There was a perfect opportunity to catch spring colors at my place of work, so I took full advantage.
Here are the results:
Who’s with me on the quest for warmer days, for spring sunshine and thawed soils? South is the direction, I’m told – perhaps there is loamy soil that is thawing not terribly far away?
Longing deeply for longer days and physical purpose, I have lolled to such extreme that I don’t recognize my body parts when I glance down. I’ve assembled nine puzzles in the last four weeks, and now have assembly down to a science of sorts: outside frame first, then sort by color and assemble smallest sections first, then work up to the largest section and sort by shape.
Puzzling keeps me from surf-shopping, or lingering too long on social media. These I find detrimental to either my financial or mental well-being, so work diligently to avoid them.
I’ve enjoyed fringe social media involvement for many years, grasping in the early days of the game that I could use settings to filter out or censor unwanted information. I set up groups before it became an easy thing to do, and custom posted to my set groups many times over the years. I understand the basic underpinnings of such outlets.
Lately though, there is too much filtering to do – I would have to censor nearly every ‘friend’, family, friend or acquaintance to maintain my sense of well-being. So I reduce my time online, and diligently search for other activities to occupy my mind and fill my time. This was not a conscious thing in years past. It’s new.
Finally, I fully understand why there are some who pose the question “are we part of a simulation”? It all seems contrived lately, manipulated and overdone – like life has turned into some horrible version of reality show mixed with soap opera. I don’t want to be a cast member, I didn’t sign a contract for this – and the pay is horrible.
So, I dream a little dream of loamy soil, and sunshine on my back, and bird sounds and insect wings – and hang tightly onto the dangled offer to join one of my teammates in the greenhouse next week.
As time trickles seemingly more and more quickly through the lifeline hourglass, I find myself once again writing a catch-up post.
World events keep me alternately pressing my head, yoga style, into that hole in the ground, then rising, gasping with tear-filled eyes at the horrors I see played out around and to the globe we call home, tinted with the blood-stained, fear-driving scenarios of our future.
I subscribe to positive news feeds, to keep some semblance of balance – yet even these often confound me. How are many man-made intrusions to Almighty’s design considered to be ‘good’?
With all of this, I ground myself by thinking of NOW. The people around me, strangers, next door neighbors, co-workers, friends and family – many of these who I consider the silent majority. That portion of us who are living our lives to produce as much positive and kindness and simple self-rewards to sustain ourselves as the current convenience/industrial/regulation realm will allow.
Sure, there are outliers – those who spew hatred with their political name-calling, and those who prey on the weak, and those who regularly beat the war drums – and these are the fodder for headlines and blankets that skew the social networks.
But my day-to-day interactions are counter to this ugly racist/divisive/far-left/far-right social overlay that seems to define the majority.
I hope I’m correct – that the silent majority is as I believe, the good still there, the submissive and unspoken until awoken might that is truly indicative of humanity…
And on that note, I find myself awaiting from afar an increase to the positive – a new addition to the family! A grandson will soon be born, a brother to the beautiful granddaughter who is now 3+.
Attuned to boys, having only raised sons, I am purely excited for this new arrival. Another smattering of cells that were once part of me is to reside in a tiny new being – a mighty fine piece of new inheritance to survive me. Praise Almighty!
A granddaughter and a grandson – these two little people are my hope for better, purer things in the future. These two little beings that I don’t see but a fraction of what time I would prefer to spend with them – these assemblies of perfections and imperfections composed by their parents and all who came before them, these are the best things of life.
This Bubbe will not attend the birth or the first greeting due to a very recent job change, but count on me for a visit next weekend!
The recent job change was a surprise. I knew I had overdone my time at my current position – but seemed resolved to continue to retirement, assuaging myself with the perks of bonuses and posh office space, flexible work schedules and rare public interactions.
Then I felt pushed too far, and the well-timed surprise recruiter contact regarding a new opportunity sent me back into the market.
I had my self-confidence restored with three job offers, from which I chose… a gardening service company! Already, some of my physical ailments related to high stress are resolving. The only true negative of the new position is the inability to take time off to attend the birth of my grandson. But he won’t know that unless he’s looking back many years from now.
Until then, I’ll be working on providing him with positive examples. 🙂
I sometimes ask myself why I believe Torah. Why do I desire to serve Almighty?
Continually, I get knocked off my feet with discovered errors.
Always, it’s a lonely traipse through time.
The end of the matter – I have absolutely no skin in the game. There is zero lineage in my family line that ties to the People of the Book. I am listed on a family pedigree, part of a registered family history, that extends back to the 1500s, of European descent and documented immigration to the colonies in 1629. I am European American. Or hillbilly, in tribute to my dead mother.
There is absolutely nothing I gain by my desire to serve Almighty, except that I soothe my own soul.
I’m ostracized in some circles for staunchly defending my integrity. My blood family steers a wide berth around me since they don’t understand me — that or they attempt to proselytize me. My spouse thankfully tolerates and accommodates me, but disagrees with my beliefs, so I will not be a citizen in the land YHWH calls Israel, unless by means beyond my control. Should I find myself there, I would have to beg for scraps, scrape by and feed off the corners, hope to become a servant to survive. I have no inheritance.
You see, I am nobody. I have no reward for what I believe.
What I have is a deep belief that what YHWH has set down in Torah is the most perfect system I could ever imagine. I am a follower of rules, a cynic who tests but a guardian once I am convinced. I could keep the instructions, I believe, should I be in the position to be in the land. But what if I’m wrong? If I don’t keep the Law in the Land, I would be expelled or killed.
Harsh? Or perfect?
Either way – there’s no reward. Yet, I will continue.
Fragmented communities, one of the hardest obstacles in today’s Hebrew life, become a very sobering circumstance when there are dangers to parts of the community based on their geographical location.
It’s difficult navigation on a day to day basis. But an impending natural disaster situation for a small portion of the community makes you stand up and take note of your real community bond.
We don’t see each other, except on Holy days when the budgets and the timing works out. Technology allows us to assemble otherwise, to keep in touch and to keep a finger on the pulse of our connections, our commitment to Torah.
Irma threatened my family. Firstly, my Torah family, but also my extended family – and my friend’s family. I could do no more than sit from very safe sidelines and worry as I watched the mesmerizing giant wheel storm approach. As I kept myself busy with my housekeeping tasks, I kept the radar going, with a commentary running on the speakers – touch-points, an audio and visual perspective to those spaces that contained a portion of my important peoples.
All have reported in safe, and I’ve yet to hear all of the damage reports – but it seems to be minimal.
But I’m changed a bit.
My disconnect, my aloofness, my resolve to be independent of My Almighty and never make requests has been shattered.
I cried, and I asked for Mercy for my connections, my Community. My priorities became more clear than ever.
That, I need to remember. My bonds.
I have had depressive bouts for a long time. In the early years, they would come on as a result of a life situation, or circumstance, or poor decision, and cling to me like a strong sedative for a short duration. I would loll in the depths of despair for a few days, allowing the emotions to be acknowledged. Then, I would pick myself up and shake off the dredges – usually finding a positive action to perk me up – and resume. Don’t worry, be happy. Happy face on, life goes on.
At some point though, I stopped recognizing the depression, as it would not necessarily be tied to a thing that I could pinpoint, but rather, an accumulation of things that were akin to being in the pot of water, as the fire is started below. You don’t notice the heat, until it’s reached near boiling point. These depressive bouts didn’t give me the awareness to acknowledge and feel the pain, which I had earlier found to be an integral piece in the process of healing. Rather, these bouts were more like a drug addiction, where the chemical has lost its potency. I had built up a tolerance to the depression and a deeper state would settle on me before I would become aware.
This last bout, coupled with its added menopausal symptoms, struck a nerve finally. Likely, it was because I could finally point my finger at a cause and effect. Estrogen, you bitch! How could you do this to me?
No matter the reasoning, I now feel that I have the arsenal to effectively combat this bout, and be more aware of any future bouts to stop them before I become mired.
I’ll admit, the emotions do start to roll in, creeping from the edges like fiery smoke, and it’s usually the awareness of an angry edge that raises my alarm. I’m aware now, that alarm means it’s time to take action – turn up the music, sing it off. Take a walk, reason out the emotions. Drink some water, and redirect my attentions to some neutral subject for five minutes. And suddenly, I’m back. Me. The me who finds the positive in life – the upbeat, still reclusive, but happy me. Not the angry, withdrawn little ogre I’ve been.
So – wordy insight now given you to explain my dilemma, I thought I’d share some of the things that have helped me recover and get myself back to stability, sans pharmaceuticals or intense psycho-therapy.
These are the things I employed to counter my situation, and it has worked wonderfully. Being aware is key, I believe. I had to know exactly what I was dealing with in order to find the balances necessary for me to put into effect. Then I had to act.