Before last week I’d only visited Vegas once. On that trip the company couldn’t have been better.  We saw a fantastic show (Mystère), a fascinating exhibit (Bodies), and we drank champagne while watching the Bellagio Fountains dance to the tune of an Elvis song. The whole affair lasted about 36 hours, which was enough Vegas to last me several lifetimes.  The excess of it all was… well… excessive.   If America was Panem of the The Hunger Games, which I guess it is in Suzanne Collins’ post-apocolyptic world, then Vegas could be the Capitol. And I’d probably live somewhere around District 11. That’s how far removed I am from Vegas.

These days I am quite content to work in District 11 and watch the flowers bloom and the bees buzz, ya know? So I was ‘meh’ about going there for a business trip last week, but it was something I was compelled to do.

 

By day two in the Capitol I felt like this:

crazy

 

…as a result of too much everything everywhere.

I realized then we needed to make a major detour, lest I start attacking things Katniss-style. And that was when I stumbled upon exactly what was needed: a place to watch the flowers bloom and the bees buzz.

detour

The wonderful Sharon Prier led the way.  She guided us on a hike through Red Rock Canyon, which culminated in a beautiful yoga practice.  It was the highlight of the trip.  Thank you so much Sharon for your guidance and presence.

Red Rock Canyon Yoga Hike

Red Rock Canyon Yoga Hike

 

 Any worthwhile detours you’ve taken lately?

bloom

 

Without our fully realizing it, flowers would become for us an expression in form of that which is most high, most sacred, and ultimately formless within ourselves.

–Eckhart Tolle

Two a.m.

She awakens suddenly to the whispered question, “Who?”

Heart pounding, blood coursing through constricted veins, she is already in full fight-or-flight mode as her eyes spring open to the darkness.

Who? she wonders, even as she wonders why she wonders who.

Who…Who (is here)?

Her eyes quickly scan the fall of shadows in the dark.   She sees nothing out of the ordinary to explain this panic. There is no intruder lurking in the shadows. The house is silent. There are no lingering dream fragments to help her understand the question that continues to echo again and again in her auditory memory, “who?”

And now, through the open window, the question and the answer float in on the night air, “Whoo-Whoo?

She exhales the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Sinking back into the pillow, she smiles and imagines the owl she hears calling. He is all tidy feathers and ear tufts. With a serious, studious expression he swivels his head this way and that way to ask every ear who will listen the existential question that keeps him up at night: Whoo-whoo?

 

 

Time and space stretch and yawn as time and space tend to do at two a.m. and the prospect of sleep seems as remote as the owl’s call.

He has a little stutter, this owl friend – Whoo-whoo….(are you)?  Whoo-Whoo…(am I)?  Whoo-whoo…(can hear me?)

We share the same questions and we might as well think about them since we are both awake.  That is the power of questions – they have a way of enlivening the mind. Besides, some questions can only be asked (and answered) alone in the dark.

And occasionally, when the timing is just right…     who-who

one soul’s cry for answers

is heard by another….                                    who-who

and far, far away in the distance…

another voice calls out:

Whooooo?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please help me identify these beauties.

Pretty Thing 1

Pretty Thing 1

 

Pretty Thing 2

Pretty Thing 2

 

Pretty Purple Thing 3 & Pretty Pink Thing 4

Pretty Purple Thing 3 & Pretty Pink Thing 4

 

I am much obliged.

Love,

Lunar

 

pearblossoms1

 

pearblossoms2

 

Spring1

“The daffodils are blooming!” Kiki announced in a lilting voice as she breezed in the door.

The granddaughter, who didn’t know the difference between a daffodil and a geranium – and who didn’t much care, sat in the kitchen playing Donkey Kong on Colecovision. Her eyes were nearly glassed over from staring for so long into the screen and her thumb muscles ached from over use.

This would not do.

“Come outside and see!”

The glassy eyes slid her direction for a moment, then back to the screen, where the jumpman had just cleared another barrel.

“Come on, Valley.”

A barrel hit the jumpman. The child groaned. So much for saving the princess. She sighed, turned off the little TV, and stood up to get this over with.

Outside, the daffodils were indeed blooming.  Not just blooming – they looked like they were singing.  Trumpeting nearly.

“Heralding spring,”  Kiki said.

They looked like fairy princess dresses – perhaps the princess was saved afterall.

Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.

~Edgar Degas

First you get a song in your brain, and then it comes out your body, and that’s how you dance.

~Davis James, age 5

Shimmy Mob Memphis is dancing to change the world. This is our fourth year of dancing for the cause!

This year we dance to raise awareness and funds for the Family Safety Center of Memphis and Shelby County. 

Shimmy Mob 2014 flyer

How can you help us end violence and strengthen families?

1. Dance with us

2. Let us dance for you

3. Donate to our cause! Visit www.fundly.com/shimmy-mob-memphis

Related Posts & Links:

Unbreakable

Dancing to Change the World

Shimmy Mob Memphis 2013

Shimmy Mob Southaven 2013

Shimmy Mob Memphis 2012

Shimmy Mob Memphis 2011

Dana of Zona Pellucida seduced me into making homemade sauerkraut recently.

It’s not entirely her fault.  The Angry Russian is also to blame.  To this day he raves about his dad’s homemade kraut, which was made in huge barrels with yellow apples.  When I started reading about candida, sugar,  the digestive system and probiotics, my kraut fate was sealed. I had to grow some bacteria myself.

 image

The other day I popped open the first jar. It bubbled and gurgled its fermented secrets at me.

It’s ALIVE!!!

I love having these sorts of mad-scientist moments with my food.  I’m pretty useless, even dangerous, when it comes to working the normal kitchen gadgetry (e.g., ovens, microwaves, knives, etc.), but I excel at stuff that takes days in dark places to transform (See Sprout it Out Loud for additional evidence of my culinary nerdiness).

So anyway, I shared a serving of the kraut with The Angry Russian. His rapt expression at first bite made all the trouble worth the while.  I have another jar still fermenting and I will definitely be making another batch.  Maybe with apples.

frozen

 

She most certainly will not be getting out of bed to get dressed for school, thankyouverymuch.

From the kitchen Momma has hollered for her to “GET UP!”  and with an edge in her voice added, “…and that’s the last time!”

This happens to be the second of Momma’s “last time” warnings. The warnings started after an entire series of ineffectual attempts to get her out of bed.  Momma went so far as to pick out an outfit and physically  try to force her into it. This was a grave offense.  She is six and a half years old and can dress herself. A lot of screaming and wrestling went into that fiasco before Momma abruptly aborted the mission to try out a new tactic: cooking breakfast.

But all the clothes and breakfasts in the world will not make a bit of difference.  She’s not budging. It is so cold in her bedroom it hurts to breathe. To protect herself from the temperature, she has ducked her head under the blanket to breathe her own body-warmed air. Her feet are pulled up beneath her flannel gown.  She has folded herself into a little ball to preserve heat.  She has gathered all the loose edges of the sheets and blankets and tucked them under herself to keep the mean air from biting her.   So Momma can threaten spankings all she wants. There are worse things than Momma’s spankings – like being attacked by the cold air outside the semi-warm cocoon she’s created beneath her covers.

It’s not just the cold terrorizing her, it’s also the snakes. Daddy killed one in his bedroom just the other night.  He chased it around the room hitting it over and over with his guitar until it was dead. She didn’t actually see it happen, but she did hear the accompanying soundtrack.  The oddly musical killing featured forceful, pounding rhythms and vibrating, jangly strings that reverberated inside the instrument’s hollow body with each blow. It was definitely not a song usually played in Daddy’s repertoire. She was horrified when she found out the cause behind Daddy’s improvisation. Now she imagines the coiling and roiling pit of snakes that surely resides under her bed. Daddy, the Slayer of Serpents and her Champion Defender, has already left for work.  So no ma’am, she will not be getting out of bed today.

Momma’s footsteps now creak down the hallway and stop at her room.  Uh-0h.

“Come on and get up. I made biscuits and it’s warm in the kitchen.  The oven door’s open.” Momma says sweetly.

The brat beneath the blankets cries, “Nooooo, it’s too cold! And biscuits are so yucky. They’re mushy and gross. And there are snakes!”

“There are no snakes. And I’ll toast the biscuits.  You like them like that, remember?”

Momma steps closer. Under the covers the child braces herself in anticipation of the coming struggle.  When it doesn’t come, she realizes Momma’s footsteps are fading down the hallway. She hears rustling and softly percussive kitchen sounds. The oven door creaks then snaps shut.

She hugs her knees in and shivers.

A few minutes later, the oven door creaks open, then Momma is standing by her bed again, working loose a corner of the sheets.  Delicious warmth touches her skin. Her clothes! In her blanket cocoon, she dresses in her oven-baked shirt, warm pants, and toasted socks, then she emerges a new creature.  She jumps off the bed and runs out of her room before the snakes can get her.  She follows the scent of toasted bicuits to the warm kitchen. For the rest of the day the scent of biscuits and love lingers all around her.

~~*~~

ReminisScent I

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Archives

Peaceful Hands Reiki

Where love flows

Threading the Web

One writer sharing the threads of writing life

LibrarianShipwreck

Libraries, Archives, Technology, Impending Doom

Sorry Television

Reading a book a week

Funny Sweet Chocolate: Essays by Mark Coakley

Funny rants on life in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. Comic essays by true-crime author. A humour (Canadian spelling) / humor (wrong spelling) blog.

Garden Variety

A Gardening, Outdoor Lifestyle and Organic Food & Drink Blog

CultFit

Form, Flow and Grace

Owls and Orchids

Life, Love, Spiritual Living and the odd Catastrophe.....

BeAutiFul Life

A PlaCe iN heAveN

West Seventh Freelance/ Christine Jacox Photography

Photography, seeking, writing...and learning along the way. Want to come along?!

chriscondello

Green Thumbed Vagabond

Skatturcast's Blog

Just another WordPress.com site

Peri's Spice Ladle

Indian-inspired Food for the Global Palate

everyday gurus

Everyday, Everywhere We Are Guided Towards Happiness

Jackie Cangro

Writer * Editor * Animal Lover

Lake Superior Spirit

Blogging from the Upper Peninsula North Woods...

Memphis Backyard Farmer

Country life in the big city of Memphis

Heifer 12 x 12

A global blogging adventure to visit Heifer International projects in 12 countries in 12 months in 2012

The World According To 12ax7el34...

Performing Arts * Culinary Arts * Visual Arts * Life

Michelle At Play

Come Out And Play With Me

Pavones Yoga Center's The Salty Dog Yoga Blog

Thoughts from the crew at Pavones Yoga Center Costa Rica

A Place Called Love

I wish you Peace and Joy

It's Just Life

Finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Personal Garden Coach

The Motivational Gardener at Large

Cosmo Hippie Chef

Local Seasonal Food, Nutrition, Love

zona pellucida

...blinded by the light

the ramblings

humor in the humdrum

Merrilymarylee's Weblog

Life is but a dream....

Life in the Boomer Lane

Musings of a former hula hoop champion

The Couch Manager

On Increasing Productivity and Saving Time While Working from your Couch

plum bananas

The quiet guy in the corner has a blog.

Mr. Write's Page

OBSERVATIONS / RECOLLECTIONS / STORIES

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 467 other followers