Spring...just a reminder

Spring...just a reminder

Today, my mom posted a picture of a hyacinth, my hyacinth. She tagged me in it and when I saw it, it made me cry. You see, that hyacinth was planted by my wee hands when I was little, maybe 6 or 8 and every year at this time it comes up.I remember the day I asked my dad if I could plant a garden. I picked a plot of dirt in the midst of their 4.5 acres and gathered rocks and had a little walk-way and then in the front were some twigs that I layed out for a little wall type boundry for some planter boxes. It was my garden. In the little planter box type things I planted bulbs. The rocks and twigs are long gone, the dirt is covered with fallen maple leaves and grass but every year that ONE hyacinth comes up and every year I get more and more sappy about it as life changes and dreams are broken or come true and new ones are made... just as life goes on, in spite of it all. That hyacinth reminds me of a faith I didn't know I had at 8 years old. It reminds me of fresh starts, it reminds me that even after being covered with dead leaves and weighed down by grass and muck... you can still break through and bloom. I want to bloom and I want you to bloom too.

jello feelings...

Sometimes I feel like jello...and not just because my butt jiggles but because sometimes things come my way and depending on how long I've given myself to "set" they'll either bounce off or submerge themselves in my being and either create a better me or submerge themselves and I become the pea, carrotts and jello salad that my grandma used to make, that I hated. Today I haven't set long enough and things have submerged themselves in my emotions and have made me sad. You know some people LIKE peas in their jello, it's okay with them so when they throw peas in your jello, they don't know that you're not okay with it (unless you tell them) Today I let some people throw peas in my jello and it hurts....I wish I was set enough to let it bounce off, today I'm not and today my feelings hurt.

Musgo

I have fond memories of a night in the Mills household called Musgo. At the time I just remember thinking how fun it was but now that I look back , it probably had some root in financial issues but regardless. It left fond memories and I didn't remember them until just now. My mom would take everything (that wasn't growing hair) out of the fridge, re-heat it and call it Musgo, translated means everything in the fridge MUST GO. I think I'm ready to have an emotional, mental Musgo. You know, place all the CRAP in my heart and head out on the table and just sift through it. If at some point it was a good meal, well then it will hold up better and might be worth keeping for a little longer but the other things. the things that were my favorite to hold onto, those sob stories, well... I think they can go, I think they MUST GO. Tonight I'm having Musgo.

Losing Marbles

I have kept a journal off and on for years, all of which are filled with stories and prayers and yearnings. I wonder at what point it became so popular to share your journal in a public forum called a blog? Well, I guess I have found it so interesting to read others that maybe, just maybe someone wants to hear what goes through my crazy head. That is if I decide that I really, truely want to share what goes through this brain of mine. We will see...