Monday, April 29, 2019

I'm a Volcano

April 29. 2019

My moods have been like swinging monkeys the past few days. Or maybe they're always like this. Like the weather, even in Los Angeles. Today the sky is dark, brooding, but later the sun might come out and hit the last of the lemons on the tree in our little back yard.

Last night I listed the monkey moods + states I'd been swinging in:

calm, peaceful, sobbing on the green chair for five minutes, then walking the dog, inspired, missing people, out of sorts, enjoying the red geraniums, terrible self-doubt, listening to a meditation, grasping for certainty, making a delicious quiche, enjoying a conversation, thinking about a creative project, joy over my younger brother coming to work here for two weeks...

You get it.

My neighbor invited me to cut bouquets from her exploding white rose bushes so I got my kitchen scissors and had at it. While snipping, her three year old daughter ran up to me and said,

I'm a volcano and skipped away.

(You know after the last couple of posts I really just want to be three, five, six again.)

I listened to a podcast where an actor said, "I'm here to share my messes."

The monkeys stopped jumping and chattering for a full minute when I heard that.

I'm a volcano. And so are you. We're a lot of things, all the time, all day long.

I sob, walk the dog, chat with my neighbor, cook a quiche, smell the roses.


I went to a beloved therapist years ago because I was convinced I was going crazy. I had left a bat-shit marriage at the time and thought for sure it had to be my mind that was cracking. My therapist, who lovingly called me Blanche ( I don't know why but found it endearing) said,

Blanche, you're one of the sanest people I know. 🌀

Monkey-naming, mess-sharing - it's how I stay sane, relatively speaking.

So, get out a notebook.
Sit down with a friend.
Name your monkeys.
Share your messes.

Find your inner volcano, then skip skip skip to my Lou.

xo b

Monday, April 15, 2019

Wherever I Go 🌞

April 15. 2019

Last week a friend shared this snippet of a story about her six year old grandson.

It went like this:

Steven said, "There's one thing you don't know about me."
My friend said, "Oh, what's that?"
Steven said, " I have fun wherever I go."

Whoa! Play around with that this week.

xo b

Monday, April 8, 2019

Maybe That's What Happened 💡

April 8. 2019

Ollie drew this picture with a weird invisible marker.
I said, "What is it?"
Ollie said, "It's a bag with a light bulb inside."

Later that day, we drove by the lake near Ollie's house (and my beloved old home). The lake was covered with large clumps of bright green algae floating near the shore.

"Wow," I said, "I wonder what's going on with the lake."
Ollie said, "Maybe a swamp tornado. Maybe that's what happened."

xo b

Monday, April 1, 2019

DREAM something 🌀

April 1, 2019

“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way. I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe's couplets:

Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it!”

 W. H. Murray

I'm blissfully back east visiting family and friends. 

And stillit's Monday and one of my commitments is to show up on Mondays and offer thoughts, a nudge, an idea, a good quote, photographs, a little inspiration.

🌀The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. 

Read the beautiful quote, slowly. 
Dream something. It can be teeny tiny, people.
Commit (to) yourself.
Let Providence move.

xo b

Young Man With A Dream by Michael Collins