Today, I was casting my mind back to times when I felt safe and secure. I don’t feel that way much of the time these days. Too much animosity and too much that baffles me.
The one time I truly felt safe and free to be me came between middle school and high school, when my parents sent sad, mopey Suna to spend two weeks with the people who lived across the street from us in Gainesville. I had a borrowed bike and no agenda while Lila and Ralph were at work. I read, I walked, I cycled through town trying to memorize every old house and tiny lane. I pined after the boy I’d liked before I had to move away.
No one picked on me, no one put pressure on me to be more feminine, no one tried to guilt me into doing things I didn’t want to. My anxiety (which I didn’t know was anxiety at the time) went way down.
Every night after dinner, we sat in their little living room with their two Basenjis. Ralph read and Lila and I knitted (I may have crocheted). I remember feeling so peaceful with this happy older couple enjoying each other’s company. At that time, the idea came to me that my happy times might be like that.
As I’ve looked and looked for peace and safety, I have always felt safest in my home with my partner, occupying my hands with a craft. This evening, for example, I felt a wave of calm and contentment as I watched yet another square of my blanket complete. I’m continuing Lila’s tradition of just sitting and knitting in peace and safety. (Even if it’s fleeting)
Plus, I had a sweet glimmer today, as I floated in the pool after horse time. I felt something in my arm, opened my eyes, and came face to face with another of our ubiquitous damselflies. They love the pool. This one was so pale as to appear ghostly gray. She ended up on my watch, and as the wind blew us around, she came between me and the afternoon sun. Her little wings just glowed. That was a glimmer.
I was disappointed in the moon tonight, since the full, blue super moon’s rise was behind a bank of clouds. Around 9 pm we went back out to enjoy its intense glow. None of the photos came out well, but my mind captured it!
As a bonus, I saw this year’s resident Gulf Coast Toad on the front porch as I headed inside. At first she was flattened so much that she looked like cow poop. She sat up, and from that perspective she was shaped like an ostrich egg. I guess she’s found plenty to eat during the drought. I’m glad for the big gal!
The Hermits' Rest 