Fall is Definitely Here!

You know those chilly summer mornings where dew is on the grass glittering like a field of diamonds, and you know it's not going to last because the already revved up sun is trying its hardest to pull itself above the trees to dry everything up? There isn't nearly enough time to run for the camera, and maybe that's why it's so spectacular. You just have to enjoy it right then, you can't save it. And then there is that one morning, out of the blue, where the morning chill bites you all the way to the bone, and you know something has changed.

It's here.

*Cue the Fireworks*

The Celebration? A Blogiversary, of course! (And this lil guy's 1st birthday!)

I can't believe it's been a year already, but then I can. I feel so far away from where I was at that time, but I think that's proof that my plan (or what little of one I had) worked. I felt so bombarded by negativity, everywhere I turned there was more for the taking, as if the universe had somehow turned into ye olde high school lunch lady (hair net and all) ... you know the one who always gave out way too big of servings of drippy macaroni (a great reason to start brown bagging again). I started taking a look around, and realized I wasn't exactly helping the situation either. If what we're putting out there, really is what's coming back to us, then shouldn't we be more responsible for our actions, thoughts, expressions, vibrations, and whatever else were emitting? I admit, I wasn't doing my best (or for you life coaches out there, I wasn't showing up at 100%). This isn't my first time around the blog-block, but I'd realized that I'd started falling into the too familiar online trap of just complaining about things, or publishing rants about things that don't even matter. While getting things off your chest, and blowing off steam can be a good thing, it doesn't mean that every little gripe needs to be public, and what's the point in passing the negativity around? Does misery love company SO much that it disguises itself as a funny, or clever post so we think nothing whatsoever of publishing it? Or do we spend so much time convincing ourselves that this is a normal way to communicate, commiserate, and connect? Really? We have to connect over mutually hated topics, or things that we both discover are completely beneath us? It seemed the more questions I came up with like that, the more I saw the things around me conforming to this model, and the more I had to ask them of myself as well.

What's the Story Morning Glory?

What a gloomy, dark morning! Though I admit, it's a nice break from the heat wave ... I never thought I'd be so happy for rain. Last night I listened to the thunder, and the rain beating itself against every surface it could find until I fell asleep again. That is until the next thunder clap, of course.

The morning looked like it was trying to recover from a pretty raucous night (who hasn't been there?), the sun trying to illuminate through layers and layers of thick, angry looking, and tired clouds, creating one of those moody mornings where the colors are so intensely rich they're usually only found in dreams. I noticed it was time to collect the seed pods off my Morning Glory. Yes, they've had a short season, but when you're in an apartment you're kind of at the mercy of the location, and work it out as best you can. Whether I plant them again sometime, I don't know, but at least I collected the seeds instead of letting them reseed themselves right into the building's flower beds ... that would go over big, I'm sure!

Good Morning!

I may be the only person on Earth who wakes up with a hot cup of decaf ... (true!) ever since slaying
the caffeine dragon about two years ago, and in doing so, once the detox ran its course, I realized I never really drank coffee for its stimulating effects. I love the taste of it, and the more I pay attention to the things I do, I've come to see I'm a creature of all things comfort. Good food, good drink, music, textures, lighting ... what can I say? I like to be cozy.

I Needed to Breathe Today.

Time Out, I'm convinced, was created by a grown up who just needed to go to a quiet place and think for a moment about life, how things develop, his or herself, and those around us. Then some parent saw this person doing it, and decided to make their children do it when, in fact, the adult is the one in need of the breather.

I took my moment.

Wrapped in a friendly blanket, hot, apple cider steaming up from my reindeer cup in hand. I curled myself up in the chair that I stained, and built, next to the seeds I dropped into pots some months earlier who've sent up their ever ambitious sprouts who continue to reach for the sky on this misty morning so palpable you could see and feel the moisture in the air as if walking through your very own cloud. Watching lazy leaves cut trails through my cloud on their way to the cool grass below while the whole world slept ... I was a million miles away.

Part of me was, anyway. The rest of me couldn't have been more here. My senses felt more alive than they have in weeks. I felt a part of everything around me, for a brief moment I was seamless with everything in existence ... or, you know, the stuff in my immediate environment, at least.

As I sat, and observed I thought about all the things we do to one another to disrupt this sense of connectedness we all share. We do this in many ways, but the one that seems to discourage me the most is how we choose to communicate with each other ... not necessarily the words we use, but how about the words we don't use?

If time is relative, and not something we're constantly chasing, or running out of, losing, or gaining, then how is it so many of us don't have enough of it to devote to actively communicating to those around us? What is keeping us from meaningful exchanges if this "time" business is an illusion? Are we really that self-centered? Do we just not care? Are our egos intoxicated by the idea of making other people feel as though we see them as somehow less important than ourselves?

In this moment on my patio I found myself thinking about a class I was in my last semester at college. It was all about communicating, public speaking, how powerful our words are, and lack thereof, how to use them effectively, how to work closely with other people, and how to create a respectful environment, among other things. It was more than just a "do a silly speech about how to make jam on toast until you no longer fear speaking in front of peers" kind of class. It broke down who you thought you were, and showed us that in essence we are all the same; our fears were shared, we all had things to overcome. They may have been different, but we all had them even if at different saturation levels. It taught us that communicating is more than just chicken scratch on paper, or noise we're just spitting out at other people. There's a reason why we do it, in fact probably several at any given moment. But the underlying reason every time would arguably be that the person trying to express something thinks it is important to do so. When we ignore it, or listen to just the parts we like, or respond to just the things we're interested in, what are these actions saying about us as individuals? I am more important than you.

It's not a very attractive way to present ourselves to the world, not in the superficial sense, but more that it's not an effective way to attract people into your life, or keep them there for that matter. It's no wonder that the very people who live in this way are often disgusted by the fact that they are not listened to or given what they feel is appropriate face time. If like, does indeed, attract like then it is no surprise that people who neither wish to treat others in this manner, nor wish for themselves to be treated as such, don't stick around. I know I find myself retreating when it's apparent . It would make sense then to heed the call of those before us who grace us with their notions that being the change you wish to see, will indefinitely bring about change, before we're all just a bunch of squawking noisemakers with nothing of any value whatsoever to say.

Which wouldn't matter anyway, because none of us would be listening...

And with that, I finished the last swig of cider, and padded my slipper-ed feet back inside.

When One Cat Opens a Door

Another jumps out the window. Is that the saying? Well if it's not, that's what happened anyway. The day I wrote about my stray, my sister's indoor cat escaped, and hid by the mailboxes until the mailman found her. Poor baby, was pretty traumatized, and ragged, but our other sister got the call and went to bust her out of The Clink.

So instead of coming up with wildly creative content to discuss here over the weekend, and start off August in a blogging frenzy, we were scattered, searching for our little Smokey, hanging posters, and tromping through flower beds, and shrubs ... but it was all worth it, just to get her back.