Dream A Happy Life!

Three Blessings

Jeanne — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 00:05:42 +0000

Last week I was touched by nature in a special way!

My laundry was in the dryer, and I was out watering the hanging baskets in front of our store, and talking to a friend. A little green grasshopper hopped out of a plant and landed on my shoulder, and kind of hung out there for a few seconds. Then he slowly made his way up the side of my face, sat on my eyeglasses for a moment, then meandered up the side of my head. I somehow felt a bit honored; he was so calm and curious.

I went back to the laundry room, gathered my laundry and folded it, feeling that my visitor was still with me, although I didn’t know where. I took the laundry home (a small camper, remember?), put it away, then looked in the mirror. Yes, my new little friend was perched on top of my head. As I reached up hoping to gently remove him, he hopped onto my hand and sat there. We looked at each other, then I brought him outdoors and placed him on my Clematis vine. What a sweet little experience that was.

A few days later, I was watering in the garden, and a brown and gold butterfly landed on my forearm, and again, just hung out there. Time was standing still for me, as I wondered what was going through his little head. He flew off to visit a flower.

Yet again, time stood still for me as a hummingbird hovered right in front of my face, so close that I could hear the humming of his tiny little wing motor; this has never happened to me before. He too flew away to a nearby flower, but not before I acknowledged my thanks for the visit.

Ever been so excited that you just needed to scream and shout? It was hard for me, each time, to remain silent — but my insides were doing a wild jiggidy jig!! I felt that these little visits were a sign of acceptance. Four years into tending these gardens, I finally have been acknowledged by the native dwellers! Even the bees choose to leave me alone as I deadhead the plants while they forage among the live blooms. This is SO my place to be!

P.S. Being aware of blessings is a blessing in itself. Being aware of blessings unseen (like, I know they’re out there, I just don’t know what they are) is also a blessing — and geez, no end in sight

We, the Observers

Jeanne — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 09:25:29 +0000

photo by Supagroova

It’s been said What You Observe in Someone Else is Exactly What You Observe in Yourself. Hmmm . . . can it be? —

I’ve been observing some behaviors that make me want to wave a magic wand and “fix” things:

A good friend is majorly (not a word, I know) stressed to the point of becoming physically ill. So easy for me to say to my friend, identify your stressors and find a way to eliminate them. And, as an observer, it’s easy to see what those stressors are. Some arise out of such love for another that there’s just too much “giving in” to that other’s desires, which creates a huge burden for my friend. Some arise out of a misplaced sense of obligation (it seems to me).

Observing this, I wonder if I exhibit the same behavior (clinging to stressors out of a sense of duty). OK, I guess my friend is mirroring a behavior I’ve had in the past. In the past, I felt an obligation to be “all things to all men.” I felt that if anything, absolutely anything, was out of whack in the life of anyone I cared about, it was my duty to fix it, the personal cost to me not being a consideration — my time, my money, my energy level, all were more available to others than they were to me. I lived a life where I simply couldn’t say no.

Now I wonder where that notion came from. Perhaps in those days, self-love was taboo; maybe putting my own needs first was considered selfishness, which was also taboo. Yes, back then I think that my guiding thought must have been “the first shall be last, and the last shall be first” (Scripture quote) and I didn’t want to be last at the final hour.

There came a day when I realized (or, more likely, some author suggested) that everything I experience is the result of the choices I’ve made. WHAT?!? I’m stressed out by CHOICE?? What am I, some kind of idiot, choosing stress and anxiety over peace of mind? I began playing with this new idea. Hmmm. Is it really true that no one can make me angry, that I choose to be angry? Could it possibly be true that my stress arises out of conflict, and that my continual denying myself in order to respond to another’s wants is creating some kind of subconscious resentment toward the other? Oh geez, am I by choice creating a love-hate relationship with that other? Is it true that I’m doing this to myself, it’s not Life doing it to me?

BINGO.

What about now? Am I still sacrificing my own needs? I don’t think so. I think I’m wiser now, having learned from experience. Somewhere along the line I uprooted all the guiding thoughts, studied them, and replanted only the ones I chose to keep. Perhaps someone waved a magic wand over my life and fixed it, because I’m pretty darn stress-free.

Or maybe, says the small voice in my head, it was I who fixed my own life.

As for my friends: it’s not my job to fix anyone’s life. It’s my job to honor and respect the choices they make, and to love them unconditionally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the Going Gets Tough . . .

Jeanne — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 21:12:49 +0000

The entire east coast has been through a scorching heat wave. I know, I’ve been smack in the middle of it. Heck, I come up here from Louisiana every summer to get away from the heat. What’s going on?

My mind doesn’t function very well when it’s cooking. I thought I’d share the thoughts that have been passing through it this past week or two . . .

Must . . . have . . . water. Water . . . please. . . say the gardens. I hear you. I’m coming, hose in hand. Hang in there, here comes the water. Don’t give up. Here it is. . . Ah, that must feel good. Now if only someone would water ME. Oh wait, I have a hose. Think my boss would object if I hose myself down? Probably. This is a family campground, no wet T-shirt contests here. Oh, well. I can water down my head, at least. Oh, yeah, call me the Wethead Gardener.

Good grief, I finish watering one garden and I hear the cries of the others. OK, OK, I’m coming, hold your horses! God, please don’t let the well run dry! Too many gardens, not enough early morning hours to do this watering. Can’t water in the heat of the day, what a waste of time that is. All right, then, I can work a split shift: start watering at 5:30 am (when it’s light enough to see what I’m doing), water til around 11 am. Knock off until 7pm, water until 9pm when it gets dark. This way I should be able to hit each garden three times a week.

Geez. Three times a week. Unheard of around here. For the past three years it’s been a once-a-week thing. Last summer we only had ONE 90-degree day, and that was in June. Mother Nature, what ARE you up to? I thought we were friends, working hand in hand. What’s that, you say? You take care of what YOU plant, and I take care of what I plant? Damn. I guess that’s fair, but still, aren’t we partners?

Wilted, are you, little plant? Why? I just gave you mucho water. Why aren’t you perking up? Oh, yeah. It’s too darn hot to be perky. I know I’m not. I’m moving as slowly as possible, trying to conserve energy. I’m looking for things to do in the shade. I’m wilting too. OK then, wilt away, but I know it’s not from lack of water. It’s just the heat. Big heat. Triple-digit heat that we’re not used to up here.

It’ll pass. I know it will. One of these days the rain the forecasters promise will actually arrive. That’s when I’ll see the miracle of Mother Nature again. Well water is OK for plants, it keeps them alive, but it’s chlorinated. Rain water, on the other hand, must be like nectar of the gods, because the plants come alive, go greener, blooms are brighter, stalks are straighter, after a good rainfall. It’s like they say “finally, REAL water!”

Here I am, fighting the heat for the gardens, then taking flight into my own little air conditioned space, adapting to the situation by changing up my schedule. And that’s what Denis Waitley said in one of his lectures: it’s no longer simply a matter of fight or flight, nowadays we often must adapt. He’d be proud of me, doing all three!

Indecision, Oh Indecision!

Jeanne — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 01:46:42 +0000

What do I want to be when I grow up?

Which road should I take?

I don’t know what to wear!

Do I take this job or that job?

Where do I want to live?

Ah, decisions, decisions! Or, in my world where a different word is used, ah! Choices, choices! Don’t we make choices every single moment of our lives? You bet. Every day we choose to respond to the alarm clock (or not), get to work on time (or not). . .

As children, we chose to obey (or not), to eat our vegetables, brush our teeth, take our baths, be nice to our friends, gentle with animals, respectful of elders — or not, or not, or not . . .

In making our choices we spend our lives defining ourselves. Who we are. We build our character, set the stage, create our drama. And over time, we graduate from making the choices we’re supposed to make, to making choices we want to make. At least, that’s the way it can be.

Some of us, however, as adults continue to make the choices others want us to make, or think we should make. We live our lives according to someone else’s rules. We chase the dreams of another because they want us to. We strive to live up to the expectations of others.

Others, others, others! When do I get to be / do / feel / think the way I want to? Aha! It’s choice time, yet again. We get to live OUR lives when we decide to. When we choose to. How very hard that can be, when the others express disappointment, or fear for our welfare, or skepticism; especially when the others are important to us, are folks we care about, love, and want in our lives.

We don’t want our important others to be wringing their hands or shaking their fingers at us, or sullenly waiting to be able to say I told you so when we fail (if we fail) in chasing our own dreams. We want moral support, and Go Get ‘Em messages, and encouragement. But, if we are being our very authentic selves, the presence or absence of friendly support makes no difference to us, because we make our choices now based on our self-love.

Exactly that and only that. Have you not noticed that those who are living their dream, or are on the definitive road to living their dream, kind of glow in the dark? Their smiles are so genuine! Their laughter so contagious! Their caring about others so embracing! They are bigger people with more of themselves to give because they are happy people with healthy, expansive psyches.

Oh, and yes — they don’t put much stock in negative thinking.

About my flower friend in the picture, the friend that started me thinking along these lines: apparently this little flower, bred to be a Candystripe Zinnia, somehow felt a loyalty to the normal one-color zinnia in its gene pool. Ah, which to be, which to be? My little friend decided to be half of both. But hey, if that brings happiness then go for it (it certainly brings attention!)

Humor is Where You Find It

Jeanne — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 19:48:02 +0000

What a week it’s been — and it’s only Thursday . . .

MONDAY: awake at 4:30 so I could gulp down my two cups of coffee before hitting the road at 5:30 to be where I need to be by 6:30. Where, you ask? The place where I would have my remaining ten teeth pulled, be fitted for dentures, and walk away with dentures in mouth by that afternoon.

OK, so I was misled — was told to be there at 6:30 to beat the crowd. Hah! Not only did I NOT beat the crowd (there were fifteen people there first), getting there early was a waste of time. Seems that when folks register at 7:15am, they’re not necessarily seen in the order they arrive, but rather according to what they need done. Drat. Coulda slept another hour.

I’m called into the exam room at 9am, xray taken, impressions made, sent off at 9:30 after being told to return at 2pm. Drat. Four hours to kill, forgot to bring a book, too hot to take a nap in my car. I spent the four hours touring Winchester VA, getting horribly lost, losing all sense of direction, getting some chicken for lunch that must’ve been leftovers, all dry and stringy. Drat. Possibly my last real meal for awhile, and I throw most of it away.

2pm, I report back, get so shot up with novacaine that my head’s swimming in it. Dentist deftly removes teeth in record time (I hear them being placed in a cup: plink . . . plink . . . ten times). I might shoulda kept them and made a necklace. Dentures are fitted, and of course since even my eyelids were numb all the way to my chin hairs, I had no idea how comfortable they were (or not). Get my instructions, am given a prescription for pain meds. Drat. Pain is involved.

I make my way to a pharmacy, get the meds, take a pill just because something might start hurting, and travel the 45-mile ride to home. Mouth is seeping blood, I can taste it. I look in the mirror. No, I’m not pale as a ghost, I apparently have plenty of blood left.

At home I look in the mirror. Am horrified to see my skewed smile — one side of my face is still very numb. Teeth look good, though. I wonder what they feel like. I’m too wound up to hop into bed as planned, so I play on the computer, read my instructions. Oh, geez . . .

I’m told to leave these dentures in the first night; otherwise my gums will swell up and I won’t be able to put them in tomorrow. Criminy, that would be horrid. I’d kinda like to take them out because I’m still bleeding and the instructions say to bite on gauze if that happens. But heck, I can’t chance taking them out NOW! Not even for five seconds, that’s probably all the time my gums would need to puff up. I’m sure I still have plenty of blood.

By dinnertime my mouth is definitely hurting, the pain meds are fairly worthless. I have ice cream for dinner. Hey, comfort food is comfort food. Eventually I fall asleep, pain and all, with my new beautiful teeth still in my mouth.

TUESDAY: OK. Pain is very persistent. The bleeding finally stopped. I’m taking the pain meds whether they work or not, in hopes that eventually there’ll be enough in my system to have an effect. I gotta eat, however, to keep my strength up, right? My normal breakfast is a peanut butter and margarine sandwich. Well, that sounds like soft food, so I’ll go with it. Drat. Lower dentures swim around in my mouth. There are a few spots that hurt like hell. Damn that medicine. I finally down the sandwich, mashing it between my tongue and palate. Hope my stomach acids do their thing to the not-chewed sandwich.

I’m miserable all day, can’t go to work feeling like this, the oppressive heat is killing my gardens I’m sure, and guess who doesn’t much care right now. While speaking with someone my upper denture pops down. Drat.

Lunch is ice cream.

Dinner is pasta and spinach. Same deal as with sandwich. Instead of chomp, chomp, it’s mash, mash.

OK, time to remove these babies so I can dutifully rinse with warm salt water. Ah, feels good to have them out and have my gums all to myself. But then I gotta put them back in. Oh, the pain. Oh, the swearing. Someone please save me from this. I want my old miserable teeth back. Damn the pain meds that are useless. I make a rash decision to never do this again.

WEDNESDAY: Wake up feeling positive, thinking surely things will feel better today. I get to work really early and begin watering before the sun clears the hill to my east. Boss sees me and says “you must be feeling better.” I then realize I still feel like crap. By noon it’s 95 outside and I retreat to indoors and lunchtime — last night’s leftovers. I’m getting the hang of eating with useless teeth. Pain still intense in a few spots.

Then it dawns on me: the pain is due to some “hot spots” where the dentures are rubbing or pressing too hard in a few areas. Hah! And the solution is . . .

THURSDAY: with a burst of positivity, I jump in my car and head to the denture place to have adjustments made. Within 30 minutes the dentures are modified, no more pressure, no more pain and I’m downright giddy with relief. I drive home grinning like the Cheshire Cat only with twice as many teeth. Oh, did I forget to mention that? I’ve NEVER had so many teeth in my mouth as I do now. Those lab guys went ‘way overboard.

Maybe, just maybe, when all is said and done and I’ve taught my new teeth to stay put and I’ve taught myself how to eat differently and how to talk without dislodging them, I’ll say this was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. I’m all for happy fairytale endings.

But I can’t help wondering what’ll be going on next week . . . meantime, I have to go to the grocery and find the Soft Food Aisle

Hello, Anybody There?

Jeanne — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 09:40:10 +0000

Uh . . . Hi. If you’ve followed this blog in the past, guess what: I’m gonna give it another go.

Not retiring after all.

Over the past several months I’ve been missing this activity. So last night I read back through some of my posts, and your responses, and the sense of belonging here just kind of welled up — rather unexpectedly, too.

In other words, I’ve missed you. And I’ve missed me, too!

Now that’s crazy, you may say. You’re with yourself 24/7, so how can you miss yourself?

Easy answer: when I write / blog, I put on paper / into words a part of me that is bashful, if you will — I surely don’t go around daily speaking out loud on topics of meaning. My human encounters are for the most part casual conversations, quick howdy’s, occasional sharing of some grief, be it large or small. True, there’s almost always the undercurrent of good friendship and caring, but no overt speaking of the Meaning of Life And All Its Little Parts.

We can express our philosophy of life by our actions. Actions speak louder than words, so they say. We can express ourselves through artistic means, be it music or painting or woodworking or any other kind of craft. We reveal ourselves in many ways without explicitly verbalizing.

For me, though: my returning to blogging is the result of a new self-discovery: I inspire myself. When I write, it’s from the gut, and from experience, and from reflection. When I read what I write, I’m drawn (or compelled) to live what I write.

I think this is kin to the “vicious circle” some speak of. It’s not vicious, but definitely circular. I write what I live, so that I can live what I write.

If this makes no sense, then — hey, that’s me in a nutshell!

So, to anybody out there, and to everybody out there —

I love you, and I love me and it’s just great that we can be!

Life’s Little Side Trips

Jeanne — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 22:34:04 +0000

In one of my early posts I reference reaching the top of a mountain, sitting a spell with a sense of accomplishment and the satisfaction of completing the big leg of a journey. I speak of looking back on my traveled path, and being able to see the little side trips I took along the way. Of reaching dead ends and having to retrace my steps to resume my journey upward.

Some of our side trips find us on long and winding roads with scenic vistas that take our breath away. Some of them are a bit arduous, some are murderously difficult. Some are easily traveled, with good roads under our feet, some are barely more than dirt paths strewn with rocks and the occasional muddy rut that we have to wallow through. We may even suddenly find ourselves in quicksand.

All of them add richness and dimension to our journey.

Among my favorite side trips was the time I took flying lessons. I had a love affair with that little single engine Piper Cub. Once I advanced in my learning to where I could fly solo, I had many adventures, among which was

getting lost in the sky and finding my way back
almost colliding with a larger plane on the runway, because Ground Control forgot to tell me to change runways
practicing recovering from a stalled engine (diving toward earth to gain airspeed until the engine kicked in, then pulling up before hitting the ground)
trying to land the plane with a strong tailwind (again, Ground Control neglecting to have me change runway due to change in wind direction)

Another side trip I’ll not soon forget: Blogging, which has held many delightful surprises!

I had no idea I’d be connecting with so many beautiful souls
I had no expectation of making cyberfriends in other countries
I certainly didn’t expect to find so many people (many of you young enough to call me mom!) on such a course into wisdom and spirituality, a fact that belies the “wisdom comes with age” notion.

With that being said, I’ve come to the conclusion that this side trip has been completed:

For the time being, at least, I’ve written all I care to write
My passion for blogging has wilted
I’m a firm believer in following my gut

I’ll most likely be retiring this blog — in the next several months. Meanwhile, I’ll be returning to my first little blogspot blog which I pretty much use as a journal.

I’m hoping that the connections I’ve made with readers will continue via my visiting their blogs and commenting from time to time — I don’t want a complete disconnect!

I wish every one of you wonderful side trips, filled with lovely surprises that take your breath away. I wish you all the strength necessary to power through the arduous trips. I wish you smooth, easy roads to travel. I wish you light at the end of every tunnel, and most of all I wish you awareness that you’re never alone. Not ever!

Sometimes We Must Wait

Jeanne — Thu, 25 Mar 2010 00:22:53 +0000

My last post was 13 days ago. As far as blogging purposes go, that’s not so good.

For the past 13 days, and believe me it feels like a whole month, I’ve been wallowing in a kind of purposeless haze. I’ve been doing things like eating, sleeping, working, watching TV, playing games on my computer, wondering where my blogging interest went; just kind of treading water. No, not even that; I’ve been lying on my back and floating along, wondering where the heck I’m drifting.

I haven’t really enjoyed this float, and from time to time I’ve uprighted myself to try to swim to shore, but my mental and emotional energy had no staying power. Back to floating.

Normally I enjoy the floating experience — when it’s in REAL water. I’m able to lie back onto the water, interlock my hands behind my head, close my eyes, relax into the undulating water movement, and even fall asleep in this position. Normally this is by choice. Not this time. At least, not at first. . .

This time it hasn’t been my choice, and I’ve been impatiently aggravated with myself. Now, this is a lesson in humility for me! Here I am, happy with life, regressing into a feeling I thought I graduated from a long time ago: a feeling of discontent, a feeling of being lost somewhere and not knowing which way to go.

So, I find it amazing that this morning I woke up, and over my first cup of coffee outside sitting on my steps, I finally heard this in my head: Hey, it’s all OK, it’s all good, everything has purpose, things are not what they seem, you’ve been dealt a hand and have played the cards as you should; you’ve been reminded that there’s always a gestation period before the arrival of something new and wonderful. Now you’re rememberng that, and you’re smiling again, smiling with the anticipation of that something’s inevitable arrival. Good for you.

Hah! I’m a kid again, eager to greet today, and tomorrow. I’ll be looking around corners and into closets to see where this new and wonderful something is. And I know, once again, exactly what I’ll find — the sweetness of sunshine and fresh country air, the delectable music of my bird friends, the warmth of smiles and laughter shared by my friends and co-workers, someone’s good news making all of us glad.

When a storm knocks out the electricity, we can either have a fit, scream and rant, or we can find our candles and lanterns, and realize that darkness is also a sacred place, and just wait it out. Let it be. Go with the flow. Float. Be at peace with what is. And if you’ve got a computer game you like, go for it!

I Think I’m Back

Jeanne — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 18:22:23 +0000

If you’ve been following this blog, you know I’ve kind of disappeared.

Like –POOF–

When I started this blog, I thought my direction was clear to me. I would share information about how I dreamed into being the happy life I enjoy. I thought I’d be offering some wisdom for my readers.

Before I could hit my stride as a blogger, my life changed: last September I embarked on a six-month road trip instigated by my daughter Sara. My blogging became a bit erratic, but it was mostly a travelog, talking about the places we saw and sharing lots of pictures. It was absolutely the trip of a lifetime, two good friends who just happen to be a mother-daughter combo.

Now the trip has ended, and I’ll be back in Hagerstown Maryland tomorrow, resuming my life as gardener and landscaper in a lovely rustic campground.

I sit here in Pocahontas State Park near Richmond Virginia, and I’m realizing that I REALLY became invisible in the blogosphere when we hit the Louisiana state line. Back in familiar territory, back in our old stomping grounds; both of us visiting our friends and family, taking care of personal business. The adventure was pretty much over, and we began focusing on getting back to our “real” (other) life. And NOT blogging.

I lost my passion for blogging. Well, maybe not my passion, but my direction. I had no heart to force a blog onto my computer. I didn’t have anything to say (what, ME?) that I felt was sharable, or of value. Hmmm. Silence of the mind will have its way, no matter how much noise we’d like to make.

So what to do? I’m thinking back on my happy life. Is this still a direction I want to go? Do I even really have the key to a happy life? No, of course not. I have MY key. YOUR key may be different. Or not.

My happy life really kicked in back in 1989. I was a single mom with big financial struggles. I was working jobs that I had no heart for. When I don’t like my job but feel compelled to work it because of dire necessity, it’s pretty much like pushing a loaded wheelbarrow up a steep hill. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. Then I saw the Open Door.

That Open Door was the simple thought “it’s time to go home.” Home was in Louisiana where my family was. I just needed my family.

As soon as I walked through that Open Door, the world of cares lifted from my shoulder, and the Saving of Jeanne began in earnest. I found a job I loved, and a fine little house for my brood. With the help of my family I recovered fully and went from basic survival into thrival. All because of that Open Door the little voice in my head pointed to.

MY key to a happy life is engraved with many messages:

All things are possible.
You’ll see it when you believe it.
Happiness is a choice.
Ask and you shall receive.
Go with your gut.
Listen to your heart.

You get the drift.

Well! Seems that this bit of rambling has brought me to a new clarity; imagine that

I’ll return to blogging, and to reconnecting with all my favorite bloggers, and to discovering others that will become favorites. I’ll continue with the general “happy life” theme. Maybe I’ll draw parallels between a road trip and life’s journey. Or not, that’s probably been done too often already.

Maybe I’ll let my Spirit Guides lead the way. Heck, why should I do all the work?!?

All right, good and dear friends, I’m back. Welcome home, Jeanne

Home is . . . WHERE?

Jeanne — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 01:41:19 +0000

Some say Home Is Where the Heart Is. Those of us who’ve bailed out of home ownership for living in an RV say Home Is Where You Park It! That means, of course, that wherever I am in this big land of ours, I’m home. This SO agrees with me

For the past six months my heart and my home has been all over the southwest United States. What an experience, being home in places I’ve never been before.

Now, there’s a thought to think about: can we feel at home wherever we are? Can we be at home with whatever situation we find ourselves in? When we learn how to be at home within ourselves, we can be home anywhere, and at home in any situation.

In one short week I’ll be back at my Maryland home, resuming the gardening gig. I’ll be busy transforming THIS

into THIS!

It’ll take a few months or so of good old-fashioned cleanup, working the soil, adding delicious compost where it’s needed. I’ll be saying hello to an aching back, callouses on my hands and knees, and dirt in my shoes. I’ll be saying goodbye to clean fingernails. It’s like participating in a miracle, and this is where my wandering heart will be grounded for awhile And that means, dear friends, that this blog will regain a semblance of “scheduled” posts! Whoa, Nellie!

Back to the question, then: where is YOUR heart most at home?