Little Box

There's a little box--I suppose it to be like a tiny trinket or treasure box--that's deep inside me.  I file things away there.  I don't think I really realized I did this until I was forced to explain how I was feeling one day during yoga teacher training.

Everyone has their own meltdowns and breakthroughs during this process and usually these come somewhere during the middle of training.  I was past the halfway mark when mine arrived.  It came like an Arizona storm and left just as quickly.  It didn't bring enough water to help grow anything but it brought enough wind to make things messy.  If you've ever experienced a southwestern desert storm you'll know what I'm talking about.  The wind picks up and blows dust over everything and there may or may not be rain.  At least that's the way it's been for the past several years.  We don't have good monsoons (which I love) like we used to.  Monsoons that clear away the dust and bring blooms, humidity and skies that are somehow bluer and more interesting than the plain, hot, dry and intense summer skies.  After a good monsoon everything seemed different to me--I seemed to see with different eyes.  The summer weather we've been having now leaves me feeling stagnant and stuck.  I go through the motions of the day but that's about it.  At any rate, this meltdown did not provide any real clarity for me.  I just knew there was something ("IT") that I needed to find and deal with.  That's when I realized that I had a kind of kangaroo affect going on with my box.  I just took things (emotions, situations, stagnation, you name it) and filed it away for "later."  Some things are really jammed in there, perhaps that's why I can't quite get in there and clean house like I would like.

Before you think I've lost it like a mad dog or Englishman in the midday sun, you have to know that I'm the oldest child of old world-like parents.  They don't see life the same way as my contemporaries' parents do, which presents its own challenges.  Also, I was always the peace-maker and people-pleaser of the family.  Head "feather-smoother" should be one of my titles.  I also realized, today as a matter of fact, that the box of tools that are in my hand currently don't work for me.  Why?  Because I wasn't allowed (and didn't allow myself) my own set of tools, I was too busy fixing/helping/adjusting/you-name-it to tend to my own garden and find my own tools.  When I expressed myself it was either "inappropriate"or just plain not ok.  Growing up I laughed too loud, felt too deeply and talked too much.  I still do that, but it's not always as open.  I often skirt around the real issue, mostly because it's too much for others, in turn, becoming too much for me.  Years of not being fully true to oneself can really take its toll.  It's not that the "me" my friends and family know is false, it's just not the fullest expression of myself.  I know there's a whole lot more joy and creativity in there, waiting.  There's a whole different element of me waiting to spring out of my personal Pandora's box, if I would just let it.  I resist opening that box, even when the lid is clanking and rattling and beckoning me.  Too much will fly out and it'll be too messy.  I have to face my fears and stand up for myself.  I know that I have to deal with it and I've been trying a little bit at a time.  Mostly because I know that what I'm working with now isn't really working--it's very intermittent.  Life's a process and I finally have the resolve to accept that (versus just knowing it to be intellectually true).

Flanders

Here's Flanders.  He's the newest member of our family & a rockin' cool dude.  He seems to be adjusting really well.  I've finally got the computer and my cell talking again, so I can add pics to ye ole blog.  We're keeping the name he came with, although Little Man wanted to add "Bob" to it (Flanders Bob).  I told him it sounded a little piratey for me, but then Chief's been calling him, "Flanderson," and I've been calling him "Flanderooney" and "Hidey Ho!" (the latter came from his online profile that the AZ Animal Welfare League created for him--"Hidey Ho, neighbors!" was his tagline with his info following it). 

Here's from our ride home:

He really wants out of the back seat and into ours!  He finally got the picture and stayed safely in the back. 





Hot Beverage?

I like my hot beverages--coffee and green tea.  I'll drink black tea and some of that other stuff, but I really prefer green.  First thing in the morning and as an afternoon snack, however, coffee trumps it all--black in the AM and a sugary latte in the PM.  Black decaf after a dinner out.  It's pretty routine--certain times of the year it's like clockwork.  That's why I got such a chuckle out of Sheldon's character on the show, Big Bang Theory, when he noted that it's a "social custom" to offer someone an "hot beverage" when they are feeling down (at least that's what I vaguely remember--I was laughing too hard at "social custom" and, of course, "hot beverage").  I heard that months ago and I still cackle out loud when I say to Chief, "Hot beverage?"



via Google images

It's the little things in life.  Yes, I continue to drink hot beverages when the temps soar above 100 degrees.  They soothe my throat and placate my psyche, if the truth be told!  In astrological terms this is interesting because I'm a taurus ruled by the throat--my dad would say that this explains why I talk all the time.  hmmmm.  I'll leave you with that as I'm off to get my afternoon latte.

Buddy & Trigger

We started our search for a dog in a kind of official capacity last weekend by going to AZ Animal Welfare League's shelter.  There were a lot of furry faces to visit that it quickly became overwhelming.  In retrospect, we were so haphazard in our selection process last time.  We chose two male dogs who were roughly the same age, but they weren't litter mates and they weren't being kenneled together.  Trigger (who at the time was called "Trasher") was campaigning very hard to be chosen.  I could practically hear him yelling, "OOOH, pick me!  Pick me!!!"  Buddy was much more laid back with a kind of "how you doing" sort of vibe, who seemed very quiet.  Little did we know!  They were the only two we asked to look at, they seemed to get along and then we decided we'd take them both.  There you have it. 

Jon & I were talking about the dogs we saw and comparing notes when I remembered taking Buddy and Trigger home with us.  Trigger could not get out of the shelter fast enough.  He practically drug me through the lobby and jumped right into the back of the truck the second he could clear the gate.  With the look on his face and his extreme panic I would've expected him to reach down to give Buddy him a hand all the while shouting, "Come on man!  We have to leave now!  Hurry before they leave without us!"  Buddy, however, had spied a person arriving to turn in two cats.  He lunged and scared one of the poor cats under some lady's car and was way more interested in that whole scenario than jumping ship with Trigger.  It was quite a circus ride.  I had taken the dogs out to the truck by myself while Jon finished paying because Trigger was in a hell-fire hurry to leave.  Boy-howdy.  All these tucked-away memories have been popping up because of the dog search.  We are planning on going back tomorrow to visit and do a better job of getting everyone more focused.  Wish us luck! 

I really need to organize my photo library.  I have good pics of the dogs and can never find them when I'm looking for or needing them!

"Suggestion/Complaint" Box, a.k.a., the Bitch Box

I think I'm going to make a complaint box for our house.  One that's just for me and no one else--my own personal Bitch Box.  I will lodge the nastiest complaints in this box & later I will burn them.  (The irony is I say I'll do these things, yet I don't think I have the courage or the patience to articulate some of the stuff swirling around in my head)  I suppose I could "suggest" things to myself, but I don't really talk like that--the harshest I get there is "recommending" that some one "be quiet" or if really mad, "shut up."  I know, still not very nice.  That's why this box seems like such a great idea, today particularly.  I feel like the past couple of weeks have really worn on me & I no longer want to take it.  Thing is, where do you "put" it, whatever "it" happens to be?  Why you put it in the box and woe be to him who tries to peek in it, right?  You get enough complaints you can then burn them and start the merry process all over, again.  Kind of like the school run--you get in the car in the morning and drop the children off and do the same thing in the afternoon only in reverse, get in the car and pick up the children.  Cyclical, like the phases of the moon and the waves in the ocean or the fighting of politicians and the kvetching of the PTA moms (of which I am not, yet another story)--things you can always count on to reoccur.  Perhaps just having a Bitch Box in and of itself will cheer me and I won't have to complain.  We'll see about that.



Another Reason to Love Top Gear

via Google images

Our family enjoys watching the BBC version of Top Gear.  Chief & Big Monkey are motor heads of sorts, Little Man likes the squealing of tires, speeding and occasional wacky stunts the hosts pull and I just find the hosts funny and a little bit off.  I wonder aloud what it would be like to have The Stig's job.  We are currently catching up with back episodes on Netflixs and there have been 2 episodes from Season 2 where Jeremy has mentioned donkeys.  Love donkeys!  Makes me love the show even more.  Jeremy has 3 donkeys named Jeffrey, Eddie and Christian Scott donkey.  Too much.  He also had a tin bank that he put coins in on another episode.  For every car that had more than one person in it on the M-5, he'd put (can't remember how much) in it--for the donkey rescue!  Sadly, there more singletons on the freeway than carpoolers.  He kept shaking the tin, hollering, "Come on people!  What about the donkeys?"

Yes, people!  What about the donkeys?!!!

via Google images

Foster's Basket



via Google images

I scribble notes to myself on a pad, actually multiple pads and scraps of paper, & sometimes they don't always make sense to me or it takes a moment for the word or words to form a connection in my mind.  The other day it was "Arian Foster."  It was the last name that got me because I remembered about the basket--for a few days I kept referring to "Foster's Basket."  I don't know why I clicked on the link about a football player signing with Houston.  I suppose I wanted to know why he was overcome with emotions at his press conference.  Watching the clip, I was crying along with him. 

The story is that when he was little he was going to buy something specific for each of his family members, when he made it big in football.  He told everyone what he was going to get them and then they all asked, "What about your mom?"  He replied, "A fruit basket."  I have to chuckle because I think kids either get the ideal gift spot on or they have some crazy (to us, not them) idea come to them.  He was 7 when he made these statements and it became a running joke in his family.  They'd say to him, "When are you going to make good on the fruit basket?"  But, what really got me was when he was talking about how hard he saw his mom work and how she pawned her wedding ring one night to put food on the table.  He didn't want to have to do that to his children.  He went on to say that's why he works hard and doesn't complain too much (the article mentioned all that he had accomplished for the team but he wasn't really compensated for it, mentioning his salary ).  He said, "At the end of the day we are all people and all we want to do is smile...even when we were growing up and things were tough that's what he had, what kept my family going is that we smile through it all."  He was grateful for what had come his way and hearing him say that was so profound for me.  Here's a man who, at that particular moment, could demand more and probably get it but he was happy to have a job.  He came to that job and gave it his all and was satisfied with that.  He didn't have to worry about the lights being turned off or putting food on the table and, in part, that defined "success" for him.  That's food for thought (couldn't help myself)--but, seriously, it's something to really reflect on. 

So, every once in a while I remind myself of Foster's Basket.

(As a side note, he did have a fruit basket delivered to his mom at her work place!)