Love hurts

My daughter, M, texted me that little N cried and screamed for her at the kindergarten school's door this morning. Teachers had to hold him back so he wouldn't grab on to her. She is heartsick, and so am I. 

My sincere hope is that he bounced back quickly once she left. It happens. My rational mind knows all is fine, but my heart aches for this little 6 year old boy who wants to stay home and play. I can't help it.

Love really does hurt sometimes, especially when it comes to loving children.

Cultivating strength

Whimsy alert. Read no further if you aren't up for the indulgent ramblings of an old hippie chick today.

I admire strength, but what exactly do I mean when I say "strength?" Well, it doesn't have anything to do with lifting bar bells... I think true strength is a mental muscle involving character and resilience. It is the spark that keeps us going, keeps us accomplishing things, keeps us coming back even when we are exhausted. True strength is that desire to continue living despite the cruelty and meanness that would have us surrender to despair. 
 
Do you love lists as much as I do? If so, feel free to add your own in the comment section. Here's a quick list of what I think of as true strength:

1. Battered women who eventually leave their husbands and start their lives over.  

2.  Children who grow up in dysfunctional families and, despite physical, emotional and sexual abuse, grow up to become good people who raise good children.  

3.  Men who are kind and good in a freakazoid culture trying to intimidate them into becoming selfish and violent.

4.  Those of us who can admit we have a problem and then seek the help we need.

5.  LGBT people who refuse to live a lie

6.  The people who love LGBT people, and support them, despite family pressure to do otherwise.

7.  Introverts who find a format for speaking out that works for them.  (There is more than one way to do the right thing.)

8.  Extroverts who use their power for good and don't forget the power of humility.  (The second part is equal to the first)

9.  The students at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida who stood up and shouted to the world #NeverAgain when their classmates were gunned down in cold blood. They are actually at the top of my list right now. I love those kids.

True strength involves thinking and feeling. It requires that we become more human. As you will notice in the tarot card below which is called Strength, the woman is closing the mouth of a wild animal. She is restraining her lower self; taming it. The blue mountain in the lower left represents the great work - human evolution and personal growth. The infinity sign over her head is an occult symbol for the number 8. It is also called Splendor because by the time you get to 8 on the the tree of life, you've accomplished a great deal.

Strength isn't something that comes naturally to us. It must be cultivated, watered, mulched, and fertilized.  Let's get to it before we die of thirst.

Strength: 8th Major Arcana from The Pamela Colman Smith Commemorative Set

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Bromeliads

Taking a few minute break from angst and activism...  

T and I went to Leu Gardens in Orlando yesterday.  There are so many "early spring" Florida style flowers in bloom right now, including any number of different kinds of bromeliads.  Here are a few for your viewing pleasure:

Bromeliads really are practically insane plants and flowers.  I guess that is why I love them.  I have a couple camellia photos that are pretty nice, too.  Maybe tomorrow. 

School shooting in Florida

It is easy to feel discouraged when yet another school shooting occurs. Please don't surrender to despair. I know how hard it is to stay positive, but we must. In the U.S. we are in the midst of an extraordinary power struggle, a struggle for the soul of America. It is a fight that cannot be ignored and will not go away. If we give up, then evil triumphs. Do something small to affect change. It will make you feel better.

Call lawmakers in your state, or those who represent you in Washington, D.C., and ask for them to vote for gun reform. The people answering lawmakers' phones are professionally trained to be courteous and take your calls. Be courteous in return.

If you are phone-averse, then write a letter. Send a postcard, or an email. Show up for a protest. Donate to your favorite candidate. Join a Facebook secret group to keep informed.  Every little effort matters. Every one of these small steps is an action that will make you feel better about yourself and your place in the world. 

Do not respond to trolls on social media. They are often not even human. Others are Alt-right provocateurs who are posting or commenting based on scripts they have been provided. Responding to trolls only serves to bump their Facebook comments up to the top, which is the purpose of their vitriol. It is best to ignore them.

Don't be afraid of failure. We must try and fail many times before we win. We only truly lose if we give up.

Am I Blue?

My grandson turned 6 earlier this month and I had the great privilege of making his birthday cake. He watches a goofy cartoon called Phineas and Ferb. They are two young boys who have a pet platypus named Perry. Perry is also a secret agent, so he has two cartoon personas.  

When Perry is a pet he looks like this:

When he’s a secret agent, he looks like this:

For his birthday, I made a Perry cake that looked like this:

Being able to do these "Grandma things" reminds me of why I moved to Florida from New York State. I made a hard choice that I sometimes bemoan, but never regret. Still, there are things I miss. I think that's fair.

Today I miss iris reticulata, an early spring "bulbous perennial" we grew in NYS. It would not be blooming right now, all things still being covered in heavy snow up there.

Reticulata are a harbingers of spring; a reminder that beauty and love endure through even the coldest, darkest months. 

Our reticulata were blue. Not teal like cartoon Perry, not neon blue like my Perry cake, but the color that passes as blue in the plant world. Aren't they pretty?
 



 

The Venus of Willendorf in Blue Jeans

My husband and I dug up and divided Louisiana Irises this morning.  I was gloriously filthy by the time we were done. The sunscreen I slathered on my face was smeared with dirt and sand. Yes, sand. That is what is REALLY supposed to be on the ground here, sand.  Demon developers came along and dumped dirt upon this land. Then they set about to destroy the primeval beauty of Florida with endless housing developments and soulless gated communities. But I digress. Different post.

Starting again: My blue jeans were covered with dirt and mud. What to do? I simply turned on the hose and sprayed myself down with water. Easy peasy. I'm getting too old to struggle trying to finesse these housewifery things. Jeans dirty? Stand outside and hose 'em down.

After both my showers (...) I went in to check my social media pages. I recently joined a FB group called Crones of Anarchy. Hilarious name, but the site leaves much to be desired before it could truly represent anarchistic crones. I know a few. They could eat these pretenders, baked in a pie. 

Synchronicity being what it is, I found this post on the Crones of Anarchy page:

Stop wearing jeans?  As the song goes, "That'll be the day-ay-ay, when I die!"

Something to Say

I am tired this week. However, I have been busy collecting quotes for a series called #powerofwords my political FB group has started. If you don't mind, I will share a few here in honor of Black History Month (February).  I promise to rest up and come back with a post in my own words very soon.

Hello Joe, what do you know?

In case you missed Joe Kennedy deliver the Democratic response to Trump's 2018 State of the Union speech, here it is.   My favorite part?  "If that wall is built, my generation will tear it down."  

Hero Nurse to the rescue

I remember a nurse who made a difference in my life. She went that extra mile because she cared, she loved her work, and she was intellectually curious about it.

Once upon a time, I was in hospital for a surgical procedure. At first I was sick from the morphine; however, the nausea and headache didn't stop when the morphine did. I could not get up to shuffle down the hall with my I.V. bag hooked to a walker like the other patients on my floor. I could not keep anything down. I had an excruciating headache. I saw stars. I was not thriving. The nurses were distraught, and I got the distinct feeling they were annoyed that I wasn't getting better.

Because I was in the hospital so long with nothing to do, I eavesdropped on the nurse conversations in the hallway. They gossiped, bitched, moaned and laughed. They didn't realize patients could hear them and I sure wasn't going to tell them! It was better than a soap opera.

They made fun of one nurse for being over-the-hill and old fashioned. I had not yet met her when she walked into my room on day three and introduced herself. She looked old enough to be my mother, and I NEEDED a mother! She placed her hand on my shoulder, bent down to me and said quietly but firmly, "You've been real sick, honey. Now we're going to get you well." 

I'm not sure if it was the non-invasive touch, or her words of hope that moved me so completely. Or maybe it was the reassuring gray hair and the deep laugh lines? Anyway, I cried like a baby. I knew the worst was over and, like Mighty Mouse, Hero Nurse had come to save the day.

She went out and brought my anesthesiologist back with her. Like Hero Nurse, he had a passion for helping people. Also like Hero Nurse, he thought outside of that stupid, damn box. He asked if I was a heavy coffee drinker? I replied I was, but was unable to drink it since the surgery. He diagnosed me with caffeine withdrawal. He hooked my I.V. up to a liter of caffeinated fluid and had me drink cans of Coke. Within a few hours, I was well. 

Ostensibly, the reason for this story was Hero Nurse. However, I DO want credit for having mainlined caffeine. Many fantasize, but few actually do it.

And now for the alligators

I know these devils creep many of you out; however, they fascinate me. During this excursion, we only saw 9 alligators at the Lake Apopka Wildlife Drive, from the safety of our car. The most we have seen on this beautiful 2 hour (very slow) drive was 36. These were taken with my super duper long range, zoom lens, and then cropped. Don't be afraid!

This was far from me, I zoomed and cropped like crazy for this closeup

This was a fat one!  They are all unique

The drive was closed in late September because of extensive damage from Hurricane Irma, and it was only reopened on Christmas Eve. With all the development in Central Florida, this (and the state parks) are some of the only wild places left where you can see the real Florida, in all her swampy, brutal, primordial glory.