Musings from the Laundromat: Mops, Larks and Clowns edition
The thing about blogging on any consistent basis – is you end up with something akin to a journal that anyone can read.
Good days and bad – you’re basically reading my diary.
That’s fine by me – but I find it a little eye-roll worthy sometimes when I’ve had a bad day, to read a previous very upbeat post.
If you find your eyes rolling with mine, just know that at that moment, when I’m typing, every fiber of who I am and what I feel and know to be true is being transcribed upon the screen through my fingers.
No one can be completely happy and upbeat ALL the time. “Even the best of souls” which, is what I heard last night when I stumbled upon ‘Lark Rise to Candleford’. I’ve only seen one episode, so to any devout fans reading this, my apologies.
Dawn French’s character, Caroline Arless, had returned from a stay somewhere, with new resolve. She was going to watch her mouth, keep her skirts down (that cracked me up) be grateful and humble. I saw myself in her immediately. And my lips twitched into a smile watching her exuberance for her metamorphosis.
As she was telling this to a woman who, it seemed had mastered those skills to some degree, the woman remarked (and I’m paraphrasing) that was a tall order ‘even for the best of souls’.
I thought of my day – I thought of my last post … the juxtaposition of the two not lost on me – and then, I thought of clowns.
Yesterday: I am sick again. And for someone who never gets sick, this is getting annoying. This is twice now in 3 months.
I woke up, watched a couple of movies in my bedroom and did something else I never do. Went back to sleep.
I crawled out of my infirmary after 2 in the afternoon. I had cleaning to do that night at the offices.
I really almost put it off until today – but needed to go into that neck of the woods anyway – and you know, two birds, one stone.
So I’m cleaning, and feeling rotten – and I’ve said some unkind things to Nic in the car on the way over.
Things that needed to be said, but did not meet the rule of three that I try to live by.
It goes a little something like this – Before you speak, ask yourself:
1. Is it kind?
2. Is it useful?
3. Is it true?
It was useful and true, but not kind. And in my depleted state, I had no right venturing into conversations that required a positive attitude.
I poured my last energy into cleaning, while my head wouldn’t shut up about the things I’d said to Nic. You know, I don’t know if it’s a bad thing that I realize I’m doing something wrong and still do it? Or if it’s a good thing as I’m clearly growing and learning?
Then my mop broke.
(Insert Metaphors here)
Rust particles spilled onto the freshly vacuumed floor and tile.
I did the best I could with a smaller, less absorbent mop. Then, having decided I was as done as I could be, I excited the building.
It was then I noticed I had lost my car key. I stomped back into the offices, accidentally set the building alarm off, then proceeded to stand in a door jamb crying my eyes out.
Nic came to me as I stood there, arms up, head buried, I could have been counting for ‘hide and go seek’.
I broke. “I am tired! I can’t do this! The floors look horrible and I need help! I don’t feel well!” This was not about the floors. Not just about the floors. And we both knew it.
Still, I knew I couldn’t leave without being satisfied with my work – but I only had so much to work with.
I tried again, with a new floor cleaning device, making the best of what I had, into something I was willing to leave for the night.
I had promised Chinese food. Of course, thanks to my mouth, I had knocked any hunger Nic might have had for it right out of him.
He was still hungry, but his feelings weren’t in the mood for food.
We got it anyway and I tried to mend the wounds.
There’s still a heaviness in the air today – residue from yesterday.
Once again, I almost put off my chores in favor of staying in bed. But I got up, and went to the laundromat.
This is when I thought of clowns.
I’ve never liked them. For two reasons I think, one being the mask factor. Hiding behind a facade … The other the impossible constant smile.
I’m funny and mostly happy, but I am not a clown.
No one can smile all the time – and no matter how often I remember that, I can’t seem to cut myself a break when I don’t feel like smiling.
Blossoming from the weeds
On my drive home today, I saw an elderly person weeding their front yard.
I was reminded of something that had a profound effect on me almost four years ago.
____________________
It was a time when it was imperative I get out of self. That I reach out and be of service to others.
Summer in the desert, and I noticed an old woman on my street tending to her weeds. It was hot. In the mid 120’s.
I parked, set my belongings inside and walked up the street to her house and called out.
“Hello?”
She didn’t hear me.
“Hello?”
She looked up from her crouched position, and from under her sun hat met my gaze.
“Yes?”
I was eager and just knew that she would think I was wonderful.
“May I help you weed your yard?”
I waited a beat – smile on my face.
“No thank you.” She said, with a peaceful smile on her own face.
I wasn’t expecting that.
I gauged her expression a moment to be sure she really didn’t want my help … bid her a good day and went home.
Wow.
It hadn’t dawned on me for even a second, that perhaps she was content in her task.
That perhaps she enjoyed what she was doing.
Or that she knew how much more satisfied she would be when the sun went down, looking out at her weed-free yard, that she had done the work.
I have never forgotten her or that moment.
It was an epiphany of sorts for me.
____________________
I’ve heard people speak of what they would do if they won the lottery:
“I’d give some to my family and friends.”
“I’d buy my children houses.”
“I’d find needy people and help them.”
Help them.
Such a noble and selfless intention – yet …
Don’t we have to be careful who we help and how?
Am I doing it for them or me?
Am I helping? Hindering? Enabling?
Are they making an effort to help themselves? Still have lessons to learn to strengthen them for hard times yet to come?
This comes to mind:
I personally think life IS always beautiful, (maybe not always what you want it to be, but still beautiful) but I agree with the rest.
Struggles do make you stronger. And grateful.
If you just hand someone a house – are they going to cherish it? Will it mean as much to them as it would to someone who saved for years to buy one?
Hand-ups and hand-outs have such a fine dividing line!
It’s hard to know who to help.
Harder still when you don’t know if they’ve struggled – if they are too fragile to have to struggle – if they’ve been put in your path to bestow a blessing on?
Personally, I can look back and I know without doubt, that I am grateful for my struggles.
I’ve been VERY prideful. And I’m trying to get over that and accept help when it makes sense. When the help doesn’t rob me of my spiritual and emotional growth.
Because, my life has blossomed from the weeds.
And I see weeds as blossoms.
Beauty in every thing, every person and every moment.
I’ve learned to focus on these things.
Stay in those moments – no matter how fleeting – to feel them and move forward with a positive attitude and an open mind and heart.
I look upon life with grateful eyes – a students mind and a peaceful heart.
And I’m so glad I struggled.
And I so love those who helped me along the way – and I love those who did not.
Yeah, that busy.
I feel like an overstimulated toddler … overly tired, mind racing – having spent another day learning and trying such a variety of new things!
It’s a good feeling.
My new position has definitely kept my mind from wandering to any places it shouldn’t be right now.
The most bizarre thing happened today.
I was multi-tasking, and standing at the front desk while touching my thumb to my index and middle finger – when I felt ‘wet’.
I glanced at my hand … blood.
Enough blood that the ‘wet’ was not just a ‘sticky’ or ‘tacky’ feeling – but as if I had too much lotion on my hand.
I glanced around my body … where???
My right wrist was bleeding – and I had one hand in the air and my wrist before me as a customer walked in.
I sought out the agent she had come for while trying to think what in the world I could have done to cut my wrist and not know it, and getting a band-aid from her well stocked drawer. (She seriously has everything in that drawer.)
THIS is how occupied my mind has been. Forgetting I’m hungry until my stomach loudly growls, forgetting to go to the bathroom until my bladder cries out – and I LOVE it.
I am definitely a person who thrives on variety and the opportunity to learn!
I’m also the kind of person who can’t ‘clock out’ in my head.
On the drive home I was preparing a power point presentation in my head, reminding myself to follow-up with someone I’ve asked to instruct a class and having conversations with people I won’t talk to until tomorrow.
I need to find a solution for that. Meditation? That’s almost begging for disaster.
I can’t sit still.
Not for a movie, not for a conversation – I pause half-hour TV shows for crying out loud!
Then there’s the fact that I think too much. Just typing that sentence I recalled several examples, listened to part of a commercial and wondered about the validity of the product and noticed my dog wants to go outside.
Meditation …
If I could break the barrier of my mind – and be still, it could work.
I’ll just have to be sure to wear armor so as not to incur any unexplained cuts!
I’m no Lois Lane
Much like Dorothy always had the power to go home, with her ruby slippers –
I have always had the cape.
I saved myself years ago.
Bare footed
Something I had been looking forward to and planning for did not come to pass.
I don’t know how I really feel about that right now, or if I should even be thinking about how I feel.
It seems somehow selfish to be disappointed – sad – confused.
Regardless, there is a sensation in the part of my heart that still believed in fairy tales, akin to having the wind punched out of me.
__________________
My work week had not ended on a high note either – I overheard an inaccurate account of something that I was a part of.
What bothered me most about that was being reminded, once again, that I am naive and gullible when it comes to placing my exuberance and trust into the hands of others.
I forget that.
I think the best of everyone. I don’t expect it, but I give my trust easily.
____________________
So I’m sitting in my little sanctuary – and trying to process the latest news – and I feel numb.
What I know to be true are the following things:
I’ll never stop believing there is good.
I’ll never stop seeing good in others.
I’ll always give the benefit of the doubt to those who may not prove to have deserved it.
I’ll always give those who have given me reason to doubt, a second chance.
I will show up, no matter where it is, with all I have to give. Whether it’s work, friendship, love …
When I ready myself to sleep – I will ask myself if I accomplished those things.
My list of things I’m grateful for, far outweighs any complaints I could write down.
Among them, of course, my son – the irony that the picture I used above is from the song ‘Beautiful Boy’ has not escaped me.
And this phone call – from a dear friend who reached out – to help me process the matter of the heart.
I’m ok.
I know this to be true too.
I am rich with the most important treasures.
And if I am never to have a glass slipper placed on my foot – I will walk bare footed.
Debauchery Soup 