Christmas, I know, is not about the store-bought gifts that are nicely wrapped and placed beneath the tree only to be torn open before the buttcrack of dawn on Christmas day. I love it though, when, unexpectedly, (how was that for a run-on of overusage of commas???!) there ends up being gifts under the tree for me.
This year, for me, has been about focusing on the inner gifts of Christmas and the Love that abounds within me. I have felt happy about my early decision to release the need to purchase gifts and to declare the store-bought-gift-giving portion of the season complete before I had even begun. Mostly, that was out of necessity due to the fact that my bank account has ran dry. However, it was also a very conscious decision to discover a different way to celebrate this year. I could have gone willy-nilly with my emergency credit card. I could have. I chose not to.
What has happened is I have felt peaceful through the whole season... since Halloween, actually. When I have been in stores, which has been rarely, I have been able to browse and smile and leave with only what I came there to get. The few gifts that I did allot for myself to buy - which was only for my daughter - came in under the amount that I had decided I would spend. And, still, I feel peace.
So... this morning... when my daughter woke me with a bright smile and a whispering, "Momma... can we get up? I waited until seven," I ventured into the living room with her, my father and his wife in tow. Much to my amazement, I had more gifts placed at my feet to open than I have ever had on one Christmas morning in the last ten years.
I felt overflowing with gratitude and love and peace and reverence. I feel grateful that this year has been about finding the LOVE that is this season and turned out being a huge experience of receiving.
Merry Christmas!
Showing posts with label morning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label morning. Show all posts
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Bee-Bop
It is amazing how good I feel this morning.
I was in traffic that was at a dead-still stop on the freeway stuck between two double-length big rigs carrying gravel and beside a truck loaded with objects that looked like huge missiles or torpedoes. It was a complete parking lot, seemingly without reason. I was late. I have been late a lot. Sometimes having your former husband as your current boss does have it's perks. I imagine that if a "real life" boss got this text:
Late late late
I'm so very late
I'm stuck in traffic
And I'm late again
Late late late
Their response would not be:
It's good to have a sense of humor in times like these.
(Then again, I probably wouldn’t have sent that text to a “real life” boss. I probably would have called and begged forgiveness...)
Soooooo... I turned up my stereo and I sang and laughed right out loud. I danced as much as possible when constrained by a steering wheel and seatbelt. And, I got to work feeling fabulous.
It's a beautiful day outside and in.
I was in traffic that was at a dead-still stop on the freeway stuck between two double-length big rigs carrying gravel and beside a truck loaded with objects that looked like huge missiles or torpedoes. It was a complete parking lot, seemingly without reason. I was late. I have been late a lot. Sometimes having your former husband as your current boss does have it's perks. I imagine that if a "real life" boss got this text:
I'm so very late
I'm stuck in traffic
And I'm late again
Late late late
It's good to have a sense of humor in times like these.
(Then again, I probably wouldn’t have sent that text to a “real life” boss. I probably would have called and begged forgiveness...)
Soooooo... I turned up my stereo and I sang and laughed right out loud. I danced as much as possible when constrained by a steering wheel and seatbelt. And, I got to work feeling fabulous.
It's a beautiful day outside and in.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Anew
Each morning brings new opportunities for me to choose into life. Each morning brings a reminder that this life IS limited and shorter than some of us may have originally thought. Each morning brings the sunrise and the song of the morning dove. Each morning brings one more chance to be grateful that I am alive, that my loved ones are alive. Each morning brings another chance to hear my daughter's sweet voice and relish in her giggle. Each morning is an opportunity to choose to hold my best friend in a space of appreciation and gratitude. Each morning is one more chance to say, "I am alive. I am here. I AM ALIVE!"
Gratitude overflowing...
Gratitude overflowing...
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Hormonal
I slid into the parking space aware that my breath was lodged in my throat, caught on something that was a strange mixture of a gasp and a moan. They were beautiful. There before me were three men in their work uniforms of jeans, boots and navy blue tees. Each of them were wearing mirrored sunglasses. None of them were exceedingly buff or model-gorgeous, but the combination of the three filled my senses to overflowing.
One was leaning casually against the wall, his right foot propped up high along the brick while he drank his Red Bull. Another was leaning against the ice machine in much the same stance, guzzling a bottled frappucino. The third was standing firmly with a strong, wide stance, reading the morning news. They were men being men, without the chaos or confusion that women can throw into the mix and I thrilled at the sight of them.
There is something so magical about men together. They have an innate camaraderie that is ever-present. Their sense of unspoken competition is seemingly about who can dead-lift the most weight and remain standing, rather than the emotional back-lash and eye-gouging that women resort to. I watched them for as long as I could before it would become obvious that I was. They were seemingly oblivious to my presence, only focused on being themselves, relaxing prior to a day on the job.
I loved the moment of being witness to sheer being-ness that I was witnessing. I felt my hormones race through me, awakening me to the presence of a male. While I say that I am curious about a same-sex relationship, I am fairly certain that I am solidly heterosexual. Watching these men this morning and feeling my systems race to meet them was further proof of the latter.
I appreciate men for the amazing creatures they are. I appreciate that our society has pushed them into a corner, taken away their divine right to feel and, yet, still expect them to be strong. I appreciate that, for the most part, our men are able to pull it off and look forward to the day when everyone realizes that emotional AND strong are a viable possibility and a much healthier way to live.
One was leaning casually against the wall, his right foot propped up high along the brick while he drank his Red Bull. Another was leaning against the ice machine in much the same stance, guzzling a bottled frappucino. The third was standing firmly with a strong, wide stance, reading the morning news. They were men being men, without the chaos or confusion that women can throw into the mix and I thrilled at the sight of them.
There is something so magical about men together. They have an innate camaraderie that is ever-present. Their sense of unspoken competition is seemingly about who can dead-lift the most weight and remain standing, rather than the emotional back-lash and eye-gouging that women resort to. I watched them for as long as I could before it would become obvious that I was. They were seemingly oblivious to my presence, only focused on being themselves, relaxing prior to a day on the job.
I loved the moment of being witness to sheer being-ness that I was witnessing. I felt my hormones race through me, awakening me to the presence of a male. While I say that I am curious about a same-sex relationship, I am fairly certain that I am solidly heterosexual. Watching these men this morning and feeling my systems race to meet them was further proof of the latter.
I appreciate men for the amazing creatures they are. I appreciate that our society has pushed them into a corner, taken away their divine right to feel and, yet, still expect them to be strong. I appreciate that, for the most part, our men are able to pull it off and look forward to the day when everyone realizes that emotional AND strong are a viable possibility and a much healthier way to live.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Good? Morning
It has not escaped my noticing, nor my awareness of irony, that I have thrown up four times in the 4 1/2 months I have lived at my father's. I am not meaning the cute, delicate cough-cough-choke sort of barfing. I am talking full-out, full-body, barf-up-your-toes-and-turn-yourself-inside-out barfing. I am talking body spasming and cramping and distorting violence. I am talking about ripping my stomach out through my nostrils sort of barfing. It so ain't pretty and leaves me feeling beat up, dizzy, light-headed and so exhausted that I slide into a limp-rag heap upon the cold linoleum floor of the guest bathroom and lay there, unable to think congruent thoughts for quite some time.
I hate to vomit. Hate it! Therefore, I will do, pretty much, everything in my power to not throw up. Sometimes I am successful and talk myself out of it. There have been two such situations since I moved to dad's. Had I not been successful in those attempts of stopping the projectile spewing, the number of occurences would have been six. When one time in that much time is too much and four seems over the top, you can imagine how grateful I am to have avoided the other two.
So something ripped me out of my sound and comfortable sleep this morning at 2:36. It was a sense of panic with which I rose and I wondered what in the hell had accosted me. Then I realized it. I was sick. God! Damn! It! I also knew this was one of the times that I was not going to be able to positive-mental-attitude my way out of it. I lay in a huddled mass upon the bathroom floor, shivering in my fleece robe and waiting for the assault to begin, all the while chanting away the minutes, "I am okay. I am okay. I am okay."
Ye-eah. Not.
Forty minutes later...
It was so violent that it felt like I was spewing fire and I was left with my throat feeling like I was storing simmering coals for the next marshmallow roast. The unproductive dry heaves at the beginning, which clawed their way out of me with frightening intensity, hurt more than the bile and stomach content. But when that finally came out with a force strong enough to lift me off my knees, time and time again, I thought I was dying. And... oh. my. god. The pain of it! I was assailed all over. Every inch of me hurt.
It was only one episode this morning that probably lasted no more than two actual minutes of mind-numbing spewing. For that, I am grateful. However, this morning when I awoke, just 2 1/2 hours after falling into a comatose fetal position under a pile of blankets on my bed, I could only lay there like a fish too long out of water - weak, scared, unable to breathe and exhausted from his battle on the beach.
Good morning?
Yes, well, it is morning.
I would argue that "good" part though.
I hate to vomit. Hate it! Therefore, I will do, pretty much, everything in my power to not throw up. Sometimes I am successful and talk myself out of it. There have been two such situations since I moved to dad's. Had I not been successful in those attempts of stopping the projectile spewing, the number of occurences would have been six. When one time in that much time is too much and four seems over the top, you can imagine how grateful I am to have avoided the other two.
So something ripped me out of my sound and comfortable sleep this morning at 2:36. It was a sense of panic with which I rose and I wondered what in the hell had accosted me. Then I realized it. I was sick. God! Damn! It! I also knew this was one of the times that I was not going to be able to positive-mental-attitude my way out of it. I lay in a huddled mass upon the bathroom floor, shivering in my fleece robe and waiting for the assault to begin, all the while chanting away the minutes, "I am okay. I am okay. I am okay."
Ye-eah. Not.
Forty minutes later...
It was so violent that it felt like I was spewing fire and I was left with my throat feeling like I was storing simmering coals for the next marshmallow roast. The unproductive dry heaves at the beginning, which clawed their way out of me with frightening intensity, hurt more than the bile and stomach content. But when that finally came out with a force strong enough to lift me off my knees, time and time again, I thought I was dying. And... oh. my. god. The pain of it! I was assailed all over. Every inch of me hurt.
It was only one episode this morning that probably lasted no more than two actual minutes of mind-numbing spewing. For that, I am grateful. However, this morning when I awoke, just 2 1/2 hours after falling into a comatose fetal position under a pile of blankets on my bed, I could only lay there like a fish too long out of water - weak, scared, unable to breathe and exhausted from his battle on the beach.
Good morning?
Yes, well, it is morning.
I would argue that "good" part though.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Outside My Window
Outside my window today
The sky is blue
Bluer than I remember it being
On a usually cold November morn
And perhaps that is because
It isn't cold
A balmy 65 degrees
The target for today
Grateful, I am
For the blue, blue sky
The lack of clouds
The lack of snow
And yet... I yearn for that snow...
A simple sign of the season
For now, though,
I will drink in the blue sky
And bask in the uninterrupted sun
From a cloudless sky
And remember days gone by
When I wished for the sun to shine
akm 11/19/07
Friday, October 19, 2007
622
My boss gave me the day off yesterday and today. It is a relief to know that I don't need to worry about forcing myself to get up, get ready and get going when all I want to do is go back to sleep.
I fell asleep somewhere around 12:45 this morning.
I was woke up around 4:12.
I have done some personal work online and I am feeling exhausted.
I can hear dad and his wife preparing to leave.
And my eyes are drooping.
My first client isn't until noon.
Thank God! I can go back to sleep.
I fell asleep somewhere around 12:45 this morning.
I was woke up around 4:12.
I have done some personal work online and I am feeling exhausted.
I can hear dad and his wife preparing to leave.
And my eyes are drooping.
My first client isn't until noon.
Thank God! I can go back to sleep.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
I spy...
This morning, on the way to work, I turned my stereo up so loud that I could not hear myself think. I did it on purpose. I have been thinking too much lately.
Having my ears and head numb opened up my eyes. As I drove, I spied...
-A man smoking and drinking what I assume to be coffee while he drove. Not unusual I know. However, it was the manner in which he did these things that struck me as noteworthy. Whenever he would swill back his morning drink, he would close his eyes in ecstasy. It was as if each drop was precious, to be cherished. His left arm hung out his opened window, holding the specialty cigarette wrapped in distinguished russet-colored paper. When he would take a drag, he would inhale deeply, eyes closed and then he would hold the smoke in his mouth, savoring the flavor, I imagine. When he would release the smoke into the atmosphere, he would lean his head out the window and slowly exhale, watching the little clouds float away.
-A horse eating soggy grass.
-A dead raccoon on the side of the road.
-Snow covered mountaintops to the west. Cloud covered mountaintops to the east.
-Two geese flying southeast.
-A billboard that always disturbs me by the headsup.com campaign. It shows the outline of a child on the ground at a crosswalk and reads, "Children should be seen and not hurt."
-A metal headless horseman on a metal horse at a local haunted house attraction sitting still in the morning dampness and looking worse for the wear after last night's storm.
-A youthful woman with hair so white and long, from behind I thought she would be an old crone. The color was that color I admire on elegant women who have aged so gracefully. When I pulled in alignment with her, I realized she was a young woman who was applying mascara while gazing in her rearview window. The contrast was startlingly attractive.
-Silver-gold linings on the eastern clouds that hid the rising sun.
-A plastic owl perched upon the sound barrier wall along the highway which I traveled.
-A homeless person pushing all of his belongings in a shopping cart.
-A police officer rocking out in his marked vehicle, drumming on his steering wheel.
-A sign upon a marquee of a church which read, "Eat your pride – it has no calories."
Having my ears and head numb opened up my eyes. As I drove, I spied...
-A man smoking and drinking what I assume to be coffee while he drove. Not unusual I know. However, it was the manner in which he did these things that struck me as noteworthy. Whenever he would swill back his morning drink, he would close his eyes in ecstasy. It was as if each drop was precious, to be cherished. His left arm hung out his opened window, holding the specialty cigarette wrapped in distinguished russet-colored paper. When he would take a drag, he would inhale deeply, eyes closed and then he would hold the smoke in his mouth, savoring the flavor, I imagine. When he would release the smoke into the atmosphere, he would lean his head out the window and slowly exhale, watching the little clouds float away.
-A horse eating soggy grass.
-A dead raccoon on the side of the road.
-Snow covered mountaintops to the west. Cloud covered mountaintops to the east.
-Two geese flying southeast.
-A billboard that always disturbs me by the headsup.com campaign. It shows the outline of a child on the ground at a crosswalk and reads, "Children should be seen and not hurt."
-A metal headless horseman on a metal horse at a local haunted house attraction sitting still in the morning dampness and looking worse for the wear after last night's storm.
-A youthful woman with hair so white and long, from behind I thought she would be an old crone. The color was that color I admire on elegant women who have aged so gracefully. When I pulled in alignment with her, I realized she was a young woman who was applying mascara while gazing in her rearview window. The contrast was startlingly attractive.
-Silver-gold linings on the eastern clouds that hid the rising sun.
-A plastic owl perched upon the sound barrier wall along the highway which I traveled.
-A homeless person pushing all of his belongings in a shopping cart.
-A police officer rocking out in his marked vehicle, drumming on his steering wheel.
-A sign upon a marquee of a church which read, "Eat your pride – it has no calories."
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
4:00 am
My daughter and I have moved into my father's house, or rather, the very petite guest room of my father's house. Four months prior to the move, I had made the firm decision that I would not be signing another lease with my apartment complex. I had decided I was going to downsize to pay off bills, clear up my credit and qualify for a house. I planned on six months until I was in my own place. As September neared, and the impending move loomed near without having anywhere to go, my anxiety level rose exponentially. Then I got sick.
My illness made it impossible to look for a new residence. Eventually, as I succumbed to the Nile, I realized that I had to resort to my last resort, plan X, or we were going to end up on the streets. That was when I called my father and his wife. It was a move of desperation while I wallowed through West Nile.
I am grateful they had space and were willing to take us in. Having been married for almost eighteen years without any kids from that marriage, they have spent the bulk of their marriage together alone. When we lived with them in Idaho Falls for a couple years, after I went into hiding from my former husband, we were all so much younger and they lived in a place with three separate floors so we were able to find space alone. Here, in their much smaller, one-floor house - which is more practical for them as they age - we are walking on top of one another. I imagine it is a huge stretch for them.
I know it is for me.
It wasn't until this morning at 4:00 am - normal waking time around here, God knows why - as I lay in this bed listening to them bumble around their room and my father's deep voice resonating with muffled, insensible timbre, that I realized how big of a stretch it is for me. I had no idea how much of a homebody I had become and how much I cherish my alone time, my quiet time, my space, until I moved here. There is nowhere for me to go here for peace. In a two bedroom house where the television blasts at 800,000 decibels for most of the evening, there is no respite.
I am spending a lot of time holed away here in the guest room - in the mornings with my head buried under a pile of pillows praying for silence and stillness. I feel like a hermit. I am imagining that my father and his wife wonder if I don't like them. And, bless their hearts, they are doing everything in their power to make it comfortable here for us and to accomodate us. I just had no idea what moving here would mean for me.
Nor did I know what 4:00 in the morning looks like. I have never been a morning person and I am really not a morning person when I don't get a good, healthy chunk of uninterrupted, deep sleep. One of the lingering effects of West Nile is that I am still not sleeping as soundly as I did prior to getting sick. So I awake - at 4:00 am every single damn morning - feeling grumpy and tight and pissy because I am awake two hours prior to when I need to be.
It's not that they wake me up purposely. They are just doing their thing, their little routine that they have worked themselves into after eighteen years. Thing is, their little routine happens on just the other side of that four inch, poorly-insulated wall. I can hear it if one of them sighs. God help me if they find their libidos!
One good thing, though, about this ungodly waking hour... I never miss a sunrise now.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
God Light
One of my favorite images that photographers capture is "God Light." I have always wanted to have my own piece.
I caught some this morning...
I caught some this morning...
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Overflowing
Some days I surprise myself.
Like this morning, for instance...
I feel joy to overflowing on a regular basis now. And that is a very new experience for me. I had heard it was possible and, for a long time, believed it to be for everyone but me. Thing is, though, it - this overflowing joy feeling - is for everyone simply for the asking. And then, the receiving. My hang up was the receiving part. I asked and asked, but then did not sit still long enough to receive.
And now, as I hold this joy, I am humbled and inspired and feel so deeply blessed. Deeply enough that, as I looked at the clouds this morning that were swollen with much needed moisture and I heard the birds singing, I felt tears in my eyes. Tears of absolute joy.
I am filled to overflowing.
Like this morning, for instance...
I feel joy to overflowing on a regular basis now. And that is a very new experience for me. I had heard it was possible and, for a long time, believed it to be for everyone but me. Thing is, though, it - this overflowing joy feeling - is for everyone simply for the asking. And then, the receiving. My hang up was the receiving part. I asked and asked, but then did not sit still long enough to receive.
And now, as I hold this joy, I am humbled and inspired and feel so deeply blessed. Deeply enough that, as I looked at the clouds this morning that were swollen with much needed moisture and I heard the birds singing, I felt tears in my eyes. Tears of absolute joy.
I am filled to overflowing.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Crisp and Sliding
The air is crisp this morning and I like that. I walked out of my place with shower-fresh-wet hair, wearing flip flops, capris and a tank top. I actually paused when the cooler air hit my skin, fully waking me up to the beauty outside.
I am appreciating the puddles of water gathered on my sidewalk that have yet to evaporate, unlike three months of mornings. I like looking in them and pretending their reflective surfaces hide a magic doorway to a fairy kingdom and if I walk quietly and approach at just the right angle, I will slide right in and become their Queen.
I am appreciating the puddles of water gathered on my sidewalk that have yet to evaporate, unlike three months of mornings. I like looking in them and pretending their reflective surfaces hide a magic doorway to a fairy kingdom and if I walk quietly and approach at just the right angle, I will slide right in and become their Queen.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Independence
Today America celebrates its Independence.
On this day, my mind goes to my cousin Jeff Fisher who volunteered to step up and make a difference. I feel proud of him.
I feel proud to be an American.
As I drove around this morning, I passed a spot I pass several times every day. This spot is a favorite gathering place for vagabonds and homeless people alike. They stand on the corner holding tattered cardboard signs with black Sharpie marker etchings that declare their state of poverty and displacement.
This morning, a young man stood there, holding his little square and beaming like the Chesire cat.
His sign read:
On this day, my mind goes to my cousin Jeff Fisher who volunteered to step up and make a difference. I feel proud of him.
I feel proud to be an American.
As I drove around this morning, I passed a spot I pass several times every day. This spot is a favorite gathering place for vagabonds and homeless people alike. They stand on the corner holding tattered cardboard signs with black Sharpie marker etchings that declare their state of poverty and displacement.
This morning, a young man stood there, holding his little square and beaming like the Chesire cat.
His sign read:
Spaceship broke down.
Need new parts.
Need money for new parts.
Please help so I can go home.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Anarchy in the Morning
Anarchy in the Morning
I arose at exactly 3:25 am. In the world of Numerology, that is a 10, which, according to wikipedia, is the number of “rebirth.” It has been stated in the metaphysical world that magical things happen between 3:00-3:30am and that if you wake during this time, you have the ability to channel amazing creative gifts.
I have come to recognize the call that pulls me from the depths of sleep at that wee hour of the morning – the time when, seemingly, the entire world is still blanketed in a heavy hush that is not even interrupted by the song of an ambitious bird. I know when I awake in a rush of knowing, images from my dreams vivid and hot before my eyes and my hand aching for a pen to capture them, that there is something waiting for me. There is something that will be revealed. There is a part of my calling here on Earth being handed to me.
This morning, when my eyes flew open, I felt disoriented because I was in my bed instead of the car I had been driving in circles over sidewalks and up and down curbs to the delight of my friend. I had seen images that I am meant to capture and reveal to the world, although I do not know how and feel unconfident that I have the skills to do so. I had received a message that was meant to be shared. I felt energized and inadequate all at the same time.
For two minutes I lay there, eyes clenched shut and willing myself back to sleep. I knew, if I rolled over and gave in to the need to write it out and open up to that creative channel for all that would follow, all sleeping would cease. Sometimes, if I choose to ignore the call, I can go back to sleep – a fitful, unfulfilling sleep, but sleep nonetheless. This morning, however, that would not be the case.
I awoke full-heartedly and wrote out all I could remember. I wrote parts of the message that still foggily lingered in my head, in faith that the full message would come to me when I sat at the computer to truly write it. As soon as I opened to the channel, the images and ideas poured through non-stop. My hand would stop writing, I would feel a moment of relief and sigh as I glanced at the clock and realized I could still get some sleep. I would lay my head down, close my eyes, breathe deep and welcome sleep, only to be bombarded with more ideas.
When it appeared the information was complete, it was 5:00 am. I knew if I attempted to fall asleep then, I would only get another hour or so of sleep and I would be irritable all day long. I felt energized as it was and decided to get a jump on the dawn. In the shower, I planned out my morning. I would stop on the way to the office to grab some yogurt – which I was craving and I found that to be odd – and some juice. I planned, since it was on the way, to stop at the Walmart down the street from my office.
I arrived at 5:59 am – exactly one minute before opening, although I didn’t plan that.
A significant crowd had already gathered in front of the locked doors surrounding the darkened lobby. Many of them were anxiously pacing, while continually glancing at their watches and pointedly observing the “hours” sign which plainly stated the store opened at 6:00 am every day.
I chose to stay in my car, listen to my stereo and use the few moments until opening to apply a dosage of mascara and a brush of foundation powder. With that done, there was still no sign of admittance so I turned up my radio and sang to one of my favorite songs.
However, the natives were getting restless.
At 6:10, I mistakenly thought I saw the lights dawning brightly in the lobby so I wandered near to the door only to find it had been an optical illusion. Now, though, near the door, I could feel the palpable energy of what the hell... why aren’t they letting me in? that was brewing in the crowd. One woman was actually standing with her nose pressed to the glass, glaring at the people inside.
I stood across the parking lot watching the crowd and observing the convincingly oblivious personnel inside the store. One employee continually walked across the darkened lobby with her yellow-plastic-bristled broom – not sweeping, just carrying it – seemingly unaware that there was a wall of glass through which a growing crowd of impatient shoppers were stalking her.
A man appearing to be a manager of sort walked into the darkened lobby and back out. Someone turned on the lights around 6:12. The manager walked back into the lobby and, suddenly, it was as if he could magically see through the glass. He glanced up at the lights, at the door, pointed at it and called over his shoulder to a nearby manager who had been bent over a cart, relaxed, chatting and laughing with an un-uniformed woman. The manager’s chatty female friend tossed her head back and laughed as everyone near them lamely opened their hands, tilted their heads and shrugged, I don’t know.
I swallowed a giggle as I heard the murmurings rumble through the agitated group. Not good.
Two minutes later, a diminutive woman toddled around the corner and pulled the coiled forearm band from her armpit and down her arm, keys visibly clanking against one another as she fumbled the key around in the lock of the exit door first. Go figure. She manually and forcibly opened the electronic sliding door and the angry mob about plowed over her in their rush to get inside.
For one instant, I wondered if I had missed an important notice. Was there some sort of secret HUGE shopping extravaganza going on that I didn’t know about and only happened to be there for it on accident? Or were these people just this pent up already at 6:14 in the morning?
I waited until the scuttle was over and had the impulse to lend the woman a hand as she climbed out of the silk ficus trees into which she had climbed to avoid being crushed.
Inside, the store was a madhouse. They were doing inventory and stocking shelves at the same time. Everywhere you turned there was an obstacle to overcome to reach the items you needed. Stock boys pulled massive, creaking stacks of boxes on straining, rolling carts – gigantic cardboard ants crawling over a picnic. A cacophony of sounds filled the air; explosions of fists going through empty boxes to flatten them; slicing and sluicing razors through packing tape; groaning and sighing from the employee’s laborious and frenetic assignments.
With a dash, several dodges and numerous bobs, I found my yogurt, juice and grabbed some graham crackers for good measure. Then I strolled to the front – well, as “strolled” as I could while being on guard for my life – only to find one check stand open. The checker – notoriously the slowest checker in the entire store – running the express lane was still organizing her money from the bag into the till. Not only was she slow, she was damn ornery. She always is.
I smiled.
People in front of me and behind me tapped their toes and jangled their keys as if their frenzy would somehow convince her to step it up. I knew it wouldn’t.
Another ten minutes later – with only two customers and a total of three items before me – I was out the door, smiling and stifling a giggle, yet again. After all that, I was glad I was still able to smile. It meant I would have an amazing day.
I drove out of the parking lot, scaring a local pigeon from dining upon the Big Mac unappetizingly smashed into the asphalt, and into the morning sun that had risen to peek over the mountains while I had been witnessing the anarchy.
Yes! It is a beautiful day!
I arose at exactly 3:25 am. In the world of Numerology, that is a 10, which, according to wikipedia, is the number of “rebirth.” It has been stated in the metaphysical world that magical things happen between 3:00-3:30am and that if you wake during this time, you have the ability to channel amazing creative gifts.
I have come to recognize the call that pulls me from the depths of sleep at that wee hour of the morning – the time when, seemingly, the entire world is still blanketed in a heavy hush that is not even interrupted by the song of an ambitious bird. I know when I awake in a rush of knowing, images from my dreams vivid and hot before my eyes and my hand aching for a pen to capture them, that there is something waiting for me. There is something that will be revealed. There is a part of my calling here on Earth being handed to me.
This morning, when my eyes flew open, I felt disoriented because I was in my bed instead of the car I had been driving in circles over sidewalks and up and down curbs to the delight of my friend. I had seen images that I am meant to capture and reveal to the world, although I do not know how and feel unconfident that I have the skills to do so. I had received a message that was meant to be shared. I felt energized and inadequate all at the same time.
For two minutes I lay there, eyes clenched shut and willing myself back to sleep. I knew, if I rolled over and gave in to the need to write it out and open up to that creative channel for all that would follow, all sleeping would cease. Sometimes, if I choose to ignore the call, I can go back to sleep – a fitful, unfulfilling sleep, but sleep nonetheless. This morning, however, that would not be the case.
I awoke full-heartedly and wrote out all I could remember. I wrote parts of the message that still foggily lingered in my head, in faith that the full message would come to me when I sat at the computer to truly write it. As soon as I opened to the channel, the images and ideas poured through non-stop. My hand would stop writing, I would feel a moment of relief and sigh as I glanced at the clock and realized I could still get some sleep. I would lay my head down, close my eyes, breathe deep and welcome sleep, only to be bombarded with more ideas.
When it appeared the information was complete, it was 5:00 am. I knew if I attempted to fall asleep then, I would only get another hour or so of sleep and I would be irritable all day long. I felt energized as it was and decided to get a jump on the dawn. In the shower, I planned out my morning. I would stop on the way to the office to grab some yogurt – which I was craving and I found that to be odd – and some juice. I planned, since it was on the way, to stop at the Walmart down the street from my office.
I arrived at 5:59 am – exactly one minute before opening, although I didn’t plan that.
A significant crowd had already gathered in front of the locked doors surrounding the darkened lobby. Many of them were anxiously pacing, while continually glancing at their watches and pointedly observing the “hours” sign which plainly stated the store opened at 6:00 am every day.
I chose to stay in my car, listen to my stereo and use the few moments until opening to apply a dosage of mascara and a brush of foundation powder. With that done, there was still no sign of admittance so I turned up my radio and sang to one of my favorite songs.
However, the natives were getting restless.
At 6:10, I mistakenly thought I saw the lights dawning brightly in the lobby so I wandered near to the door only to find it had been an optical illusion. Now, though, near the door, I could feel the palpable energy of what the hell... why aren’t they letting me in? that was brewing in the crowd. One woman was actually standing with her nose pressed to the glass, glaring at the people inside.
I stood across the parking lot watching the crowd and observing the convincingly oblivious personnel inside the store. One employee continually walked across the darkened lobby with her yellow-plastic-bristled broom – not sweeping, just carrying it – seemingly unaware that there was a wall of glass through which a growing crowd of impatient shoppers were stalking her.
A man appearing to be a manager of sort walked into the darkened lobby and back out. Someone turned on the lights around 6:12. The manager walked back into the lobby and, suddenly, it was as if he could magically see through the glass. He glanced up at the lights, at the door, pointed at it and called over his shoulder to a nearby manager who had been bent over a cart, relaxed, chatting and laughing with an un-uniformed woman. The manager’s chatty female friend tossed her head back and laughed as everyone near them lamely opened their hands, tilted their heads and shrugged, I don’t know.
I swallowed a giggle as I heard the murmurings rumble through the agitated group. Not good.
Two minutes later, a diminutive woman toddled around the corner and pulled the coiled forearm band from her armpit and down her arm, keys visibly clanking against one another as she fumbled the key around in the lock of the exit door first. Go figure. She manually and forcibly opened the electronic sliding door and the angry mob about plowed over her in their rush to get inside.
For one instant, I wondered if I had missed an important notice. Was there some sort of secret HUGE shopping extravaganza going on that I didn’t know about and only happened to be there for it on accident? Or were these people just this pent up already at 6:14 in the morning?
I waited until the scuttle was over and had the impulse to lend the woman a hand as she climbed out of the silk ficus trees into which she had climbed to avoid being crushed.
Inside, the store was a madhouse. They were doing inventory and stocking shelves at the same time. Everywhere you turned there was an obstacle to overcome to reach the items you needed. Stock boys pulled massive, creaking stacks of boxes on straining, rolling carts – gigantic cardboard ants crawling over a picnic. A cacophony of sounds filled the air; explosions of fists going through empty boxes to flatten them; slicing and sluicing razors through packing tape; groaning and sighing from the employee’s laborious and frenetic assignments.
With a dash, several dodges and numerous bobs, I found my yogurt, juice and grabbed some graham crackers for good measure. Then I strolled to the front – well, as “strolled” as I could while being on guard for my life – only to find one check stand open. The checker – notoriously the slowest checker in the entire store – running the express lane was still organizing her money from the bag into the till. Not only was she slow, she was damn ornery. She always is.
I smiled.
People in front of me and behind me tapped their toes and jangled their keys as if their frenzy would somehow convince her to step it up. I knew it wouldn’t.
Another ten minutes later – with only two customers and a total of three items before me – I was out the door, smiling and stifling a giggle, yet again. After all that, I was glad I was still able to smile. It meant I would have an amazing day.
I drove out of the parking lot, scaring a local pigeon from dining upon the Big Mac unappetizingly smashed into the asphalt, and into the morning sun that had risen to peek over the mountains while I had been witnessing the anarchy.
Yes! It is a beautiful day!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)