strong man to that of a confused boy. I never could see that.
To me, she was a wonder. Magical.
Typing away with the patience of a saint, hands gloved … it was cold on that porch. She kept her word. She taught me home keys and all of the tricks to getting the paper and carbon paper in the typewriter straight. After a few lessons, she said I was ready to do it by myself. And she gave me the typewriter.
Keeping one’s word. She never told me to keep my word … she showed me … by keeping hers. Living life as you want to … no matter what all the ‘other people’ say.
She still sparks bright red wonder inside of my soul.
New item in Etsy Shop
I love these cat pillows … I first made them as a gift for my sister, Cathee, and my friend, Lois … loved them so much I decided to offer them in my Etsy Shop – please check it out – coming next = dog pillows.
Hoping this heat wave will pass soon … stay cool!
Until tomorrow xo♥
Be what you want the world to be
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