I Have A Note...

...from my mother excusing my absence today. Well, not really. I just have nothing in my head to share. Other than rain which is coming down pretty significantly. And, strangley enough, the landscapers showed up in this mess to continue the work we started yesterday so, I have to go.

But, there's plenty of other stuff written if you want to visit with me and my previous musings. I'd be grateful. Oh, here's one...if you want to learn more about my mother, and trust me, she was umm, interesting... read On Your Mother's Side.

Who would name a child Norma Lee? "Norma-lee, I'd say it was an odd choice..." That would be my grandmother Blanche; another wild woman. And, if her peculiar name wasn't enough, Norma named us Glenn Lee and Holly Lee. Seems to be an odd affliction of those born in the South, to name all off-spring after the great General and the Lee family. No matter that we are in no way even remotely related.

When I was little, family would sing, in a completely politically incorrect fashion in this day and age, sounding like a B Movie, in a Coolie falsetto, "Haalley Lee, Chinee Girl...."

Loved that...you just know I did. Not. About the 38th thousand time of hearing that great joke, I simply behaved as if I didn't hear them. If you want me to respond, use my name. If you don't want me, then keep acting like a dope. We'll both be happy that way.

As if naming a kid born in July, Holly, wasn't odd enough... but that was Norma for you.

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka Norma's Kid

Only Room For One

I've been in a viewing marathon of a show on Style Network, Clean House. Have you ever watched? Like other reality shows, it has a following because of a Human Being's lack of control. Not only those messy enough to qualify, but also for those who view it. It's the same as simply having to look at an accident. You just have to look don't you? You know you shouldn't gawk, but you can't help yourself. Even though you try to be sneaky and subtle as you do.

I see you looking...

If you're not familiar with the show, this team goes into houses that are truly mini-landfills hidden behind walls. Houses where Human Beings have reverted into a primal state of existence hunting and furrowing through mounds of detritus that they call, "their stuff."

No matter how many times I see it, in whatever form it comes, I can't help but say, "You've got to be freakin' kidding me! Who lives like that!!!????" Apparently, many. Sadly, many. Or, there wouldn't be a show would there?

I like the show because they take time delving, not only into the trash, clutter, and madness of the stuff...but also into some of the thinking that caused the inhabitants to allow their space to get like that.

Consistent themes are unearthed: Loss, Fear, Control, Confusion, Lack of Awareness, Apathy. Oddly enough, apathy is the least often uncovered. Nah, certainly not apathy; anything that's as messy as these places took a lot of energy. That sort of chaos doesn't happen because people couldn't find the energy to work at it. More times than not, it's fear of letting go that gets people in these horrible situations.

Fear. When it moves in, fresh air and order move out.

The other consistent contributor to this madness on Clean House is people inheriting 'stuff' from someone and allowing it to clog up their space. Furniture and bits and pieces of a dead parent or other relative. It's attempting to cling to the memory of a person via the things they left on earth. Coupled with the inability to say, "Oh, that truly is lovely, but no thank you," when it's so thoughtfully offered.

"No!" It's a good word. Why are we so reluctant to say it at the right time? And, why can't we remember that people are not their stuff? We won't forget them if we pass on inheriting their china.

I'm so not a Martha Stewart foot soldier. Even though I have a beautiful home which most find artistic and pleasing. It's interesting and eclectic. I work regularly to keep it picked up and stowed in place, but I am not slaving for domestic excellence. Not. Doing. It.

Especially once the weather breaks...I'd much rather putter in the gardens. However, I require peace in the kingdom and all to feel welcome. So I don't write my name in the dust; if I leave it undisturbed, it's less obvious should you chance by for a cuppa'. I'd much rather visit with you than dust.

I'm wondering today, about how much clutter possibly lives in our heads. How much thinking that we should let go, but still sits piled up in corners. I'm wondering how many thoughts I allow space that aren't mine at all. Crap I've inherited from someone else. Things they thought. Opinions they held. Biases they believed. All given to me, for me to store.

I'm wondering how much internal negative chatter I hear about others, but that I also hear me using against myself, is the junk that someone else left. That now resides in my cranium...

I'm beginning to consider- I need to be more vigilant about what I allow into my head home. Not everything I think needs to be given a safe haven. Not everything I hear needs to be invited in. And just because someone is important to me, doesn't mean I have to inherit their thoughts!

Let's face it. In your brain, there's only room enough for one. If you have stuff in there that someone else dropped off on you because they didn't want it, need it, or find it good enough to hold for themselves... out to the curb with it. Start today. If it makes you uncomfortable, kick it loose. If you've outgrown the notion, evict it! But, first you need to become aware that it's living in your space. Go ahead! It's a good thing to question your 'stuff'.

I adore William Morris. His aesthetic influenced Frank Lloyd Wright and others. He was elegant in the most fundamental ways. Colors, fabrics, and furnishings. He's one of the founding minds of the Arts & Crafts Movement. Part of the fluid grace of Art Nouveau.

He directed, "Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.

And The Queen concurs with this is excellent wisdom. Advice that suites our head spaces as well as our living spaces. It's Spring. Time to take inventory. Time for Clean Psyche' House. Time to evict thoughts that are not useful or beautiful.

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly

I Got Up To Be With You

Having the same soul penetrating quality as "Proceed with a joyful heart and know that all will be well," had when said to me, this morning I was pulled out of sleep by a snippet of a dream that I can't recall. At all. Just woke to words...

I heard a slice of misty conversation, "I got up to be with you." And, I thought I must be dreaming about the need to get up in the early dark to visit with Michael before he leaves for his long, long day.

To visit with my husband who just got home from two grueling days of accompanying his Dad for medical testing. A wonderful man who is trying to keep his adult world balanced while feeling the fears of a child over his beloved parent. "I got up to be with you," I wanted to say, but I was still half asleep. And he was in a rush to get out the door. We had time only for a deep hug. No significant words shared...

Then, after his departure, I thought perhaps these words were meant for you. As I write this, I am aware how much I've come to enjoy our visits each day. I look forward to hearing what you are up to. I find your words and comments to be thrilling in every way. Even the things you think are just your run-of-the-mill, to me seem pretty important.

Thanks to this blog world of ours, I've met many talented people who are kind and generous. I continuously marvel over this myriad of creative folk, and how easily we can tap into this stream of creativity thanks to the Internet.

So, I thought I was saying, "I got up to be with you," to each of you. But that's not quite right either.

As I sit with my coffee watching the gray day break with falling rain, and listening to the birds, the real meaning of the words dawns on me. How they impact my worried fearful soul. They whisper to my anguished thoughts that circle around in my brain like a hamster on a wheel.

As I always say, it is all about me. All about me. About me. Me.

For, I realize that the words are for my sore ears; not really for Michael or you. It is Spirit. Reminding me in all things I am loved and never alone. Who whispered in my dream, "I got up to be with You."

Another every day miracle. I hear. I am grateful. And, I am blessed. I will keep faith and remember to, "Proceed with a joyful heart and know that all will be well." I wish the very same for you as your day unfolds.

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly