Just not doing well…my Scrambled Mind is in a very low, dark place…God has me and my safe people are with me…thanks for “peeking in” and caring ❤
Standing over the kitchen sink, dinner in the making. Waves and waves of thoughts flowing through her mind…does that reel ever stop? The memory of her little girl bouncing in, always wanting to help Momma. “What-chu making?”, was the question of the hour. Mom would answer, “Pos, food.” Giggles and rolling of the eyes would follow. Suddenly these precious memories are dampened by the memories of her own childhood.
For The Runaway, Junior High doesn’t bring cherished memories, however, Home-ec class yielded some good results. Learning to make spaghetti sauce and cinnamon rolls was a tasty experience. Recipes that are still in practice today.
Ah, yes, the day she learned to make spaghetti sauce was a memorable one. She came home so excited, ready to share this amazing accomplishment (at least she thought so) with her mother. Let’s just say there were no pats-on-the-back or words of affirmation.
Somewhere along the way, mother, begrudgingly decided to let her make this “foreign cuisine”. Oh, how excited The Runaway was! She knew they would like it. Mother bought her all the necessary ingredients and off she went into full mode cooking gear. Mother’s frown and side looks could not dissuade her. However, even though Mother agreed to her cooking this meal, mother still made the regular dinner, cause “who would eat that porquería”.
Let’s just say Dad liked it, a lot. No, he wasn’t like A Father building his daughter up. But, after careful inspection, he scarfed-it down. And, as time went, he would ask Mother to buy the necessary ingredients for his daughter to make this foreign dish.
And so went the wave of memories. Always a mixture of emotions.
Dinner is finished…let’s go eat 🙂
It feels like I should do a giveaway or something…haha!
I’m humbled. I’m grateful.
🖤🌹🎉 ~ THANK YOU ~ 🎉🌹🖤
Thank you to all who have visited my blog. I’m not a professional blogger. I simply have a Love of Writing. Writing, letting the pen flow freely, watching as the Ink Speaks. I started this blog as part of my therapy; as part of allowing myself to use my voice. My writing is so random. I’ve notice that, at times, my writing reflects my mood, or it’s affected by whatever is going on around me. So, my blog doesn’t have a theme…it’s just ME writing. And, that’s ok. I’m learning to allow my pen to flow without restricting it.
This is us! These are my safe people. I’m glad you have joined us on this life journey. Whether you walk with us a few steps or many, we are glad you are here. Grateful for each and every one of you🌸
(picture: My hubby, me, my son’s girlfriend and my friend, my son)
The holiday buzz behind us, with the crazy schedules or no schedules at all. Routine is welcomed. Getting back to my scheduled reading and writing. In reading Natalie Goldberg’s book, “Writing Down the Bones”, I was encouraged to write everyday, even if it’s gibberish. She also encourages timed writing. I like the feel of pen and paper and letting my thoughts flow freely without the thought of “writing for someone”. It’s so invigorating.
Here’s some quotes to encourage the writer within:
“If you wish to be a writer, write.” – unknown
“The worst thing you write is better than the best thing you didn’t write.” – unknown
The first “regular” Monday of the year brings an onslaught of new people desiring to begin afresh their work-out routine. The crowds are coming in causing the place to swell up with energetic resolutions. I foresee Gym Rant after Another Gym Rant in my future.
Two young girls, cussing like sailors. Speaking about things I, nor anyone, need to hear. Do they think they are cool? Do they think they sound interesting? Big, bad…whatever!
A guy with blasting music. As a woman, I hate being called a b**ch. Every reference to a woman in those sexually-laced lyrics…really?! What was being done to the woman, was explicit and vile. Is there no respect? Can the bedroom be a sanctuary for two? I was disgusted and he was oblivious. Gentleman know how to treat a lady.
On another note – just my two cents on a topic that is close to my heart. If you are new to exercising or the gym routine, get yourself a buddy or someone that knows what they are doing. I remember walking into a gym for the first time and how overwhelming and intimidating it was. The only reason I walked in was because I was there to support my daughter, which really worked out for both of us. Then I met an amazing woman, who happened to be a personal trainer. She took us under her wing and showed us the ropes. In February it will be 3 years that I’m a “regular” in the gym scene. The benefits of working out are numerous. One being my mental health.
So, let’s move it, move it! Otherwise we lose it 😉
Should my clothes be a comfortable piece of garment, simply used to cover myself or should they be torturous arsenals inflicting pain at every turn? I don’t know! I’d like to go with door number 1, please. Cause, hey, there is already enough torture without me inflicting it upon myself. Just sayin…
Have you seen some of the corsets used ages ago? Someone literally pulling strings while the person inside this horrid pieces of cloth is tightened, and tightened. I wonder how their eyes didn’t pop out. How did they eat? How did they move? Heck, how did they breathe? Remember Ms. Thang and her Death by Spanx? Yeah, pretty traumatic!
Maybe the new year and all the fitness resolutions being splattered all over the place that has my Inquiring Mind going.
How does one choose a sports bra? A comfortable, non-binding piece of garment…please! I know, I know, “more bounce to the ounce” is a catchy song lyric, and on the dance floor, it just might work. But, hey, it has no place on the gym floor. Jumping jacks without “support” is not a picture I want my eyes to behold. The need to keep them “girls” nicely in place is, well, needed. Especially as one gets older. Of course, this is a total reference to someone else 😉
Just to get into some of these contraptions is a workout in and of itself. Seriously! And, getting out of them…well, just pass the vaseline, please!
How do we solve this problem? How do we come up with a solution to this dilemma? I simply don’t know, my dear, Watson. It’s a continual unsolved mystery. One that I am sure, will yield much material for writing 😉