WriteOut of Her Mind

I stepped out of the shower onto the soft, luxurious mat and immediately felt the pain of something sharp pierce the ball of my foot. Ouch. 

Well-meaning friends and colleagues have told me throughout my life that I need to stop worrying and learn to let things go, like water rolling off a duck’s back. Let the opinions and actions of others roll right off my back. 

On the ninth day of the seventh month of a year where Simon and Garfunkel topped the charts singing about bridges over troubled water, I entered the world with a smile on my face and a wink at the doctor (because I was boy crazy right out of the gate).

A recent trend caught my attention in a way that made me laugh, yet also made me uncomfortable.

In the barn, where our farm glamping guests gather for morning coffee, we have a metal cutout of the silhouette of Gord Downie, the late frontman for Canada’s rock band, The Tragically Hip. I bought it from an artist in Harriston.

I never thought I’d describe my spouse, the Carpenter, as a Disney Princess, but if the tiara fits ... 

I never thought I’d have anything in common with Taylor Swift, but here I am relating to a headline about a photo of her in a bodysuit and the harm caused when people engage in body shaming.

I could hear my husband loud and clear telling everyone he met at the Fergus Lions Home and Leisure Show last week that my stories about him are all lies. But nobody believed him. How could they? Every word I write is true.

Like many of you, the Carpenter and I have an adult child that lives with us – for many reasons, all of which we are fine with at this present time. 

Something caught my eye out the front window: white feathers floating along the deck, moved by the light afternoon breeze. First one, then a handful rolled past, then, a whole lot of white feathers glided by. So pretty. Wait. What?

For reasons that are too numerous to name, when it comes to yard work, my beloved spouse, the Carpenter, is in charge of the landscaping duties.

Instead of receiving gifts from my adult children this Mother’s Day, I’m writing them a personal thank-you for letting me be their mother. As if they had a choice. 

This week my parents will celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary. Sixty years. Together. Through everything. For that, I’m grateful. 

She came upon me in the household cleaning aisle at the grocery store where I was looking for the cleaning vinegar. 

I like the word “awe.” It’s a good word. I also like to experience awe.  The Cambridge Dictionary defines it as “a feeling of great respect sometimes mixed with fear or surprise.” Accurate.