Tag: inspiration

Hope For It

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I slid on my first long sleeve shirt of the season for my morning walk. Made a pour over cup of coffee and let it sit to enjoy upon my return. Grabbed the letter laying by the front door and once my feet hit the payment, into the mailbox it went.

Brian made a comment about Hallmark cards, but I rarely use them. Writing a letter or jotting a note is an opportunity to search out artists who make them and support their craft. One artist I’ve been hooked on for a while now is David Arms. Some of his cards lean toward Christianity, but not all of them. David’s intention is to convey hope and discovered his artistic gift late in life.

How he delivers your order.

This gives me hope because I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do. Since my daughter left the nest I ponder meaningful ways in which to spend this one, precious life. I’m sharing this 2 minute video in hopes you find it inspiring, because as long as there’s breath in our bodies, we still have a purpose. It surprises David to this day that he’s an artist and he describes it by saying, he didn’t know to hope for it.

Who Is David Arms?

To see the feature photo in all it’s glory, hover your mouse, or finger over it. It’s from David’s website here. To view notecards by David Arms, click here.

Turn it Around

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I’m not sure what the next chapter of my life holds, but I’m excited to watch it unfold. There’s not a great deal of certainty in this world, but that’s part of the intrigue.

Recently, I noticed taking my laptop over to the kitchen table to write so I’d have a view through the window. Mind you, my desk is sitting 10 feet away, but it’s facing the den which is pretty, but a dead-end view. It’s soothing to hear the thump of the laptop onto the table, knowing writing would come next. I’m a big believer in the quote by Burton Rascoe, “A writer is working when she’s staring out the window.” I’ve written quite a bit about our view while writing and it’s imperative to me for the words to flow.

Once done writing, I’d take the laptop back over to my desk, and plug it in to begin working. It almost became a sort of ritual, like writing time is over, and now back to the real world. To put a stop to this back and forth was to simply turn my desk around, so it’s facing that window, and that’s what I did. I’ve been pondering the simplicity of it and know that what I did with my desk can be used in many areas of life. If we want a better option, there’s possibility in there waiting for a helping hand to turn it around.

Geninne’s Art

Through the Middle

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Standing by the kitchen window, watching the warm breeze move the giant Canna Lily leaves reminds me how life is made up of simple pleasures. A friend sent a Marco Polo asking to see the yard filled with flowers like last year, but this year I see more shade than bloom. I planted flowers late compared to most gardeners, and there’s a late night yard critter plowing their snout through the flower beds. Each morning I’d walk outside to assess how many flowers had been uprooted and cast aside.

This has been going on for months and I’m just trying to pass the test. The mornings are on repeat…put the flowers back in the ground, water them thoroughly, only to find a new path of destruction the next morning. I mentioned to Hercules, “I’m going to summon the cat’s on Third Street to take care of this villainous creature!” We had a good laugh, but then I realized summoning feral cats wouldn’t be a very good example of Spiritual maturity. Here’s a definition I heard recently…

“Spiritual maturity is suffering while waiting patiently with a good attitude while trusting God and continuing to be a blessing to other people.”

Joyce Meyer

We don’t grow when things are good.

This post was started in June when I was in the middle. The middle is when life puts us through the same type test continually with no end in sight, but this did end, and some good came of it, like less flowers to care for. This year I spent 15 minutes every few days caring for the yard, compared to an hour a day, sometimes twice a day, last year. Patience is not only the ability to wait, but how well we wait. The yard looks nothing like I planned, but all of the flowers in pots feed my soul. Keep showing up, expecting the best and make it through the middle.

Left Feels Right

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Sitting at the kitchen table Pandora echoes through the house. Pink and Chris Stapleton sing, Love Me Anyway, and my mind drifts into a dreamy state.

I haven’t been on WordPress much this summer and gratefully, my Blog hasn’t suffered during my absence. The stats remained steady, so God still led people here to read and follow. I smile and give Him a nod of acknowledgement for the millionth time, “Oh yeah…It’s not about me!”

I’m training my left hand to manipulate the wireless mouse connected to my laptop and it’s been interesting. Having used my right hand and index finger for decades, it’s deserving of a reprieve. The practice began by using a regular mouse with my left hand and switching sides of the laptop it resides on. Almost a week in and my hand is finally reaching automatically to the left instead of the right. It’s funny how fast our mind trains our body, but there’s ample opportunity to retrain it to suit where we are.

I’ve noticed the left hand glides more gently than the right hand ever did. Somewhere along the path, the right hand became about speed and clicking through whatever’s in front of me. The left hand is more steady, present while being watchful in the moment and will pause almost like it has more patience while offering a much lighter touch than my right. To celebrate this learning experience I purchased a mouse that can be utilized by the left hand or the right, but for now my darlings the left feels right.

Logitech Pebble Bluetooth Mouse M350 – Flora

Find Your Words

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I spoke with Hercules before lighting the firepit. He’s my neighbor and ‘good choice’ guru, but he’ll tell you it’s because he’s made a lifetime of not so good choices that he can offer better answers today. He said, “Barbara, if you want to light your pit, then you should do it. Just drop a hose nearby.” I mentioned writing about him in a Blog and our conversation went something like this…

Him: I didn’t think you were Blogging anymore.

Me: Yes, I renewed my website for another year.

Him: But, the last time we talked you were going to stop Blogging.

Me: I tell myself that all the time.

Him: Well, I stopped reading the Blog because you said you were going to stop. I’ll go find the Blog.

Me: Awesome. You are Hercules!

He laughed and said, “Barbara, it’s from thinking I was Hercules all those years that got me in the shape I’m in today!”

Hercules supports my crazy ideas and doesn’t mind that I write about him. When I first met him it didn’t take long to realize how much wisdom he holds and I told him, “You should write a book!” He laughed, and shook his head, but now he lives next-door to someone who will.

I ran across a Blogsite where a man stopped Blogging last year and wondered if he lost his voice, but blogging helped me find my voice and refines it. My disclaimer is, “If you’re in my life, you’re probably going to be in a story.” The blogger who lost his voice was in a season where family was involved in every storyline, and he didn’t feel it was solely his story to tell. As writer’s we get to tell our side of the story.

Finding your voice is a path paved by alphabetized keys, or pen to paper. This Blog began in 2014, and you’d never know by reading it that my divorce was one of the nastiest times of my life. As a writer, we get to choose the parts we want to tell and can uncover the good parts if we want to badly enough. I’d venture to speculate the blogger who lost his voice didn’t lose it, but instead someone voiced their opinion about his writing and silenced him.

We have a voice and writing is practice for finding it. You haven’t lost your voice my darling, but you may need to sit with yourself in front of the blank page until you find your words.

The Plant Wipes

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My daughter stood in the doorway and said, “Your room has such a vibe since adding that plant.” I agreed, and a couple have been added to her room, but she’s been forewarned “If you come home one day and your room is my new studio, you stayed gone too long.” 😂

Hill Country Water Gardens began as an Artist date, but now it’s routine for immediate inspiration. I’ve written about it here, and it’s my happy place, but instead of looking for flowers for the yard, I discovered the magical, massive greenhouse filled to the brim with houseplants. That’s where the plant wipes were stacked as a display and just seemed like they would add value to my life and the plants.

You saw the smallish Fiddle-leaf Fig in the post, The Plant Stand, and that one is doing so well, I purchased a larger version for my bedroom. I don’t know if you noticed the tree in the feature photo of Queen of Everything, but that’s Jordan’s Fiddle-leaf Fig. They’ll get huge if you let them. The leaves are large, but I noticed over the weekend they love to collect dust. Well, that simply won’t do.

I brought the plants wipes home, opened the container which was reminiscent of baby wipes. Pulled one out, laid a leaf in my hand, and wiped the entire surface. I started at the top and worked my way down, one leaf at a time. The wipe began turning black, revealing evidence of dirt from each leaf. I’d discard it, grab a fresh one and keep wiping. It was a meditative experience.

I learned things about the plant being that close up, and they say working with your hands is food for the soul. Maybe that’s why I’m happiest in the yard with dirt covered hands. As you can see, there’s no dirt on this plant thanks to an odd little item we’ll remember as the plant wipes.

The Bottom of the Page

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It’s still dark outside my window, and the house is quiet and still. I’ve already written my morning page, and I call it that because I only write one page. Julia recommends three pages of longhand, but that feels like an excessive amount. It’s more enjoyable to pull out one blank page and fill in the empty space. I’ve been noticing a certain feeling toward the page of the bottom.

The halfway mark has a satisfying feel to it, and once you get there, ‘it’s all downhill’ as they say. The pen glides back and forth across the page, making it’s way to the bottom. I always pause when there’s only enough room left for two lines to be written. How do I want the page to end? Sometimes I simply wish myself a remarkable day and sign off.

The page is not about what you write, it’s just asking to be written. It’s become my daily disciple before the day begins. A certainty to be relied upon in this uncertain world. For the past few days there’s a feeling of accomplishment, or completion when filling in the bottom. My soul is at ease at the bottom of the page.