Those of you who haven’t been quarantined your whole lives have probably heard this saying before. It’s the first thing that popped into my head when I saw that today’s UU Lent word is bloom.
Let’s see how to do that. Image by @dmotif via Twenty20.
It being spring in glorious central Texas, you see blossoms everywhere. They look especially vibrant this year, since it’s been cloudy or rainy most of the time, and there is a lot of very green grass to contrast with it. I don’t think they are what I’m going to talk about today.
Bloom is a verb. When a plant blooms, it puts all its energy into reaching out to other plants, insects, birds, and animals. It sends pollen out to make seeds. Then the females put even more energy into taking what they got and making fruit.
That’s how I see the idea of blooming where you’re planted. Just like a plant, we don’t get to choose where we do our growing. Some of us get nice rich soil and lots of nurturing, others of us get placed on the sidewalks of life.
Burr clover can bloom on the driveway.
Right now a lot of us are planted in an isolated place. I’m even in a basement, for heaven’s sake. What is helping me a lot is taking the situation I’m in and learning from it. While I’m all cozy in here, I’m thinking of ways to be a better person, do my work better, and contribute to my community.
Blue-eyed grass is one of my favorite signs of spring at the ranch.
I’m planted right here, Mommy. I’ll bloom later, okay? I’m also metaphorically exhausted.
When I bloom, I’ll be able to make the best possible flower, and we can all do that, no matter where we’re starting from. You take what you’re given and make the best of it, or not, I guess.
Let’s hope that the fruit we eventually make from all the introspecting, preparation, and hard work we are doing to grow and bloom will be sweet, nutritious, and strong, so we can plant more ideas.
I’m metaphorically worn out now. Are you? What do you think about when you think of blooming?
Yeah. Don’t listen to that advice. It is perfectly appropriate to cry now. It’s just that when I saw that today’s UU Lent prompt was cry, the first thing I thought of was this Linda Rondstadt song.
I don’t cry anymore. Right around the time I started feeling better about myself, I stopped crying almost completely. I’ve teared up a couple of times, both from happiness and sadness, but I’ve only really cried twice that I can remember in the past year.
My good buddy Brody in 2018.
When my precious Brody got hit by a car and died, I certainly cried, as one does when they lose a family member. I found out that another heeler I know got hit and killed on the same road last week. Just punches you in the gut. You try to keep them in the fence, but they sure have a drive to chase.
My constant companion, at least for a long time. I think he’s standing in the same spot as Brody in the previous picture.
The last time I cried was just before we left on that ill-timed recent vacation. Once again, Penney had chased Vlassic off my bed. He’d already spent a couple of nights at my brother-in-law’s RV, and I’d missed him. I completely broke down at the thought of losing my little best friend, and a huge wave of grief took over for a while. I do still have issues with feeling deserted, especially when I’m feeling weaker. Having the hole in my soul from being deserted by the radiant Kynan (as his spouse calls him), I was vulnerable.
I’m okay now. I think Vlassic is safer and happier next door in the RV, and I get to see him nearly every day when we feed chickens and horses together. Jim needs a little friend, too. My generous higher self is dealing with it now.
Why Don’t I Cry?
I wish I knew. as a child and young adult, I had a very quick crying trigger. I was a “sensitive” one, and very easily hurt by name calling, bullying, and criticism (deserved or not). It’s one reason I tried to be so good as a child. If I was good, no one would yell at me or criticize me, and I wouldn’t start to cry, which would lead to more name-calling and being laughed at.
Stinging tears, like a thistle.
I’d always cry during difficult conversations or when I was feeling strongly about something. It made me so angry at myself when I wanted to be rational and strong, but I’d start to cry, even when the rest of me was trying to make a point or be articulate. No doubt I drove my romantic partners crazy with that. And that’s why I tried to avoid confrontation so much, because if I started crying, I’d always look weak.
I may have cried enough for a lifetime during the years surrounding my divorce from my kids’ dad. Maybe I used up all my tears on all my personal drama, much of which I made for myself, I now admit.
She cried a lot.
One thing’s for sure, crying at the drop of a hat was one of my least favorite habits/traits. It was harder for me to forgive myself for crying the times I was “let go” at jobs than over losing the jobs themselves. I am still pissed off at myself for letting that awful man who was jargoning and biz-speaking his way through running La Leche League into the ground see me cry, and for letting that absolutely horrid Dean at UT see me beg to keep a job I hated (because I thought I’d lose my kids with no income). Blech.
But, I don’t cry now. I occasionally get sad and I get angry, but I don’t cry, not even healing tears, like Vicki refers to above. I think crying when appropriate (say you have had just about enough of a certain pandemic) is healthy, but I just don’t. My only guess is that the antidepressant I take has muted my crying trigger.
Has that happened to any of you who admit to taking an antidepressant? I’m curious. I can still feel quite happy and quite annoyed (ask the people who live at my house about the annoyed part).
Thanks to the 100+ people who reacted to this post, and all of you who commented.
Please, if things get to be too much for you, let out those tears. If you need to vent, please do so, and don’t beat yourself up for venting about things that are trivial. No one will judge you for it, certainly not me. I’m happy to be there to listen, too, and hope that there are those of you out there who would listen non-judgmentally to me, too.
We’ll be together at our Austin house again, my friend.
Let’s muddle through together! And wipe those tears (on your own mask or tissue, please).
For some reason, I seem to do worse blogging about these “churchy” words like grace and mercy than I do with stuff like rain. But today I got mercy. All I’ve got done so that we all deserve some mercy right now, from each other and our spiritual leaders.
Hmm, I don’t think this is the right holiday.
Oh yeah, Palm Sunday greetings to my Christian friends.
Now I’ll tell you about the mercy I received today, which was that kind Easton saw me struggling to build our new patio furniture for the balcony at the Pope house. He made all four chairs in the time it took me to make two tables. How merciful.
Little rocking chairs. And a tiny table.
I did manage to build rolling drawers and a filing cabinet for my office all by myself. When Chris gave me an electric screwdriver I sped up.
I need help getting the drawers in. But I built it!
I got matching bookcases for my office and Lee’s. They still need to get built, and will require two people. We must be getting close to move-in time if I’m building furniture!
Drawers already in use holding my printer.
So, I’m looking for stories about mercy, if you have any, because I’m all out of stories. I do like patio furniture, though.
…of the ceiling and walls in the stairwell. Chris is back at work after a well deserved rest, and he tried out our very light blue color, the final one paint at the Pope house. It’s called Dreamstress. He says, “I don’t know about no dream, but it caused me plenty of stress.”
Still a bit wet, but here’s the ceiling against the terra-cotta walls.
It’s a very subtle color, for sure. In some lights it looks gray, and in some it looks white. It’s just what I wanted. He started with the stairwell, where the ceiling and the former exterior wall got done. I think the color will look even better once the window trim is all installed and painted our creamy white.
Stairway wall blends together now that it’s all one color.
The former exterior wall in my office bathroom is also blue, which helps tone down the tomato red and shiny tile.
Original brick wall and new red wall.
By the way, before he had to go do caregiver duty, Easton almost finished the vinyl floors. It’s looking good!
This view looks almost done!
We have more trim to do, the ceilings in the main office and my office, the cabinets for the break room area, the tin accent walls, the lighting, and just a few more tidbits. Yay!
Contrasted with the original window trim, it looks more blue.
Hey. I’ve got to tell you ALL a big thanks for reading yesterday’s post and providing such positive and healing feedback. I feel much less alone, and am ready to go forth and find awe in the world around me again. Yep, that’s today’s word.
It’s not hard at all for me to find awe. Very often I am stopped in my tracks, just in awe of how the Universe works and the gifts we receive if we just pay attention. That’s why I put my altar in my Instagram post of the day. I’ve carefully put little reminders of things that tie me to the rest of creation, things I admire, and gifts I’ve received from the Universe.
My altar is on a shelf in the bookcase in MY room at the Hermits’ Rest house.
I’ve got art by people I admire depicting the mysteries (look at that big ole Persephone hole at far right), symbols of religious traditions I admire (Ganesha, Buddha, a dark godddess, and a St. Brighid’s cross you can’t see. There are crystals, including my beloved labradorite heart and a flint rock from my previous house. In front is my wand that I made from an ash branch back when I was in a spiritual circle in Urbana, Illinois. Well, you get it, a bunch of symbols that matter to me and reflect what I’m in awe of. The lady in the photo is Deb Frueh. She is someone whose guidance has helped me more than she realizes, and who understands so much more than I do about the things we can’t always see with our eyes.
Same picture, but it shows what I said on the Instagram.
That Tarot Reading
I did promise you a tarot reading. I don’t often do these for myself, but the cards were still sitting there from a reading I did last week, and I actually had a question I could use some guidance on. So, I did this:
Admission: I’m not feeling too great today, and this UU Lent prompt, forgiveness, didn’t help. I shall now indulge in some wallowing in self pity. You know, sometimes you just have to do it for a while, pick yourself up, and get going again. I promise, I’ll get going again. So forgive this post. I just need to say it.
I had absolutely no clue how to parent.
With the pandemic going on, it’s just killing me that forgiveness hasn’t happened in important parts of my life. Mostly, I just want to tell Kynan that if he did anything that led him to disappear from my life, I will forgive it, because I love him. And I so dearly want to be able to ask his forgiveness for anything I did that led him to desert his mother.
I tried really hard to be a good parent. Obviously I wasn’t perfect, because there’s no such thing as a perfect parent. I know I gave them too many presents, because I’m totally clear now that my love language is gifts. Oops. That’s okay, all the kids left most of the things I gave them at home when they moved out <insert smiley face>.
Memories! What a bright little kid he was.
So today, I officially ask forgiveness of my kids, people who I felt maternal toward, and anyone who I may have hurt when they were young and vulnerable.
I also want everyone who’s hurt me that I forgive them. People mess up. People get angry and do things they wouldn’t normally do. Mental illness can color people’s interpretations of others’ motives and actions, and I know that. If I love you, I love you, warts and all. Even if I don’t forget things that happen, I can forgive you and accept you.
I will always care for these three, no matter what happens in our lives.
That was all really hard to write. Today I’m still reeling from some terrible dreams I had about Kynan a couple of nights ago. He was there, which felt great, but he kept reminding me we’re really apart. At one point, he rejected an outreached hand and said, “You know, we never really did like each other.”
No, son. I adored you and thought you were the most amazing creature on earth. I only want happiness, growth, and love for you.
Interestingly, I am wearing that same shirt today.
Equal opportunity baby picture of Declan.
Hey, I know I’m not alone. Estrangements are more common than I once realized, and I am sending virtual hugs out to anyone going through this along with me. I’d just like to know why I’m estranged, but until then, I’ll go on living and hope to heck I get to see my children and all my loved ones again, and that we all make it through this disease.
Forgive someone. Forgive me. Life’s short.
End of self-indulgent wallowing. Supportive comments will be appreciated.
I’m betting the UU Lent creators didn’t realize the meanings some of their words would take on as the Lenten period went on. Acceptance is probably on everyone’s minds right now. As the Tiny Buddha points out, you really don’t have much of a choice but to accept.
You are so right. Tiny Buddha.
It very well could be that a lot of the anxiety and sleepless nights we’re dealing with today is from wanting to make things different, to go back to our old lives, to not feel trapped. But, that ain’t happening. This is what we have!
Perky little Suna, typing away.
Some days it’s easier than others. I realized with a jolt, just yesterday, that all this isolation, mask wearing, hand washing, and dread of learning the latest news felt totally normal, like it’s always been this way. It’s only been a MONTH!
I get upset with myself for feeling bad, knowing I’m lucky to have jobs that keep me earning money, at least for now, and am “essential,” so I can drive to work and back (for excitement, I take the OTHER route!). I’m not alone, either, which is a blessing, even for a hermit. I should be ashamed of myself?
At least I have a giant monitor. And blog readers, according to my stats.
NO! Every single one of us has had their lives changed really suddenly. Sure, some of us are dealing with different types of challenges than others, some are in more danger than others, and some have lost loved ones. But NO ONE’S grief, anxiety, sadness, or worry is better or worse than anyone else’s. I will do my best not to judge myself or others.
Accepting the new normal. The ranch is always here.
Support and kindness are what we need. If you need to vent, I’ll listen. And if I have to whine about how little I slept last night, my horrible dreams about my lost son, or my worries about others, I appreciate you for listening to me!
Keeping each other healthy means keeping our distance. It’s important. But our mental health still relies on our community. Thank you all.
Chris has been working so hard on the Pope House. Kathleen is making him rest.
Looking from the front to the back of the house.
The highlight for us ladies is the paint on the walls that aren’t brick. We were hoping really hard that the color we picked to complement the brick would work.
The upstairs landing.
We like it! It’s a shade lighter than the actual brick we matched it to and reminds me of a terra cotta pot. The contrast with the white trim and a great, and it will echo the warm tones of the flooring.
Looking into Lee’s office. You can see in the honey-colored bathroom.
The flooring is moving right along, too. Easton finished the remaining subfloor in Lee’s office and the vinyl is snaking out to other rooms.
Vinyl progress.
But the best floor (and hardest) is the shiny tile in my office bathroom. The tiles are teeny tiny. Oh my. That’s what I get for ordering online and not noticing the dimensions. Chris is my new hero for figuring out how to install it properly.
Tiny tiny tiny
It will look great once it’s cleaned up. Ooh. Aah.
Eek. Clashing reds. Trim will separate them. And the tiles will clean up.
You know what? We may actually finish this project!
Dudes. The UU Lent word for this first day of a new month is confession. There’s one thing I do enough of already in this blog is confess to my past mistakes, errors, and goof-ups. I don’t share everything, but I hope people can learn from my mistakes and it will be helpful. Confession is good for the blog. Or something like that.
Today I’m going to go the more light-hearted route and do a variation of a meme I’ve been seeing going around on Facebook, where people confess to things they just don’t like, but everybody else seems to love. I think we could all use a break right now, right?
That’s the Master Naturalists’ big Folgers. The other two are what Lee and I drink in the office. I need Folgers bods.
Gourmet coffee. I have tried to be a coffee snob, many, many times. I have owned some darned fancy coffee. But, I really like Folgers. The Black Silk kind is just great. But, any medium roast is fine with me. And I like milk or half and half in it. I fail as an elite in this respect.
The Hermits' Rest 