The Day I Found My Heart (Rock)

When I took these pictures, I thought it might be the final outdoor fire ever in the backyard of the home I've shared with my family for the past six years.  In April 2010, on the last official burn day of the season, I privately said goodbye while savoring my time here.  A fat, utterly handsome bullfrog came out of his wet cave and watched me and kept me company as I worked to burn winter's fallen debris.

I love this backyard.  I love the trees and wild growing things like the jack-in-the-pulpits, trillium, cross vine, mountain laurel, and wood violets.  I love the creek and the boulders and all the creatures that make the woods come alive with movement and sound.  It's a magical place and I will miss it dearly.  But I've been granted a reprieve.  I can stay here until June 1, 2013.  That's just after my youngest daughter graduates from high school.  I won't miss the house so much, but I will miss this sylvan paradise.

On that spring day last April, I climbed down the bank into the creek bed looking for inspiration.  I was hoping to find some little token that would offer me comfort or a bit of insight.  Walking across a sand bar, I looked down and the first thing I saw was a heart-shaped rock.  It was almost perfect.  I picked it up and have carried it with me ever since.  It accompanied me on all my medical visits.  It went through a biopsy, an MRI, two CT scans, and six weeks of radiation therapy.  Had I a place to hide it, my heart rock would have gone into surgery with me as well. 

With my court date and cancer treatments behind me, I guess I've learned that no matter what happens I still have my heart.  Mostly intact, it's only slightly damaged, just like my almost perfect heart-shaped rock.  I can live with that.  Perhaps one day my beating heart might even be whole again.

Impressions of Autumn

Leaves Floating on Water

Follow The Stream, See Where It Leads

 

Don't be afraid.

The World Is My Oyster

OK, so that's not really an oyster.  I know.  But it's the closest picture of mine that I have available.  It's some sort of fresh water bivalve, right?  It came out of Lake Lanier.  I took this picture during the famous drought of '08.  This empty shell is perched on top of some kind of interesting vegetation that grew where the lake should have been, under normal circumstances.

Why am I writing about oysters?  It's because last Saturday, September 25th, I awoke in a most optimistic state.  Or frame of mind, that is.  The sun was already shining, the leaves on the oak trees outside my window were dancing in the breeze, and my first thought upon waking was, "The world is my oyster".  I let it sink in.  I felt great, for some reason.

As I went about my business that day, and the following day and subsequent days, I kept repeating it:  "The world is my oyster".  But what did it mean?  I knew I had heard the phrase, but why, all of a sudden, was it stuck in my head?  Did I hear it recently?  Did I read it?  If so, where?

When faced with a quandary, I did what I always do.  I googled.  That's right.  Spell check doesn't recognize the word yet, but it will.  Googled is definitely a verb.  Anyway, I came up with the Shakespearean reference to The Merry Wives of Windsor quote, in which Pistol claims:

"Why then the world's mine oyster,

Which I with sword will open."

Well, that didn't sound like me.  I dislike sharp instruments.  I kept pondering.  I dug a little deeper and found out a little bit about oysters, those mysterious bivalves.  (I love that word:  bivalve.  It just rolls off the tongue.)  Anyway, it seems that pearls, the precious objects produced by oysters, are actually the result of an irritation.  Wow.  Pearls grow from discomfort, from an invasion.

And then I began to think of myself as an oyster.  I'm self-contained.  I have an outer shell.  (Figuratively speaking.)  I'm affected by my environment.  I take in things.  Good, nourishing things as well as unhealthy, harmful things.  I'm sort of an ecosystem within an ecosystem, not unlike an oyster, or anything else living in existence.  So where's my pearl?

Maybe my pearl is wisdom; the wisdom that comes from acceptance.  Or maybe it's grace, that spot deep within me that's always perfect.  That place where no harm can be done.  That sacred place where peace dwells.

The world is my oyster.  For now, that is enough for me to believe.

Victorian Boy

This is one of my treasured flea market finds. If you enlarge the photo you can see that he is holding a pocket knife in his left hand. I love the clouds and ethereal quality of this image. Eight dollars might have seemed like a lot for an old damaged photo of a stranger, but at the time I simply could not pass this up. I've had it for years now. I love this little boy of long ago.

Today I Celebrate

Because I can.

Jackson Pearce - Writers' Blok

Discovered a new Young Adult author this past weekend at a local book festival. She's chic, fresh, smart, funny, inspiring. I just love her.