Dandelion Puff's in evening light. (from my iPhone)
It was a delightful hour. Both my daughters, Ellie the wonder pooch and me. Walking along the ridge of the reservoir in a glorious summer evening.
It truly doesn't get much better than that.
And as we walked, we talked and talked and shared and in the sharing, I slipped into awe. Awe for these two amazing young women who shine with such effortless beauty, the world is illuminated in the lightness of their being.
Yesterday, I wrote of my angst in being here every morning. Yet, it's not the angst of being here, it's the angst of some of what I'm wrestling with in my professional life that carries over into my writing here -- or rather -- limits my writing here.
It is the limits that concern me. Limits do not serve me well.
And yet, until I work through some of the issues I must deal with, writing of them here is not propitious, nor constructive.
and so, I limit myself.
Which is what causes the angst -- interesting isn't it? It's not the vastness of possibility that inhibits me, it's the constraints of where I'm at that causes distress.
It is, I am learning, one of the reason's I love living here on the prairies at the edge of the Rockies. Vast skies, even on rainy days, open up the world to light and possibility. Every moment is saturated in hope. Every vista infused with curiosity. To the west, mountain peaks soar into the heaven's above, pushing up expectations. To the south and west and north, vast undulating plains unfold, streaming out into the possibility of tomorrow and all it will bring.
Like my daughters. At 23 and 25, the world is vast and filled with possibility. So many avenues to choose from, so many paths to take.
And still they tremble. At the thought of what could be. What might happen. What if's not defined.
Recently, I moved my office to create space for one of my staff. We didn't have an appropriate space for him, and, as we work closely together (he is our media guy -- website design, video specialist, graphic designer) I decided to share an office with him. His title is: Creative Asset Coordinator -- or as he jokingly likes to call himself -- the Creative Ass.
Ahhh, I said, then that must mean our shared office is the Creative Ass Office or CAO -- said COW.
And wouldn't you know it, two days later, I saw this wild and wacky wooden sculpture of three cows -- with movable head, udders and tail. That's right. The three cows sit on rocking horse bases and when a switch is flipped, they rock back and forth causing their heads, udders and tails to rock in opposite directions.
It's so bizarrely weird it's wonderfully perfect!
And so.... I bought it and brought it into the office and set it up on the filing cabinet that sits against one wall.
Whenever you get to thinking this is all soooo serious, I told him, just flip the switch and let the cows remind you to 'quit taking yourself so seriously'.
But... it doesn't dispel the need to reflect on choices and thoughts and ideas of what needs to happen next. It doesn't negate the need to find the long view in short horizons.
Because, no matter what is going on around me, there is always the.... what happens next imperative.
Like my daughters view of the world -- staying open to new ideas, new possibilities is imperative.
And letting go of fear of 'what happens next' is vital.
Just like the cows -- seriously? Is it really all that serious?
Is it not best to just quit 'taking yourself so seriously' so that life can unfold in all its wacky, wonderful and 'wicked awesome' delight?
My daughters and I went for a walk last night. The world shimmered in evening glory and we were infused with pregnant possibility opening up all around us.
It isn't the weather outside that's the issue. It's what's within me percolating, fermenting, germinating that causes my angst -- and in that angst is the possibility of more, the invitation of 'what if', the opportunity of 'yes'!
In that angst is the irrefutable truth -- all is well with my world when I walk in harmony with the one's I love. Like dandelion puffs shimmering in the evening light, this too shall pass and become another moment, another event, another glittering cause for celebration.
Because, seriously, none of it is lasting. All of it is transitory except for one vital truth that sustains and nurtures and feeds me as I bask in its beauty -- the love we share will never die. It is immortal.
And thank you everyone for such beautiful out-pourings of support. I appreciate your words, your heartfelt sharing and your generosity of spirit!
And... I promise I'll take a photo of my three cows and post it! I know you're dying to see it :)