AND THEN THERE'S TODAY . . . . .
. . . . . . when life decisions have to be made, with the knowing that . . . well . . . there really is no absolute knowing. One just takes a risk, goes for the unknown, hopeful that those PAST risks that turned out to be just, ummm, WRONG (risky and flat out mistakes) and might just slip quietly into the night and disappear. This time it will be different (beat the drum!). This time I'll be in alignment with life. This time I won't be convincing myself that everything will turn out just fine. This time I won't be so nice. (Lay the drum down)
CHANGE happens just when you don't expect it (or even welcome it).
"Just when the caterpiller thought the world was over, it became a butterfly" (Anonymous)
I've morphed, and have had to call upon aspects of myself that haven't been active or given a voice.
My name, KELLY, means little warrior. The warrior is now awakened and is blinking her eyes, looking around, and thinking . . . . WHAT THE ? . . . . . DAMN, THERE'S WORK TO BE DONE HERE!
I still need a moment to adjust my eyes . . . . . . . . . . . .
YESTERDAY
The only thing I can think of to say about yesterday is a quote from Masahide.
" . . . . barn's burnt down . . . . . . now I can see the moon."
A BREAK IN SYNCHRONICITY
Mr. B has kept himself very busy this last hour by going through the pantry and emptying out specific boxes of crackers and pasta so that he can use the cardboard boxes for his artwork. I have salvaged the tossed-aside foodstuffs, and now they are happily back in the pantry in zip-lock bags. (What DID folks do before the invention of zip-locks, for God's sake?)
While in the pantry, I noticed that among the many boxes of dried pasta I keep on hand, there is one errant box that doesn't belong. Remember that Sesame Street ditty that went something like, "One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong . . . . . . . . ."? Well, I personally prefer and purchase De Cecco pasta. Always. And yet, somehow, there is a box of Barilla Angel Hair pasta in my pantry. How can this be?
Of course, this is the one box that I would have loved Mr. B to have cut up into 3's or L's so that I wouldn't have to look at it when I open the pantry. But no, there it sits taunting me while lying there right on top of the De Cecco Rigatoni. An invader to my peace and calm.
The situation calls for a deep breath and a large glass of Chardonnay.
