Sitting on my bench early this morning, taking in a view of the yard, I made mental notes of what needed to be done to help it along. I’ve surmised the yard is my happy place.
I’ve been wanting a place to sit outside and connect with the morning. The bench highlighted in my previous post offers that space. What I like about this space so far is, it can be used solitarily, or I can invite people in and it will expand. Connecting with all kinds of people expands our thinking, and the heart, but they need to be invited in.
I’m practicing letting people in, and it’s not a simple practice. I had a neighbor stop by yesterday and we didn’t really connect. The visit began with my daughter’s dog taking a nip at her leg, and it all just went downhill from there. At first I was discouraged over our visit, but then concluded, it’s going to take more practice.
Keep the door continually propped open.
People are meant to cross our path for a reason and sometimes a season, but it’s rare that they stay forever. The only requirement from us is to let them in.
I noticed the piano sitting away from the wall more than it used to. It’s out on the floor. It used to be pressed up against the wall out of the way, with the music stand folded down. It was a piece of furniture dusted off every week.
I took piano lessons as a child, but didn’t like being made to do something. I’m still that way, but a couple of weekends ago, as my daughter was leaving the house, she looked at me and said, “Do something special for yourself.” The Rolodex in my mind started flipping through images, but came up empty on something specific.
I’ve created the kind of life where I enjoy everything I do, but what about something for my soul besides writing. Playing piano was a part of my childhood that feels incomplete. My neighbor offered piano lessons a while ago, so I walked inside and sent her a message.
I asked if the offer still stands, and if she’d be willing to give me lessons. She said yes, and we chose a day and time to begin. When I asked whose house she wanted you use, she chose mine and referred to it as a calm getaway.
The piano doesn’t need dusting as often, now that it’s being used. Everyday I sit down to practice, and run my hand across the keys I feel the progress dusting my soul.
Once you connect with the dream in your heart, it won’t leave, but it’s easy to put everything else before it. Since posting The Beach Rug, I’ve been following the trail of breadcrumbs.
I’ve had this cutting board for as long as I can remember. Why I took it with me when I left my marriage, I’m not sure, but am grateful I did. I was standing in the kitchen slicing a lemon for a pitcher of lemon water. No matter what I’m cutting, or how much pressure is applied, it just sits there unmoved.
I have a secret to share. When life gets to be a little much, or my job is throwing darts at rapid fire, I make croutons. My daughter will concur, a French Baguette in the house means contentment. I walk into the kitchen, lay it on the cutting board, and pull out my bread knife. I slice it in half, then slice it again lengthwise and continue slicing into the shape of croutons.
Step One of the croutons.
I’ve been doing this since mid March, so it doesn’t require any thought. This is my time to think through some thoughts. With each slice a thought floats by that may or may not need attention. When the slices are complete, I dump them into my red bowl to add garlic, parmesan and olive oil.
Slow the pace to watch your thoughts and only keep the ones of value. By letting go of the ones taking up space, we make room to see what’s important. Focus on that.
Always the red bowl and spatula.
My friend Shawna over at Finding a Sober Miracle left this comment, “This is exactly how my life works! And it happens all the time. And this morning, your blog is another bread crumb in my quest to find out just where I should be focusing my attention.” I found her comment in Spam as I was writing this post. Oh yes, darling check your Spam! Breadcrumbs have a way of hiding.
She left the comment on Breathe It in, and has no idea I’m writing this post which was titled days ago. When I told my daughter about the comment, she asked, “How does it make you feel?” I said, “It’s like confirmation of the path.” Watch for clues that you’re on the right path and follow the breadcrumbs.
Completed croutons in Caesar Salad.
We’ve been talking about living the dream. Here are the posts in order up to now. Thank you for your love and support. ~Barb
I crawled into bed, turned off the lamp and noticed my room pitch black. The nightlight was off. My daughter and I have this thing about, “As soon as you get into bed, you notice the nightlight is off and it’s across the room!”
The nightlight is a battery operated candle, and I love the glow it gives the room at night. It’s very soothing, until the batteries die. I got out of bed, walked across the room, pulled it down from it’s shelf, and jiggled the switch.
Nope. It was dead. (Dramatic music)
I walked into the hallway for batteries.
I remembered from previous experience, the batteries are a tight fit. A screwdriver helped pry them out. It’s not worth breaking a nail over. Once the batteries were replaced, it was ready to shine.
My thought was, I wanted my batteries to be changed as easily as this nightlight. Just pop out the tired ones, and replace with new. Ours are a little more complex, but I bet you know some things you can do this weekend to recharge.
Learn to rest and not quit. Take some time to recharge your battery.
My WordPress friend, Still a Dreamer, gets this moment. She refers to it as the Nectar of the Gods. Yes my darling, I woke up to the smell of a freshly brewed Chemex! Life doesn’t get any better!
She taught me how to make one, but mine are never as good as hers. She has it down to a science. She has class this morning, but took time to make one knowing it would be a beautiful way to begin this day. I was giddy holding this cup of magical brew.
Yes lovely, happiness is really that simple.
As my daughter was getting ready for class, she couldn’t decide what shoes to wear. She wanted to wear her new boots, but I could sense reluctance, so I questioned her quandary. Her response wasn’t what I thought it would be. It wasn’t so much about the boots, but how tall they made her look.
She is giving a presentation in front of her class. She is 5′ 8″ tall, just a little shorter than me. As she slid on her Converse sneakers I gave her a word of advice. You see, I felt the same way at her age.
I was taller than all the boys in school and wearing heels makes me look even taller. She doesn’t want to bring attention to herself, but today I know this…
Letitgocoach 