Saturday

Saturday Shower Meditation

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When I remember—I do this.

Mindfully.

I imagine that the water sort of “clean slates” me. It removes all of the sticky yuck that had adhered itself to me during the day and brings me back to neutral.

Neutral feels good.
Neutral feels doable.
I can handle neutral.

Sticky yuck—not so much.

Who doesn’t feel better after a nice hot shower?

Another option is a hot bath. I like to add Epsom salt. It relieves muscle aches and pains and convinces me that it’s the next best thing to soaking in warm ocean water, which it isn’t, but I’m gullible when I’m wet.

To rid my body of toxins, I’ll add some apple cider vinegar. It is advisable to immerse your entire body, even your head, which, if you’re built like me, includes your face. So take off your false eyelashes.

Try not to breathe while your head is underwater. That leads to death, which, if you think about IS the ultimate in peace and quiet, but I think it takes that a little too far—so I’m not recommending it.

Just think about it. Water has the power to carve stone. Hello, The Grand Canyon?

It can surely wash away all of my jagged edges.

Happy weekend,
xox

Reprise — Not On My Watch, Asshole

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I saw it when I opened the drawer to get my gardening gloves yesterday.

I was cleaning up after the wind. He has made quite a mess in both my front and back yards the last few days. A fine layer of dirt covering every surface. Leaves, twigs, feathers and discarded cigarette butts lay strewn around and piled up in corners.

We don’t smoke.

My Muse does, so I suppose they’re hers. I’ll have to look for the telltale red lipstick.

The wind always does this the day AFTER the gardener comes. NEVER the day before. He has a twisted sense of humor, he thinks it’s ironic.

It always starts the same way. I pick up a stray piece of trash that has found its way onto the porch. I’m usually in my morning get-up of a combination of pajamas, sweats and flip-flops. Next thing I know, it’s four hours later and I’ve cleaned the gutters and power washed the place. I loose complete track of time and ruin my manicure. This time, about an hour and a half in, it occurred to me to get my gloves.

Sometimes I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.

So…..I open the drawer of a little table outside.
It sits under the dining room windows and contains a trowel, clippers, gloves and other assorted yard taming junk.

And there it was……a perfect bird’s nest. Tucked inside this shallow drawer, next to a box of stick matches.(see photo).

My heart skipped a beat as I just about lost my mind with delight.

The thing is, I collect birds nests. I have a couple of hummingbird and five or six regular ones of various sizes.

I also believe they’re good luck. It’s a positive sign.
Protection…safety…being looked after.
Shit. Who doesn’t want that?

My husband just shakes his head.
Hey honey — Don’t be a buzz kill.

So many things crossed my mind as I gently removed it from its perfect hiding place.
The mama did a magnificent job.

It was big and warm and cozy. It’s a masterpiece, that nest-in-a-drawer. Truly one of Mother Nature’s miracles.

I remember seeing her, this tiny mama bird, outside the window, gathering bits of home building materials while singing her lovely melody. I’ve decided she’s my hero.

I sit every day writing, just on the other side of her temporary home. I could hear the babies. A couple of weeks ago, they were so vocal I went out and looked up in the trees for a nest. It never occurred to me to look in the drawer.

Note to self: I’ve GOT to develop an imagination. That bird has really raised the bar around here.

Two days ago I came across the body of a little tiny baby bird in another part of the yard. It was right under a tree and I could see the remnants of its nest high above my head. That baby had not fallen out. It was pushed. Probably by a crow.

The crows can be jerks. They dive bomb my dogs. I’ve seen them bully the smaller birds.

That made the nest-in-a-drawer even that much more ingeniously resourceful.
“Not on my watch, asshole” was the message it sent.

Don’t you love nature?
Don’t you love tenacious mothering?
Don’t you love gifts, beautiful little surprises?
I do.

This was a great reminder to appreciate the little things in life. If we are present and look closely, they are all around. These tiny wonders.

And….one more reason to love Saturdays.

Xox

Post Script: I’m reprising this post from last May because I opened the drawer this past Saturday to find she had built the second nest-in-a-drawer in as many years.(See below) I’m dying to meet her and take her for coffee. Honest to God, she’s my hero.
Carry on,
xox

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Another giant masterpiece found this week. I am rich in bird’s nests.
(yelp)

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We Don’t Only Cry When Things Are Sad — Jason Silva Saturday

“The moment we cry in a film is not when things are sad but when they turn out to be more beautiful than we expected them to be.” – Alain de Button

Ha! I love to keep you guys on your toes! Look! It’s a Saturday morning with Jason.

I have such a fond memory of a ride on the motorcycle in Italy, on a road between Pisa and Lucca, that was so sublime in its perfection; in its unexpected beauty; that it moved us both to tears — simultaneously.

What moves you to tears? Weekends?

Have a great one!
xox

The Eccentric, The Broken, The Outsider

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This is SOooooooo true! You know why my tribe?
Because they are the MOST interesting, sensitive and insightful souls.
Because they see the world differently than most.

Slightly tinted, and a bit skewed through the outsider’s lens.

Because they have an edge.
In their work and words and life.
It wraps it’s pointedness around their soft gooey hearts to keep them safe and sound, and if they let you inside, it feels like the Fourth of July, your first kiss and Christmas morning all rolled up into one.

Are you one of these wonderful, ragged, gypsy souls?

Then know I love You. Happy Saturday.
Xox

Crazy, Sexy, Saturday

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Crazy Sexy Saturday
Kris Carr may own the Crazy Sexy franchise, but I don’t think she owns this one……yet. So I did it.

I love Saturday. It is without a doubt, my favorite day of the week.
It has a color: Yellow. Don’t all the days of YOUR week have a color?
And it just has that. special. vibe.
Rain or shine, it really is THE perfect day.

Here’s my reasoning:
It’s the crazy sexy sleep-in day.

It’s the crazy sexy lazy day.

It’s the crazy sexy Nutella French toast day.

It’s the crazy sexy “I have a hot date tonight” day.

You have permission to waste Saturday. You can stay in your pj’s, especially if the weather’s bad, and talk on the phone or watch “You’ve got Mail” for the nine hundredth time. You can sit with the magnifying mirror and pluck your eyebrows….for an hour. You can take a yoga class AND walk the dogs in the park. You can get lost in a good book, or listen to music, all day, guilt free.

Saturday is the day to indulge in all the seemingly mindless things that are vital to our metal health.

Having been in retail most of my life, I worked Saturdays. Even though I was convinced everyone was having the best day EVER while I was working, it still felt special to me. Even then, I always looked forward to Saturday. I know it was because vintage engagement rings were a large part of our inventory and Saturday was “engagement ring” day. I loved selling engagement rings. They actually sold themselves. You can’t talk anyone into an engagement ring. They have to feel it. Still, I loved being involved in the process.

I would even wear a dress and heels. By choice.
Saturday just had that kind of effect on me.

Saturday is perfectly positioned. It’s sandwiched between Friday and Sunday. Friday, (which is green by the way) has its own TGIF energy, but it’s still a workday.

Sunday, (Aqua) although awesome in its own right, has a little of that going back to work vibe.
My husband gets the “Sunday night blues” He has since childhood.
I don’t; but I can relate. I get the “last day of vacation” blues. They’re similar.
You ruin a day, by knowing its has to end. Sad but true. A ton of people do it.
Not the best way to live. Not living in the moment, I know.
Hey, give us a break, it’s our one shared neurosis.

Sundays we ride motorcycles, so we’re up early. If we’re not up for that, there’s the local farmer’s market or flea markets. It’s the day I tackle my list of “to do’s” around the yard and house. And some laundry, so that about shoots the shit out of Sunday.

Our house usually smells amazing on Saturdays. Partly because Maria comes and it smells of Pledge, Windex, wax and lemons. She has the magical ability to rid the house of dog farts for which I am forever amazed and indebted.

The other reason is: that is the night when we have people over for dinner. My husband is a magorific (His word) cook. He shops all morning, returning with overstuffed bags from several different culinary stores around town. (You only have the stamina for that on Saturday.) He chops, he slices, he dices. He buys things like endive and fennel. All his recipes start with onions and garlic sautéed in butter. Heaven.
The house smells like heaven, like crazy sexy heaven, on Saturday.

I’m trying to make an intangible……tangible.
It’s crazy sexy Saturday, because I’ve deemed it so.
Let’s all enjoy our Saturday!

Do you share my love of Saturdays?
What’s your favorite day? Does it have a color? I’d love to know.

Xox

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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