It is breath that gives us the will to live, the fortitude to overcome, the peace for joy.
When we are lost. When we don’t know what. When we don’t know where. When we cannot understand. First breathe, then think: what nourishment do I need now? What nourishment does s/he/we/you need now? For body, for spirit, for eyes, for brain, for whatever.
It is fear that is my undoing. It holds my breath. It hides the clues. It takes away my sense of me. It holds me hostage.
Until I breathe.
And then I am breathing. And breath blows fear away.
Like the imaginary dreams floating out of my child’s restless head. Together we purse our lips, puff out our cheeks, and we blow them away. Blow them to the dream-catcher to snare, to the window to toss out into the world and break into a million dancing pieces. Our breath is magic.
an hour a quarter after lights out
she’s still awake
Do-bug:Â Mama, your bedroom is boring.
Mama:Â It’s not meant to be entertaining; it’s for sleeping in.
i’m on a mission.
a mission to fulfill my dreams of eating marshmallows atop my hot cocoa.
i will find me a recipe.
here’s the challenge:
no ‘natural flavors’
no corn syrup
go forth and conquer!
Thank you for your patience as I upgrade this site and reconfigure all the plugins.
Most of the content will still be accessible over the next 24 hours, it might just not look as pretty.
My heart can get full sometimes.
It can complicate life.
My heart bursts with the hurts and the joys of others.Â And then it gets all mixed up, mashed, and bubbly as i wonder what i can do to alleviate hurts i have no control over, or share in joys that are not mine…or wish for joys that are not mine…
And I find myself dreaming of the swaying of skirts, the swish of ribbons, and the feel of buttons in my hands.Â I pull out my scissors, paw through boxes of fabric, and lay out grand plans for healing my heart through my hands.
In my mind, new babies are clothed in soft cotton kimono wraps, my girlfriends sashay in skirts that match their darling daughters, my child’s dollies and puppies are adorned with new accessories, i am forced to buy new shoes just to match the perfect little spring dress i whipped up, and my child snuggles up under her new quilt made just for her.
In reality, my projects take far longer because although the dreams are there, the time is not.
But I know, if I have the time to stitch every day, my heart would be too busy making love with fabric to notice it hurt at all.