Utitled

I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to fill the page with. Stuck? I think so. I find once I start typing something usually happens. Unsure if this will present as one of those usual moments. It's been a handful of obscure and inspiring days. Made me long for the mundane. Maybe because the mundane leaves plenty of time to be consumed by the idea of complete freedom and what that could look like in this single life. Not applying the idea to the world at large.

It would be amazing to feel naive enough to believe it possible to play with such a concept, complete freedom and applying it to the world. And when I use the term naive, there is no negative judgement that particular word conjures up for me. I love the word naive. I associate such feelings as clean, soft, blissful, untouched etc...the word leaves me longing for those summer holidays during my primary school days. Yeah, naive is a very good word...hmm.

Back to the notion of complete freedom in this lovely full solitary life. I dare not complain about this life I lead. I am blessed. I am solidly aware of this...most days. I am aware of the greatness I am surround by in the company I keep, family and friends but. Oh, isn't that awful? There's a but, okay. But a feeling of self imposed constraint hangs around this blessed life. Wings spreading wide and soaring to discover places and spaces is what I'm dream of these days. To nose around in quirky little markets, shops and cafes. Breaking bread and toasting strangers in unfamiliar houses makes me smile. Getting to bump shoulders with new souls. To hear new sounds or lullabies to hold me. To belong to no one and nothing resonates in hidden places. Reveals these caverns and they are stunning. They are not dark, no. They are light with the greenest fields and bluest waters. And the most perfect breeze. That breeze that blows away the slightest of thought leaving only ease.

The Man

He's not a hard man to crack. He's all heart, incapable of hiding it. I look exactly like him. Even have the same bum as him. The same face, heart and bum. Hmm, makes me laugh when I think of my inheritance. He cries at weddings. Refuses to gossip. On occasion he will dip his toe in it but only the smallest toe. And only for a minute. He is quick to wake up from that unsavory behavior and be annoyed with himself and all who try to entice him. He's quick tempered and quick to cool. He's made instruments, taught himself to play. He was never embarrassed to sing out loud but why should he? He always sounded good. Wonder if he knows that, that he sounded good. I don't hear him sing anymore. Maybe that's because we don't live together. I hope he still sings. He's generous, kind and terribly philosophical. He's a historian. Speaks a handful of languages. He can read Sanskrit. A true renaissance man. He worked a blue collar job to make sure we had everything we needed. I can't imagine what dreams he gave up for us. I"m sure there were more than than a handful put away. Whenever I tell him anything is broken, he'll show up an hour later at my door with his tool set. Not one to procrastinate, no sir. I clearly did not get that from him. Never shirked any of his responsibilities, not a one. He's a good man.

I remember my mother was out of town and he and I attended a wedding reception together. We were chatting with people from our hometown. The evening was lovely. This old man we knew came over and had a catch up. After ten minutes of conversation, he looked at me and said, so it's just sherri who is left to be married, to be set. My dad said, no, she is set. I was so proud. I got to have that moment. We as children, either consciously or sub-consciously are always looking for that recognition from our fathers. That our lives are full, successful, seen and acknowledged. A life time of conversations, arguments, misunderstandings, silent moments, sometimes beautiful, sometimes sour all the while are seen and heard. And accepted for who we are. They are just moments and are enough for me. We need to take notice when they happen and hold them dear.

matter over mind? maybe.

The brain is a funny place to hang. The least healthy, I think. It pulls you out of the moment, throwing you either into the way past or just moments ago but regardless, past. Or slamming you through some portal into the future, none of it real, it hasn't happened. No, this is just the brain making a mess of the day, the week, for some, years. It thieves so much time away, our precious time. It can be relentless. It's unkind, to the self. It never really portrays love to the self, a false love maybe. Dear brain, what happened to make you so wicked? Who neglected you? hmm.

Trying to be less heady is no easy task, not all. It takes much practice and I've never been very diligent in the ways of practice. The thought, contemplation....that damn brain. It's what builds and nurtures the ego, feeding the fear, the clear path to paralysis. So what is there do? Well, I should think about this. No. I should not. What is...is. Right? All the pundits agree, be present. So damn hard. I do have to say, the moments I steal away from my dear old noggin are truly glorious. Absolute bliss. A shame me and the brain have it going on so hot and heavy. Practice. Okay, I will try.

Space

The desk is set up. There is a place to create. Stories, play, work. There is a space for me. My space. Not be shared with anyone else, unless I choose to. To sit everyday for a handful of promised hours dedicated to the page... pages if I get really lucky. Oh the page. I'm not terribly familiar with the page. I've heard of the page. Exciting things can happen, I've been told. Really? Well, we'll have to wait and see.

My excuse to avoid writing this time around has been I don't have my desk set up. There have always been excuses, so many excuses. I'm getting a little too old to be able to get away with this procrastination thing. And frankly, a little tired of it. I can't say it hasn't served me. Sure things did not get done but other adventures were had. And I'm not sorry. But when I realized I was wasting a ton of time virtual farming something had to be done. And let me tell you, I was not just working on my own farm. No, I was working on three other farms because God knows I have nothing better to do. It had to come to an abrupt halt.

She said "I have forty minutes before I have to be at the office. Is there anything else I can help you with? Anything you want to get organized? " I wanted to say no. But somewhere deep inside of me, my dreamer said "yes. Can you help me bring up my desk from the garage?" So that's what we did. And I have say, it feels so damn good. I should mention I am not sitting at my desk typing this. No, I'm sitting on my couch with the TV playing some bad Lindsey Lohan movie with my feet up on the coffee table. But I know very soon I will work my way towards sitting and writing at my desk. Give me time.

Love to you from me.

Two Girls

She remembers my shoes. And my old clothes. What is she talking about? Why have I no recollection about living in overly washed, faded by the sun hand-me-downs. I do remember we had many dreaming days. I do remember missing her when she left our home town. She was my best friend for the better part of my childhood. She was as strange as me. Two shiny glorious misfits We were a joyful twosome. She read books, so many books and i played make-belief.

We meet years later as women. Really, nothing has changed. We are still equally joyful. A little more experience under our belts. Still daring to dream. We discuss books, broken hearts, good wine and of course the world at large and at small. I want to convince her to come to Barcelona with me. Will she? We will see. She's sits on the couch next to meet texting and remembering me as a child, not knowing she is the subject of my blog entry.

I love her and I know she loves me. It's always been unconditional. Here's to enduring friendships. Can I get an amen? Amen.

I wish such love for all of you.

An Exchange.

A friend from my high school days came by earlier this week and spent a couple nights visiting. It always interesting chatting with someone who knew me from way back in the day. Hearing her perception of me from those days to present time. And listening to who she was and is which totally contradicted some of my notions of her. None of which were negative of course.

She said a couple things that have sort of weaved themselves into my psyche. One, if she sees or hears something twice, she takes it as a nudge from the universe to pay attention. There's something in that that I really appreciate and have been applying to my own life since.

And she shared an observation she had of me. It threw me a bit but not in a bad way. She noticed I say yes to everything. Yes, yes, yes. Really? Do I? Hmm....time to pay attention? Yes. It would explain some of my exhaustion. I kid...not really.

Tonight's menu includes a friend coming by helping me organize my home, pizza, wine and singstar. Productive? Me thinks...YES!

Big love to you from me.

Bright Star

And a good cry was had.

I remember when I was in India. I had spent a life altering six months there. It's funny, at the time I just had no idea the effects and life lessons that gorgeous country would have on me and leave with me in the years to follow. . Anyway, my mom and I had come across what felt like a a deserted railway station. India with it's population, surprisingly, the quiet can still be found in many places. We came across this station, I can't remember where we were headed. But what I do remember is seeing this woman crying out a man's name over and over. We didn't know what to do. Moments later somebody else had shown up, a local and she told us that the woman comes almost everyday and calls out to her son. There had been tragic accident, the train taking his life many years ago. She never moved, she sat strong in the grief of her loss.

John Keats dear Fanny never recovered either. She disappeared into the past, stayed there. Just her shell roamed the landscape where she and her deceased lover had discovered one another. It was a heavy sadness that followed his death and stayed with her til the end of her days.

I have heard many times over the years, via deep pain, loss, grief etc, big growth and strength will be discovered. Contentment and peace are promised. I don't know if that's true for so many. That old saying, which I'm sure to get wrong here, "better to have loved and lost, then to have never have loved at all"...I don't know about that. Fanny never got over Keats. The old woman in India probably died calling out to her son. I'm sure they're not alone in that.

These are ramblings of sleep deprived soul...I can't sleep. I stupidly had a cup of coffee during the movie. I'll pay dearly tomorrow I'm sure.

First Date

I met with a dear friend today, we brunched over tasty eats and blog-rich conversation. She suggested I start blogging. Hmmm...It's been on my mind for a good while. So, here I am. Hello. I'm shimsher. Very nice to meet you. I have no idea where all this will go. Or if it even goes...anywhere. Shall we try and start a writer reader relationship. One of unconditional love, encouragement and support. Okay, maybe that's going a little far on a first date...maybe. Maybe I should have applied those concepts to past relationships. Ah, relationships, let us not go there. Not tonight anyway. We have plenty of time for that. don't we? Let's keep things sweet and light tonight.

Tonight I will feast on a movie with my friend Geraldine, Bright Star. Hmm, not very light but I'm sure sweet. I'm expecting it to be full of romance and sadness. I could use a good cry. Why not? It's a shared indulgent amongst many of us, no? "They" say it's cleansing, a good cry that is. I could use a good cleansing.

big love to you from me.