Going Potty

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Dear Reader, 

It seems to me, maybe you don't agree, (just in time, for a rhyme), t'is my observation that the world of men is becoming increasingly callous. With malice. And it's beyond global. The constant barrage of what was once unthinkable is taking a toll on varying microlevels of the day to day (by the way). So I'm changing my focus, and shifting locus, and dealing with it by going potty, rather than knotty. The sun is out, and shifting doubt, what was a slow spring, is now a day with zing. So what do you know, outside I go. 

Feeling ever hopeful, I'm quelling my needlings, by putting in seedlings, to little pots, that I have bought. I'm quite sure in so doing, there may be more global peace. Inner peace for sure. The outer peas are coming along nicely. With great effort, I'm limiting myself with the varying social mediums, as well as their tediums. It's making a difference this time away. Am remembering the days when I used to read, for example, and oh - look, here I am halfway through my book. Or would work on a creative project, bit by bit, and carefully tend it, from beginning 'til end it. So this is how I'm reclaiming some humanity,  (adn not resort to profanity), at least within myself and hopefully with others, because sure as Shakespeare, my dear, a strangeness to this tale, doth prevail. 

So take heed, what do you know, off to sow, to weed, and grow. There is no need for gloom - the iris is close to bloom. See? The quirk of this perk is a smirk. Making up rhymes helps deal with the times. 

Iris close to bloom. See? 

Yours very truly, feeling somewhat unruly,
Maryanna

A Why To Live For

 By Maryanna Gabriel

“He who has a why to live for
can bear any how.”|
 - Viktor Frankl

A portal of peace.

Late last night, I began to relax when by miracle America stepped back from the brink while the word nuclear loomed. Seeing photos of Iranians holding hands across the bridges of Tehran was my tipping point.

Of course, the craziness continues this morning, but it feels different. Aside from a myriad of emotions, the recent spate  took everything I had to self-manage.

Am feeling blessed to be with an old high school chum in a lodge on the beautiful beaches of Rathtrevor on Vancouver Island this morning. 

A portal of peace. Stillness so precious. Being in beauty - a means to bear any how.

Stillness so precious. 

Awakening With Thoughts

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Hummingbird through the window. 

Sweet dreams are the best, and I awoke from one this morning. I dreamt I was fashioning decorations for Christmas. And here it is Easter... what a funny thing. 

A light rain is falling as the idea of an early morning walk dissipates. I watch a hummingbird through the kitchen window perched on the clothesline and see him steadily regarding me. 

With Easter, I repeatedly return to a childhood memory of a meal my grandmother prepared for our family and how it is that food binds memory and connects us close. Decades later, the crumble of a pie or a savoury sauce returns us to simpler times, where nourishment translates into love. A piece of nostalgia to start the day with and feed the soul. 

So then, what shall I make? Then it comes to me. A lemon tart is just the thing. That's the ol' ticket. Lemons, and daffodils, and Easter. No bonnet, though.