Thunderstorm and Great Minds Thinking Alike

I've been going on 2-3 hour walks every day as spring has approached, enjoying farmfield views and the crunch of gravel under my feet, the cool breeze and much-appreciated sunshine, shaking off the doldrums of winter and depression. But this morning I woke up to thunder and lightning and knew my daily walk likely wouldn't happen.

I was thinking of going upstairs, turning on some music, and dancing for exercise today, but I felt a little silly doing it by myself. Not sure why that is. But anyway, I thought about inviting a friend of mine over with her two girls. They live in a Tiny House and don't have a lot of room for doing cartwheels or dancing or even stretching on days when they have to remain indoors.

I went onto the computer to invite them, and behold, there was a message from my friend, asking if they could come over to play today. So ta da! we're on the same wavelength. A nice way to spend a soggy Tuesday.

Still need some more walking

 

"Your grief has expired.

There is a timeline for loss,

then you must move on."

They say to let go.

I’d be happy to oblige,

but it clings to me.

 

I say I’ll try to

shake it off, but it persists,

melded with my bones.

 

I confess I fear

if I release this sorrow,

you’ll truly be gone.

Walking My Feelings

This month I'm staying up at the church we're renovating, where I'm trying to establish better habits around eating and exercising. Part of the new routine is going on epic walks for 2-2 1/2 hours each morning, and shorter walks in the afternoon. It gives me a chance to explore gravel roads that I couldn't walk before with Brio, whose feet would have suffered on the stones. It's practice for me, getting used to walking without my faithful little dog, who accompanied me on almost every walk for the past 13 years. It's also a useful thing when my sorrow starts to get the better of me, because everything feels better when you're striding out in the fresh air.

My travels have taken me through beautiful farmland, just waking up from winter, with widely-spaced lovely yellow-brick homes with enticing porches that must be lovely shady spots to sit in summer. Yesterday I saw a pickup truck slowly driving down the road with three or four sheepdogs running before it, just a guy out exercising his dogs. On Easter Sunday, I saw a house with eleven cars parked in front of it, six of which were almost identical pickup trucks, plus one jeep and the rest were crossovers. The genes run strong in that family.

Yesterday, as I walked, I noticed gray clouds gathering on the sunny blue horizon, and a storm swiftly swept toward me. I figured a little rain was no big deal -- I could throw everything in the dryer when I got home -- but then it dawned on me that I was the tallest thing out there, surrounded by flat fields. Not a good scenario if there was lightning. I'd need to get low to the ground... I started eyeing the shallow ditches on each side of the road, wondering whether lying in a wet ditch was any smarter than standing up in a lightning storm. And we've had flooding lately... Was there an open barn within running distance?

But then the storm hit, and it was snow, not rain, and immediately I felt better about the situation. You rarely get lightning with snowstorms. So with hard little pellets pinging my face, I strode along, enjoying myself, and got home half an hour later with no harm done.

Refreshing, invigorating, lovely.

Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh

I just reread this book, which is a zany but perceptive commentary on life, and the section on "Thoughts and Feelings" hit me particularly hard. I don't often laugh aloud over a book, but it was hilarious because it's so true. I especially liked these comments: 

"...a majority of the feelings I feel are simply a reaction to reality not complying with my arbitrary set of rules"; 

"I am incensed that reality has the audacity to do some of the things when I CLEARLY don't want those things to happen"; 

"It feels unfair when the other things in the world refuse to be governed by my justice system"; 

"I don't like when I can't control what reality is doing."

That just about nails it.

Holy Week

I try not to get political in this blog, but at some point, you just have to call out evil for what it is.  As we approach Easter, the time when we celebrate the Atonement of Christ, Hegseth is directing there to be no quarter shown, which is a war crime. He is publicly praying for U.S. troops to be violent against those who "don't deserve" mercy...in the name of Jesus Christ. The One who taught "blessed are the merciful." The U.S. has threatened to target desalination stations in Iran, actually considering attacking a country's drinking water. This would also be a war crime. They're intentionally cutting Cuba off from vital resources, knowing full well that innocent civilians will die. I have heard it called a genocide. The only oil tanker that has been allowed through was Russian.

Those who "just follow orders" to carry out illegal acts are not immune to prosecution. They will be held just as accountable as their leaders. That is because we expect them to know the law and abide by it, to discern when an order is illegal. I am bewildered, dismayed, horrified by what is being allowed to happen. I would remind elected officials that, in the face of obvious crime, inaction can be considered just as culpable as action.

The Ad for Tai Chi Walking Made Me Laugh

My Facebook feed has lately included several ads for Tai Chi walking for people of a "certain age," and one of the phrases they keep repeating is that I'll be unrecognizable by next month. As if I have a need to go incognito or something.

Do you think if it really works, I could slip out the back door and make a run for it without anyone noticing?

Rising Storm

The wind woke me at three a.m.,

squeezing the house until its joints creaked,

stripping the yard of last year's leaves, scraping it clean.

I wanted to run out into it, stand with face upturned and arms out,

to let its buffeting scour me too, blast away my melancholy, anxiety,

to remind me how puny the world's worries are, compared to its glorious might.

I yearned for the wind to strip away all but hope, leave me fresh and clean, empowered.

But it was dark and cold, and everyone else slept, so I retreated

back under the blanket, curled, clenched like a fist,

and just listened to its roar.