Random Thoughts

Why are Americans so reluctant to talk about mental illness?   Why is it kept a secret?   Why is it most people’s first reaction to look away quickly when confronted with someone exhibiting behaviors that appear like symptoms of mental illness (or worse yet, stare…)? I wonder if it is because we know that we, too , are mentally ill. I mean, aren’t we all?   Don’t we all experience depression, anxiety, racing minds, isolation, suspicion, or “different-ness”?   Maybe not to the point of diagnosis or medication, but if we do a thorough, honest self-assessment I tend to think that the vast majority of us would find things in ourselves that concern or embarrass us. This is not to downplay the seriousness of mental illness.   Someone who talks out loud to themselves but recognizes it is their voice and not that of a stranger (me) has a much simpler row to hoe than a person diagnosed with schizophrenia who hears and speaks to voices often.   Rather, thinking...

It’s easy to forget that we all have a story. I got reminded of that fact today, and I am so grateful. I have been away from my beloved “Little Yellow Free Pantry” for about 2 months and I really missed it.   It was in great hands, neighbors kept it stocked and well taken care of.   But I missed checking it, filling it, and most importantly, interacting with people who stop to get groceries out of it. So today when I saw someone getting food from the pantry, I was super excited to go out and chat.   There are some regular visitors that I know and I can grab them their groceries from the basement supply without needing to ask what they are hungry for because I can predict.   But today’s visitor was someone new – I had never seen him before.   Extra exciting! I went out and said hello and the visitor seemed open and kind.   We began a conversation right away.   He said that his buddies live nearby and they told him how “awesome our house was” or ...

I started a project the other day.   It’s something a kindergartner could easily do, yet it has taken me over a week already. I am gluing little glass “bead” token things around the rim of a table I got for free from a neighbor.   I am, as David says, “bedazzling a table”. Mind you, when I accepted this table, it was reportedly to display items on at the Kindness Yard Sale this summer.   Last year I didn’t have enough tables to put things on.   But even before we got the table home , my mind was envisioning a project.   One that I couldn’t admit out loud, because let’s be honest, I have a shit-ton of unfinished projects, and we do NOT need any more furniture for inside OR outside the house right now… But I got those little glass tokens out.   They are leftovers from when my sissies and I went crazy mosaic-ing stuff last year!   We all did a bowling ball and I also did a planter.   And these little leftover beads had been hoarded by ...

Gifts mean a lot to me.   I love to GIVE them.   I know lots of people say that, but I really take joy in finding a gift that fits a person, wrapping it, and giving it to them.   And I enjoy getting gifts, of course!   But I also really, really like HAVING gifts.   Like, WRAPPED UP, STILL WAITING FOR ME gifts.   It’s weird, I know, and it drives some people crazy.   We have a pile of unopened gifts in our house, some of which are probably a decade old!!   I have learned that I can only allow myself to “save” unwrapped gifts from my sweetheart.   Gifts from family and friends must be opened (relatively) quickly when they arrive, so as not to hurt people’s feelings.   But gifts between David and I can be left to “simmer”, I can wonder what might be in them, and I can pretend like there will never be an end to the gift giving.   That our love and exchange is endless.   A few times in my lift I have been given gifts ...

Have you ever thought about how much you strive for perfection? I think we all do it, if not all the time, then at least OFTEN.   At work we want a “perfect review”.   We want (expect??) our love relationships to be “perfect”.   We pluck our eyebrows, cut our hair, all with a goal (probably unspoken and unrealized even subconsciously) of “perfection”. Perfection is what we continually strive for , yet if we are being honest, we all know it is impossible. Your house will never be “perfectly clean” (heaven knows mine won’t anyway).   Your clothes will never fit “perfectly” and match from head to toe (that sock inching its way down your ankle will make sure of that).   Your kids, your relationships, NOTHING will ever be PERFECT . So, why do we all strive for the unachievable?   Is setting ourselves up for inevitable failure only a recipe for frustration, depression, or at the very least, feeling like crap?? Don’t get me wrong.   Th...

I wrote a couple of years ago about being a person who STOPS. Stops for lemonade stands.   Stops for mariachi bands practicing unexpectedly in parking lots.   Stops for wicker love seats left on the side of the road that just need a little tender loving care and a new home. I am happy to be a person who stops.   It feels like who I AM.   It is an integral part of what makes me me . And look, I am not staying that ME is any better than anyone else .   It is just that I have been reminded all day today how the rest of the world, at least the people who pass the Big Yellow House, are not like me.   And I find it so strange. It has been months since I did a “front gate project” – a term I coined for “events” I plan and put up on our front gate.   (And it is literally now GATE and not gate S , because we still only have one front gate since the unfortunate “car runs into house” episode that happened last October…) Anyway, I h...

We went to Philadelphia recently, and in looking online for things to do before the trip I found THE MAGIC GARDENS.   It is a space filled to the brim with mosaics and art by Isaiah Zagar.   I like mosaic – always love visiting the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore with its mosaic egg and walls. And we visited a space mosaic-ed by Niki de Saint Phalle, Queen Califia’s Magic Circle, in Escondido, California once that fascinated me, so I knew I would enjoy the Magic Gardens. But honestly, I was not prepared for the sensations that overcame me.   Every inch of the space – the walls, the stairs, the columns, the floors, was covered in ART .   Most was mosaic made from tiles, glass, ceramic, bits and pieces of life, all grouted together.   The artist seemed to have expressed his innermost thoughts, himself , and glued bits and pieces of it everywhere.   It was as if he was showing himself to the world, but only the attentive few would fin...

Maybe you run. Maybe you journal. Perhaps you meditate or do yoga. Me?   I take a photo.   More specifically, in 2018 I took a PHOTO OF MY HAND* every day. 2018 was the 5 th year I deliberately took a photo of something every day.   In 2014, I photographed the bed I woke up in every morning.   In 2015, it was my FEET.   2016 and ’17 were my HAND, and I continued that subject into 2018. I would guess at this point that your reaction might be, “Ummm, why?”.   And that is a logical question, a question that I now realize has many answers.   But the most honest, seemingly important answer is this: Taking a specific photo every day grounds me.   I have one shot at it – I choose the location of my photo based on the most significant event of my day.   But hey, days change!   What if I commit to my hand photo at 10:00 am, then “something better” comes along in the evening??   Well, that’s life, and it is a good...