Stepping Aside

01-20 Hallway_Door-Monticello

Every morning, I let our dogs outside. Every morning, our 16-year-old Yorkie Poo barks when she’s ready to come in. Every morning, I open the door, but she just stands there staring at me. I try to call her inside and get her to move because I know what’s coming.  I hear collar tags jingling and rapid footsteps barreling toward the door. Then, it happens: our Golden Retriever tramples the small dog as she tears into the house. Every day, the Yorkie Poo gets up and looks a little dazed like she’s trying to figure out what just happened; then she will come inside.

As an outsider (who happens to be warm and cozy standing inside,) it’s obvious to see that if she either walked in when the door opened or moved aside, she wouldn’t get stepped on.  This got me thinking about how I sometimes get stuck in the routine of doing the same thing and expecting different results, whether it be dealing with people at work, home, or even my own behavior and reactions to things.

When I feel the frustration of enduring repeated offenses, I need to remember to pause and look at the situation differently. There just might be a solution as obvious as stepping away from an open door.

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It’s been a while since I’ve written fiction, but on Thursday, I will post a story inspired by another one of Emilio Pasquale’s fabulous photos.  I hope you’ll come back and check it out – he certainly gave me a challenge this time :)

When?

01-15 Rim trees6

I remember…

how the newness sparkled,

radiant beneath glittering light.

Now, I see a finish dulled-

dormant in the heavy night.

When did the rose hue

turn a lonely shade of blue?

 

I remember…

the optimism, swearing

winter wouldn’t freeze us;

my fingers chilled, I realize

I’ve forgotten my gloves.

When did summer drift

away on golden leaves?

 

I miss…

musings about the future,

imagining the reminiscing

of life snapshots

collected in our hearts.

When did hope fail

to illuminate tomorrow?

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Inspiration:  I wrote this about a month ago about my marriage and how it began as full of hope and faded into what it is today.  My goal is to write something that isn’t utterly depressing soon… maybe some fiction (it’s been a while!)   I’m glad you stopped by…. have a beautiful Thursday :)

I Won’t Break

01-12 Snow

I bent over backwards,

turned inside out,

to create the illusion of peace.

Whenever the dust settled,

you blew through again,

disrupting the balance.

***

Shoulders hunched, back bowed

from the weight of life,

I wait out the storm.

Each breath anticipates

the point in time

when I can stand tall once more.

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Inspiration:  During our recent snowstorm, I saw this young tree bent from the weight of snow.  When I spotted it, I immediately thought that it was nature’s representation of me.  Several times, I went outside and shook the snow off of it and it would spring back to the upright position.  I have hope that I, too, will bounce back like this little tree.

A Tale of Two Houses

Every year, the kids beg me to buy those gingerbread house kits. Every year, I give in. It’s like I forget about the huge mess they make. Or, maybe I think the joy they get from decorating the houses outweighs the annoyance of sweeping up bits of candy for weeks afterward.

Yeah, I definitely forget about the mess :razz:

A couple days before Christmas, the kids got out their kits (I learned years ago that they could not build one house together.) I was working, so it was a great excuse to stay out of their project. I like things tidy, so my presence would’ve put a damper on their fun anyway (I think my younger son had more frosting on his jeans than his house.)

My older son (he’s 12) presented his masterpiece, complete with candy cane arch and candy walkway. The showoff even made a guest house out of regular graham crackers:

01-07 Gingerbread1

My eight-year-old son was frustrated that his house wouldn’t stay ‘glued’ together. I heard his aggravation, but he didn’t ask me for help, so I stayed away. When he did come get me to look at his creation, he presented it as a “gingerbread house in a tornado”:

01-07 Gingerbread2

I found this interesting, because it seems as we get older, we tend to color inside the lines, so to speak. I like my younger son’s creative spin (haha, spin… tornado… never mind) because it reminds me that things don’t have to be perfect to be visually interesting.

This is a reminder that once in a while, I should take the opportunity to toss the rules and let my creativity just happen.

Being A Good Friend Is Hard

Sometimes a good friend can see what we don't...
Sometimes a good friend sees what we don’t…

Good friends can often see our blind spots.  It takes courage to tell us stuff we don’t want to hear, but they are there to comfort us when life is rough.

Recently a friend shared an observation which she’d kept to herself for years. What she said kind of hurt, but I wish she’d spoken up sooner. As I thought about obsessed over it more, I cycled through the possible motivations for silence and sharing. It could be a desire to not sway my choices (though decisions made on inaccurate observations are inherently flawed.) It could be that she doubted the strength of our friendship (sometimes when told something we don’t want to acknowledge, we lash out.) Maybe she kept her silence until she thought I could handle the truth. It could be a combination of these, and other factors. I try not to dwell on the reasons I cannot know, and instead, appreciate the fact she finally did speak up.

Sometimes life feels like a corn maze.  The greater design of my life is a mystery to me. I’m so focused on the day-to-day that I can’t see anything beyond the space my feet occupy.  Actually, I tend to see what I want to and rationalize the rest. That’s where a good friend can be invaluable.

Offering superficial approval, passive agreement, and placating compliments is easy. Being a good friend is hard.

My hope is that we can all have a good friend- and be a good friend to someone.