I’m feeling feelings. And I don’t like it!

I know not what they’re doing except they’re doin’ sumthin’!

The new flowers remedies. Rather, botanicals. These essences are created from cacti, flowers from a tree, flowers from the ground.

To iterate from a post prior, these are new botanicals from two new (to me) companies. Bach flower essences are the most commonly known; I’ve used them plenty. It was time for change.

Receiving and Creativity are the foci for these alternative remedies. So new remedies, new companies AND new themes! That’s a lotta new! I’m ready to embark on this journey, wherever it leads, and, aware of its significance to record it.

In Day One, they’ve led to:

Emotions.

Locked-up & locked-down emotions. Long suppressed, oppressed and repressed emotions rooted in my early childhood.

Actually found myself crying last night! I make spectacular efforts not to cry. To stuff all tears, and emotions generally, into my stomach so no one knows of them. (You’d think I was a guy by the way I deal with my emotions, haha.)

I am a survivor who’s developed extraordinary skills and means to survive. Not crying is instrumental to that endeavor.

* Vivid Visuals.

Specific and clear memories of themes and incidences from my early school days (i.e., second grade!) and home life. Not one is a good, uplifting or joyful memory!

The ghosts of ghastly experiences are surfacing to be recognized, heard and healed. Not fun. But necessary if I’m to grow and heal. Which of course is the purpose of botanical remedies!

* Moodiness.

Heaviness. A palpable sense of life being weighty and I wearied by it and under that world on my shoulders and back.

Not new feelings and sensations. Not by a long shot! I am simply aware of them and observing.

* Tears.

Swallowed. Know I mentioned it already but there it is again. Like a giant glacier of long-frozen internalized emotions are undergoing heating by a handheld blow dryer. Certainly won’t be a rapid thaw!

I prefer not to feel than to feel. Or perhaps I’ve simply cultivated the habit after too many years of too many traumas and losses and have been forced to forget what normal flowing emotions are. A prospect worth considering as I move forward. Rather, as the botanical remedies move me forward.

* Sadness.

Spectacular sadness.

* Hunger.

For warmth.

* Resistance.

To warmth. Because it returns me to the primal coldness of my childhood mother.

For the human being, and within the human heart, what can grow in frigidity?

Definitely massive mother issues.

* Prayer.

I pray for support as I come face to face with the coldness. One tenuous step at a time.

I hope this journey gets easier as it and I within it go on.

I’m done on Day One of this particular Journey of the Flowers.

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Speak up! They didn’t hear you in Greece!

Her hair’s a curly shoulder-length bob. A mediocre dye job.

Her hot-pink blouse suggests youthfulness but the lines in her face belie her age. Around 50 I’d say.

She sits “alone” at a table in the otherwise quiet cafe on an otherwise quiet cold night after the snow flurries.

Her black laptop and cell phone keep her company. Her cell phone keeps ALL of us company, whether we want it or not. We are privy to all things personal from a Bitchy Blonde who will not shut up.

At her age, she should know better.

Her personal conversation rolls on. And on. Loudly. And on. Still loudly. 15 minutes becomes 30. Still loudly. Still way more personal than the public wants or needs to know.

Only an empty table separates us. After a while, I give her a look. Eye to eye. Not a glare. Not knives hurled from the eyes.

Rather, the look of observation. The look that reveals nothing. The look that says: “I SEE YOU EXACTLY AS YOU ARE. I SEE YOUR BEHAVIOR FOR EXACTLY WHAT IT IS. DO YOU?”

The most powerful look you can give. The most liberating TO give. The potentially most disturbing to receive.

It’s like … catching your kid with his hand in the cookie jar. Say nothing. Just look. It places all burden of awareness on the one behaving badly.

She catches my poker-face direct stare. Turns the volume of her conversation down from LOUD to medium. Turns her back toward the room to face the wall. As if that creates a wall of privacy.

It doesn’t.

Hers is a voice that carries.

Clear across the cafe. I know. Because, fed up, annoyed and disheartened by overall public behavior and hers, I pack up my stuff for a table clear across the cafe. It’s a move of sacrifice. What I gain in distance from the Bitchy Blonde who won’t shut up I lose in a socket for the computer.

Pop-pop-pop! Her p’s punctuate the peacefulness . Sssss-sssss-ssss! Her s’s snake through the air.

I plug in earbuds. Crank up Pandora. Still she remains in my peripheral vision. A reminder of selfishness and rudeness of People in Public With Cell Phones.

I rush through the lemon-lavender shortbread cookie I’d intended to enjoy at leisure. Swallow the last of the Americano. (The best Americanos in town are at the Wild Iris!)

I pen a note in my mini-notepad. Tear out the page. Fold it twice.

She’s finally ended the conversation but is not off her phone. She’s mysteriously changed tables too to one near mine. A signal to vamoose.

I pack up prematurely, heave the heavy backpack onto my shoulders. Step over to her table. She’s typing on the phone, glued to it as if it’s her very source of oxygen. Doesn’t even glance up when a complete stranger’s standing before her at her table.

She reeks of self-centeredness and self-absorption. It’s its own scent. A stench really.

I place the folded note on the black laptop she’s yet to crack open. And walk out, glancing over my shoulder to ensure The Bitchy Blonde’s not following me with a raised knife.

The note reads:

“Your personal talk is intrusive and disrespectful. Next time consider taking it outside. Thank you.”

+ + +

Yeah, the new flower remedies (see post prior) — with an emphasis on self-expression — are already doin’ their thing.

Already I’ve gleaned a new purposeful role: As Johnny Appleseed, Spreading the Seeds of Courtesies & Sensitivities Where There Are None.

And instead of a bag of seed, carrying a notepad and pen remains imperative.

Yeah, gonna be an interesting journey on the new botanical remedies indeed!

Flowers & a fellow (who’s not so fine)

Today’s a propitious day.

As concisely as possible, a new flowers regime is begun. Flowers meaning remedies of flowers, cacti, natural elements. The Bach flowers are most commonly known; these however are not from Bach but other companies as yet untried.

I’m super excited to see where these new flowers, botanicals and earthy elementals (focused on themes of Receiving and Creativity) lead.

Having worked with many flower remedies through the years, I can attest to their effectiveness (if the right remedies are chosen) in addressing issues, promoting awareness and growth and heightening one’s vibrations.

Also, I’m “wired for flowers” — and all things in alternative health and healing, including herbs — so energetic shifts are pretty noticeable. Writing on this is a worthy undertaking.

That’s that in a nutshell.

Perhaps the botanicals are speaking already!

At a casual weekly gathering over drinks, I bumped into G, a man around guesstimated 61.

On a Listening Scale of 1-10, 10 being a superb listener (i.e., me, sister) and 1 being terrible, G. rates -10.

He excels, however, in talking. Talking talking talking. He endures and glosses over another’s comments until it’s his turn to speak again. Which is most of the time in his world.

His style of “interaction” is not uncommon. Not by a long shot! Like most yakkers and poor listeners — inseparable traits — he is arrogant, self-centered. He is Mr. Right. As in always right. Mr. Right with interesting stories. I give him that.

As a mate, he’d be gawd-awful.

As a friend, he fares little better. Unless you’re a guy content with talking about common interests. Anything outside G.’s fields of interest, you’d get more response talking to your kitchen table.

We’ve “interacted” on numerous occasions. Today’s took a novel twist. He actually asked what my job is. “I work in radio. Run the board, some announcing, call-screening.”

“Oh.”

That flat. That uninterested. That dead-ending.

Emboldened kindly by the new remedies, I took his lackluster response as a launch into a probing discussion about G.’s favorite topic: himself!

The gist: He’s interested in what others say ONLY AS IT APPLIES TO HIM. Only if he can relate. Only if another’s “share” provides him information or a tool useful to him.

The markings of the self-absorbed, n’est pas?

My style of relating is as far on the other end of the scale as could be! I’m a Walking Ear. Selfless. Interested in all things and all people. I can — and have — spent countless hours listening to others. Including total strangers. Learning about their most private secrets.

And they couldn’t tell you my name or single fact about me!

Though I don’t like them — people — I’m fascinated by their behavior both good and bad, helpful and harmful.

I love love love to learn! Mine is a boundless curiosity. Part of what makes me a good listener.

What I learned about G. today is why he’s the arrogant self-centered but also interesting man I recognized him to be on first meeting many months ago.

And anytime ya learn something — be it about someone, from someone or both — that’s always a good thing.

Your mileage may differ. G.’s certainly does. 🙂

Be Wrong and Be Paid!

Know the best job in the world to have?

Weatherman.

You get to be wrong all the time and still keep your job!

I write this as snow flurries whiz past my window in crowded chaos. Looks like the starting line at the Boston marathon when the proverbial gun goes off.

The weather prediction?

Not a word from the Wise Weathermen about the white stuff! Rain, yes. A 35% chance. Predicted temp of 49 F. It’s 44 F, my thermometer says.

They’re in the ballpark anyhow.

This ain’t some rinky-dink forecasting service. It’s weather.com. One of the biggest services around. Tons of high-level technology, satellites, yadayada at their disposal.

So how is it that my eyes disprove them – frequently?

Yeah, that snow that’s nowhere to be seen in the forecast is really coming down.

I’d like to be able to write “I wish I had a job like that. Where being wrong consistently has no bearing on my job or pay.” Rest assured, they make much more than I.

But to write that would be a lie.

I’d fire myself for such incompetency. Honest to god. No exaggeration. My work ethics are that impeccable, my commitment to quality product that uncompromising.

To y’all at weather.com, I wave my hand bye-bye like those flurries waving past that window. The flurries that you didn’t predict! Your credibility’s gone up in smoke. Sailed down the river. Gone with the wind.

I’d say get with the program but I know better. I’d say find yourselves new jobs. Again, know better.

Biggest difference between you ‘n’ me, aside from the big bucks, is that every night I can go to sleep at night knowing I did good at my job.

The night that you prob’ly forecast as day. 😉

Pop! Pop! go the balloons. And my heart.

So the super-duper birthday party last week.

You may attribute my silence to being crashed out on the floor from all the excitement.

I’m on the floor all right! From disappointment and heartache. Because no one showed up.

Was to be a party of four — all March birthdays. To you, four does not a party make. To me, loner that I am and much too isolated for much too long, it is!

The shindig was arranged through Meetup.com. A giant site for meeting people, not dating!

One gal bailed on the morning of the party. No explanation. Just boom, changed her RSVP from Yes to No.

That left three. Still a party, in my book. Still super-exciting since having anyone in my space aside from roommates is so foreign.

Nancy and Debra. Also March babies (like yours truly) and friends to each other. They were coming together.

Until an hour — AN HOUR — before the party, I got a message.

“My friend doesn’t feel like going. Since she’s my ride, we’re not coming.”

Repeat. My friend DOESN’T FEEL LIKE GOING.

Just like that. Like today’s typical self-centered the-world-revolves-around-me 22-year-old. Except she’s not. Guesstimated age: 50.

I wanted to throw up. But I couldn’t. Wanted to cry. The tears lodged in my stomach then hardened into unmovable rock.

My stomach: the lifetime repository for all pains, hurts, angers, disappointments and black emotions. I *really* dislike crying. “Big girls don’t cry” my mother (yes mother, not father — there’s a gender twist!) implored me but not my younger sister, the star child she adored who could do no wrong while I was all wrong for being alive).

So I accept stomach problems in exchange. (Oh yeah. Add hate into the stomach mix. Major mother issues unresolved.)

The party aftermath, it wasn’t pretty. Best leave that alone.

The house, however, it was pretty. Truly beautiful. Sparkly clean. Such mindfulness  in the decorations. Simple, playful and creative. Such JOY in creating it all over several days.

And the food. Did I mention the joy of shopping? In the breaking of bread together?

Consider it mentioned.

Oh, and what of the homemade chocolate torte? That I decorated with the same joy and excitement as the rest of the party prep.

Two slices I had then into the trash it went.

Like I’ve long said: People. They ruin everything.

It’d be on my gravestone were I to have one. I won’t. So consider that my final thought on humanity.

And the party-poppers.

A birthday party to remember indeed.

People in my home. What a concept!

I’m super excited!

For Friday we party!

We = three ladies also with March birthdays whom I’ve never met. I created the party through Meetup.com. (I’m a member of various Meetup groups.)

Okay, I was hoping for a bigger crowd, say 8 or so. But I’m happy for half that! My social life/circle has been nil — or damn close to it! — for way way waaay too long!

My efforts to turn that ship around are strident and sincere. Simply having people in my space is a novel adventure! Well, save for the cable dude or repairman. Having roommates and related dramas and traumas through the years hasn’t exactly encouraged a brisk social life either!

I’m a girl with a plan. A party plan! For the celebration this Friday evening.

First up: Be A Kid!

The guests are requested to bring their favorite food from when they were kids and mom (hopefully) said you can have ANYTHING you want for your birthday dinner!

They’re not to publicly post what the food is! So if we end up with 4 Jellos, so be it! We won’t. Jello wasn’t my fav birthday dish. We could however end up with 3! Point is to be a kid again and surprises! Surprise us with the dish that rings your birthday bell! That’s what birthdays are about. Surprises!

Oh yeah, I am providing cake with candles. Jellos and cake. Okay, not the height of nutrition but hey, it’s our birthday month. Indulge for a day! (P.S. I sure did on my birthday yesterday!)

Next: Get Your Goof On!

Wacky. Tacky. Just plain gross. Bring a white elephant for a gift swap-and-steal. Don’t go into debt for this gift! And if you truly don’t have any white elephants in your closet — I truly do not, minimalist & anti-clutter nazi that I am! — thrift stores are packed with possibilities. Where I’m headed soon!

Next: Bring a sense of humor.

It’s Game On! I loooooooooove fun party board games that both entertain AND engage the brain. (If my brain’s not engaged, I’m out!) Frequent scouring of thrift stores has yielded a trio of classics: Pictionary, Taboo & Cranium. Yes!

Online research returned other huge hits: Wits & Wagers, Balderdash and Cards Against Humanity — which sounds like an ABSOLUTE HOOT! Can’t wait to host a Game Night and play! Soon, soon!

Especially ’cause I’m TOTALLY NOT politically correct AND don’t whine cry and get all offended when someone looks my way like so many Americans do! From all I’ve read, Cards Against Humanity is THE game for people with a SENSE OF HUMOR. Liberals stay home and be miserable.

My vision for parties and play and game nights is a seed longtime beneath the ground. Longtime less-than-fertile soil has prevented that from blossoming.

 

Tide is turning, life season changing, slowly yet surely. The party Friday is a big deal. A turning in the road. A sign of life getting better and fun ‘n’ play, loooooooooooooooooooooong absent, returning!

Three people in the home doesn’t sound like a lot to most people. However, to me, emerging from the Darkness and Isolation and Extended Deep Freeze, it’s huge!

I’m super excited!

And I thank these three ladies for coming! May our party celebrating our shared birthday month be a blast, our laughter a roar, our shared favorite birthday foods tasty. Even if it means a potluck of 3 Jellos!