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As I get older I worry about not feeling well. My mind runs away with me, imagining what it might be instead of what it is.
But no doctor. Old Sea. Old sea speaks to me.
And apple cider vinegar and honey in a bottle of water. Mom's cure all. Day 2.
Two little girls on the beach yesterday. Hours spent catching little fish in their net. Putting them in a bucket. And finally throwing them back. I sat and watched for a long time as it seemed they caught me in many memories from my own childhood. As the sound of the waves seemed to wash my worries away. I floated. I stitched.
House of Stray. I called it that a while back. I am still calling that. It is about safety. Relationship. The freedom to choose Way.
By sundown I felt better. I slept. Here I am. Feeling good.
Still working at finishing up what is here. Because after a while there is no room for new ideas.
But sometimes when I pick up an old idea,it feels new again. And that's good enough.
Working my way around the edge. It's bigger than I remember.
Thanks to you all for your kind concern. The comments. The emails. The phone calls. The wishes for healing. I am better today. At least I slept most of the night. It seems a minor sprain coupled with some underlying hip bursitis which is linked to the arthritis thread that runs in the family, on Mom's side. Moving has been a high priority this year because of that. I believe this (just moving) has better prepared me to recover from injury. I am out of the bed. With help, since getting up is the hardest part. My target is to be up and around as soon as possible. I've chosen to swim in the old cold sea (that glorious liquid basket) for medicine. Float. And then wallow in a hot shower. Rock between these things. In my mind I picture the pain radiating outward. And away like ripples in water. I visualize these things and it helps direct my energy.
It's sort of like planets aligning. The power in even imagining that.
Nine for almost aligned. Stitched very slowly during intervals of sleeplessness. In a chair, propped up by pillows. Aching. Grateful for all these little pre-prepared squares that save me over and over.
The man is in the air somewhere between there and here.
He's not feeling well so I'm making soup.
I kept stitching yesterday. The day, like quite a few days before, passing in a kind of unfamiliar blur. Not understanding why. Normally, I enjoy time to myself. I get stuff done. Clear my head. This time I simply missed him terribly. There, I said it.
So this Early April Stray. Weary, Waiting, Wallowing in an old sea of confusion. Feeling Incomplete. Conjuring a way to rescue herself using what's in her heart to build a better basket.
On Friday. Before the weekend rush. Squeezing in some quiet time.
The sea is about a mile down the road. And a shorter distance if we use the right of way which cuts through the properties of others, including ours. The neighbor below has blocked that path. Such a great guy. Won't miss him a bit. #%!*head.
It used to be different here. Too much money and arrogance rolled in and spoiled the community feeling.
The beach though, is still unharmed, mostly because it isn't a white sand beach with entertainment and food stands and such. It's rocky and raw. And narrow. There is a lot of boat traffic on the weekends but the beach itself remains as it has been for as long as I can remember. With the occasional pile of empty beer cans carelessly left from some secret late night teen gathering.