I’m sorry if the theme song from Sesame Street is stuck in your head, but I couldn’t help but sing it when I saw this landscape greeting me on my way to work this morning. But Nature is a fickle thing….five minutes after I passed under this skyline the black clouds fought back and the snow flakes liberally spilled onto the ground. Welcome to November!
The subject line of this post was always one of my favorites of my mom’s strange sayings. Whenever she was feeling under the weather or she was just exhausted she would pull out this beauty so we knew her true state of mind.
Yesterday and today I really empathized with this statement and its underlying feeling. I feel like I have lost my mojo. I’m sure it is nothing more than a case of the November blahs but getting out of bed the last two mornings has been a struggle. The bleak grey landscape and bare branches hold no promise of those sunny, warm days that are a thing of the past. I may regret typing this next string of words but I really can’t wait for the ground to be blanketed with snow. That is a bold statement taunting the God of weather since this was the view from my living room last winter!
At least that fresh fallen snow is beautiful to look at and, if nothing else, it makes my dog extremely happy which, in turn, makes me happy.
In the interim, if anyone has seen my “get-up-and-go” could you please send it home to me? It’s time to kick November’s arse and I could use the back-up!
I saw this quote on Facebook the other day and it really hit me in a profound way. “Scars remind us of where we have been, but they don’t have to dictate where we are going.”
I have many scars. Not all are visible, but I know where each and every one of those hidden memories are located under the surface of my skin and they serve to remind me every day of the strength I possess and the road that led me to where I am now. Those deep fissures in the core of my being mark a place in my journey that I have overcome an emotional hurdle and I wear those inner scars as a badge of triumph. Although they may not all be visible to the naked eye, I know where each of them lies under the layer of cells that shroud those truths. I know they are etched in the foundation of my being and they are meant to remind me of the path I chose to follow.
My scars inspire me. Those deep cuts in the fabric of who I am have made me mend in ways I would have never foreshadowed as a child. Jagged edges of cloth that once hung in tattered pieces have since been woven into the comforting quilt that now envelops and protects me. What were once gaping wounds, those scars are now veiled by memory.
My scars are lessons. Whether those wounds were self-inflicted or whether they were cast upon me by another’s carelessness with my emotions, they serve to teach me about strength and endurance. They give me knowledge and a new sense of purpose.
My scars are a map. They are path that will lead me back to my past, but the road ahead still lies uncharted and those scars will not burden my footing. There are no footprints to guide me in my journey forward. My future is an open road and only I can lay the steps in the dirt that will take me in the right direction. My scars hold no power over my destiny, they only exist to mark the places that I have been.
It seems I may have taken the fortitude of the Red Squirrel completely for granted when waging my war on the furry little bastards.
I entered the battle with the most humane of intentions. I brought home a live-trap so I could capture and relocate the hairy little mercenaries that have been seeking asylum in the walls and ceilings of my home. With my dog and I at sentinel posts, we have been rendered helpless and can only try to figure out how the bristly little vermin have been able to extricate themselves from their metal incarceration -twice! – and re-enter the sanctity of our home.
I have not yet reached the moment when I clench my fists, indignantly throw my hands into the air and scream, “This means war!”. I am certainly bordering on enough sleep loss and misguided rage to window shop in the hunting section of the local Home Hardware.
I have warned my co-workers – if I come in to work on Monday with traces of black dye under my eyes and remnants of any camouflage, things did not go well on the weekend. I can only hope if I reach Defcon One that I am a little more adept in the woods than Elmer Fudd!
“Shhh. Be vewy, vewy quiet.”
I started my blogging journey in August of 2012. I had no real direction, I had no real premise for the project I was about to launch and I had NO idea what large, creaking door had just opened into my imagination.
Since that first string of awkward words I have found a rhythm. I have found a group of friends with like minds who share the same disease linked to sleep deprivation that I have come to love and understand. I have found a community of people who love writing, who feed on words and language and who encourage me to feed that literary wolf who hides in sheep’s clothing. I have found my home away from home.
Today marks another milestone in my blogging journey. Today my number of followers increased to:
That is such a big deal for me and I just want to thank each and every one of your for your support and encouragement! I guess it’s time to get writing that next blog post.
I am feeling very reflective today, about life and the way people treat each other and this quote seems to sum up my mood completely.
For attractive lips, speak words of kindness. For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people. For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry. For beautiful hair, let a child run his / her hands through it once a day. For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone. People, more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed, never throw out anyone. Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you will find one at the end of each of your arms. As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands; one for helping yourself, and the other for helping others. Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind, don’t matter and those who matter, don’t mind.”
~ Audrey Hepburn
(image credit: huffingtonpost.com)
A few months ago, a dear friend and I were having a glass of wine and a conversation about our school experiences. It took us a while to remember that far back, but we both agreed that we had some professors and educators who really stuck out on the maps of our scholastic journeys.
I wrote an earlier post about my most memorable teacher. He led my Grade 6 class with great enthusiasm and really encouraged us to think outside of the box. Nothing was ever wrong when it came to imagination, hence my love for writing. (If only he had held that same belief when it came to History class and those red x’s on my tests!)
My friend told me about one of his professor’s who had a deep impact on him in a very short time. It was early in my friend’s law school days when this teacher introduced the syllabus of the curriculum they would be following by writing six capital P’s across the chalkboard with spaces in between each letter. A baffled class of students who wanted to be recognized for their genius all muttered amongst themselves, trying to be the first to solve the great riddle on the board.
The teacher assured them that this first lesson would be neither covered in the course outline, nor appear on any final exams. As the relieved crowd fell silent in anticipation, the professor proceeded to tell the eager group of future litigators what great importance these letters would have on their career as an attorney, or any career for that matter. The teacher filled in each word as the group watched, not saying a word. When each word had been completed, this is the phrase that spanned the front of the classroom:
“Proper Prior Preparation Prevents Poor performance”
That string of words struck a deep chord within many of those students. Those 6 p’s were vigorously scribbled into notebooks, on the back of ironically unprepared hands unable to find their notebooks and etched permanently in the minds of those students hungry to succeed. My friend was one of those hungry students, and succeed he did.
All these years later, sitting in a local restaurant having a glass of wine, my friend still remembered that lesson and what an impact it had on him. I only hope his instructor knew what an impression he had on those students and that he potentially created an entire generation of people who make their p’s a priority.