Just returned from a few days camping with the grandkids and their other magical grandparents. It was excellent on one end of the scale, and exhausting on the other.
I now now why God and nature decided that 72 was too old to have babies …
But I digress.
I find I’m hooked on Creativity/Art. All the time. I mean, I don’t eat and drink art (I leave that for smores and morning camp coffee), but I do find it follows me along wherever I go.
Lake and pool swimming over for the most part, my two youngest grandkids and I had a rock painting party one hot late afternoon.
This is our second year of “sharing the art.” We find suitable-sized rocks (preferably light and smooth), bring them back to the campground, paint positive words and/or scenes on them, then place them at various spots around the campground, hoping someone else will find them and take them home.
In reality it’s a karma kind of thing. It feels good.
So here is a pic of our final batch, and along with a couple of the ones I contributed….
You can do this too! Around the campground, around the park, around the neighborhood. Do it! It feels GREAT!!
I have to say I’m a bit old fashioned, but after visiting another place for a couple of days, there’s no place like home.
We just spent five days camping with two of our best friends and 3 dogs, and, except for the huge thunderstorm that came through last night, it was a great time.
But I am now home, bags and coolers unpacked, and I’m loving digging down into my comfy sofa. Last week I was bored sitting on this same sofa.
Aren’t we all just the funniest things?
We love where we are, we long to be someplace else. We make our surroundings as comfortable and magical as we can, yet we dream of experiencing the magic of other places, other experiences.
It’s like we’re happy we ordered lasagna but wish we would have ordered someone else’s steak too.
I think it’s so important to explore other worlds, other foods, other experiences. It doesn’t matter if you can’t actually go to the places you dream about — you can still take that next step and explore it your way. Cook a cuisine you’ve always wondered about; take a virtual tour of your dream vacation; read a book written by someone who sat right in the middle of your travel destination.
At the moment I’m watching Forged in Fire, a reality TV series on the History Channel where bladesmiths make and test bladed weapons. There have been some fine and amazing swords, knives, and other bladed weapons made on that show… a creative world I know nothing about. But it’s so fun to watch artists who DO know about it!
I encourage you to try new recipes, new forms of poetry, and new creative skills. Let me know what you’ve explored, what you’ve enjoyed, what you’ll never try again.
Had a marvelous time camping … excelled at doing not a whole lot of anything for five days. Went the touristy route one day, walking through the woods/campground one day, solidifying a relationship with friends we’ve had for over 20 years every day.
Now I’m back to reality, and things are already moving too fast.
I remember when I was younger and thought the day would never end. Of course, many of those days were work days. And I had 50 years of those five-day-a-week days. Now that I am retired I am doing more in one day than I did in several.
I’m not sure I want to be this busy.
I have to admit I’m having a ball being retired. Getting up when I want to instead of when I have to has changed my attitude for the better.
But now I’ve got mowing duties and a craft show in 10 days and my granddaughter’s concert and soccer games and baseball practice and plants to take outside for the spring and tons of laundry to do and I’m already tired thinking about it all.
It’s easy to complain about where you are in life. You’d rather be there than here. You’d rather your kids be self-sufficient instead of clingy all the time. You’d rather sit and read a book than do a sink full of dishes.
Then one day a very good friend finds cancer in their lungs or needs shoulder surgery and you realize all your complaining means nothing.
Life will go on as it always has. It will always be full of ups and downs and boredom and flash moments and there is nothing you can do about them except hold on.
Today I wish all of you bright hopes and peaceful days. Learn what you can from your experiences and help others going through theirs.
Sitting around the fire and talking with good friends was the therapy I needed to embrace the world and what little time we have left to do what we want to do.
This article … oh… blog … is dedicated to those of you out there who have been sprinkled with a little A.D.D. dust. You know who you are.
And if you have to ask yourself if you have been, you have been.
I’ve been trying to get more active in my old age, despite the roadblocks my body and psyche keep throwing up to stop me. I am tired of being tired, sleepy, and muddled. I’m talking to my doctor this week about some of my medications, working on the drug angle as well.
We went camping lasy weekend, just the two of us. Oh, and the stink butt dogs. It was to be a couple of days of doing absolutely nothing (except cook and clean up). We were going to walk the dogs, picnic like we were in the wine country of France, and read. We needed to relax. Both of us.
Sitting still in a chair near the woods in the sunshine (or shade) isn’t as easy as you’d think.
You start out relaxed. Feet stretched out, cold drink on the table next to you, maybe a small antipasto to carry you to lunch. The birds are singing away, kids laughing in the distance, a cool breeze tickling your hair. You’ve got a book you’ve been dying to read and/or dying to finish. All is well with the world.
For the first 10-15 minutes.
You find you are a little too hot or a little too cold. The sun has moved and it’s in your eyes. Or the shady spot you’ve found is suddenly filled with gnats or worse. You unconsciously start wiggling you RSL foot (or leg or legs) and suddenly you lose your place in your book. You notice the kids at the campground next door or four sites down never quit screaming while they’re playing.
You get back into your book. This is the part you’ve been wanting to read since winter. And you start wondering what your grandkids are doing today. Or your sister. Or your best friend.
You come back to the book. Yes! Take a drink of your beverage and the waterdrops on the outside of your glass drip onto your pages. You don’t want to get up just to get a wipe so you use the bottom of your shirt.
Your restless leg or your blinking from the bright sun threatens to take all of your attention. And now that mosquito bite from yesterday right above your ankle is starting to itch like crazy and the dogs are licking themselves with that unbearable sound.
You manage another page, still trying to enjoy paradise, when some weird bird starts screeching from the tree at the end of the campsite, and you wonder — is it a bird or is it a squirrel?
What is going on here? Why are you letting all these minor distractions distract you?
You’re getting antsy and over reactive for seemingly no reason. And the more you fight it, the worse it becomes. It could be a form of your A.D.D. that you don’t have, or it could be your younger side getting bored.
Modern day men and women have a hard time sitting still for any length of time. We always feel like we should be doing SOMETHING. Just ask TV commercials or social media. They constantly remind you that there are tons of things waiting for you back home, and they can help. You know: doing laundry, washing floors, stopping headaches, wiping up spills, picking out a new cell phone. A thousand other things you should be doing instead of kicking back doing NOTHING.
Well, it’s up to us to work through this distraction of distraction. We work hard, run thousand of errands, work jobs and take care of children and do the dishes every day! We deserve a break! A silent break!
Let’s make sure we take that break. For our sanity, for our soul, and for our creativity. After all… even God took a break on the seventh day, didn’t She? Making the Earth n’ all that stuff was a lot of hard work. She deserves some quiet time, too.
As I am recently retired, my hubby and I took a few days off mid -week and went camping.
This is the first time out for our new camper, and first time it’s just the two of us (except for the dogs).
I don’t know which one feels stranger.
I have camped most of my life, with some gaps in years between campsites. But it’s always been in a tent. Lots of bending and pulling and grunting before you can sit and listen to the wind blow.
As my retirement gift to myself, we bought a little RV. Now most of the movement is about not bumping into each other inside the small surroundings.
I’ve also always gone camping with my kids and grandkids. There is no life better than sitting around a campfire talking and smoring with family and friends.
Last night it was just the two of us.
Tonight for dinner it will be just the two of us.
Tonight around the fire it will be just the two of us.
The jury is still out on the two of us thing.
I love my husband. He let’s me be me. Even if that Me is goofy half the time.
But times like these are the real test for a relationship. No taking off and folding laundry, no going downstairs and making Angel Tears, no going out to the garage and working and fixing stuff all day.
This is silence. Together. Daylight and evening light. No movies or kids to distract us. No job to go to, nowhere to hide.
It’s been quite interesting so far.
I know we are not Siamese Twins. We don’t need to be glue balled to each other 24/7. We actually LIKE each other. Despite the fact that I love writing and Crafts and he loves hunting and fishing, we seem to give each other enough space to be our own selves.
But with my adult onset A.D.D. I sometimes find it hard to just sit still and do nothing.
To read and then play a video game on my iPad then take a little nap then walk the dog then read then write a blog then read some more then find a gossip column on my phone is my idea of doing nothing.
He sits and reads.
I’m still getting used to this camping alone thing.
Then again, “being alone” is a relative term, right?
I missed our Sunday Evening Art Gallery post yesterday as I was camping for the weekend with my crazy family. We try and rent side-by-side sites, all the better to have the grandkids run helter skelter between grandparent campers. What one grandparent doesn’t have the other does. Riding vehicles, pokey sticks for the fire, dog treats, juice boxes — grandparents are a cornicopia of things to make the world a better place.
There is a payment for those hidden tokens, though. Marshmallows and flower hunting come at a price.
I haven’t ridden a bicycle in a couple of years. Well, this past weekend changed all that. Bicycle to the bathroom. Bicycle to the beach. Bicycle around the “O”. All with my 6-year-old grandson. First ride in the morning, last ride in the evening. Not to be left behind as a lazy granny, I’m peddling off towards the sunset, blinded by the light, laughing as I’m crying. It wouldn’t be proper to say what part of my body hurts the most, but let’s just say it’s in the middle of the word SassY.
We also play Polish Horseshoes, a game made of string and blocks of wood and dowel rods. I’m sure there’s a professional name and version of this game, but not by us. And the more the participants drink, the harder it is to hit simple blocks of wood. We cook enough food for every meal to feed an army. Sometimes it’s a mishmash of Polish and Mexican and Belgium; other times it’s carefully planned exercises in free-for-all. I suppose that’s to ensure that there’s something on the table everyone likes. And leftovers to make their way to all ends of the state.
That’s why I need more bicycle rides.
Beach time is tella tubby time, but the grandkids don’t notice, so neither do I. It’s a time to build sand castles, endure freezing water temperatures, and wander over to the food stand for an ice cream cone. It doesn’t matter that the ice cream is fattening or the sand is corrosive — all it means is that for a short time GB and I were building castles in the air and drowning the poor sand soldiers made of plopped pillars of sand.
The best times are when family and friends sit around the campfire. Night has descended, the birds and squirrels are asleep, and the park’s raccoon pack hasn’t made it down to our campsite yet. We settle in our chairs, drink our drinks, make sticky, messy, yummy Smores, and talk about our lives. We all become human around the fire — not some speedy office hero, super mom, retired teacher, or trained security guard. We are just family people, sharing family thoughts, dreaming of the best way to retire or clean out our basements or keep in touch with other family members who don’t want to keep in touch. We tell each other what a good job we’ve done as parents and friends and children, how the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and how we would fix it if we could. Then we finally make it back home, derierres and leg muscles sore, hearts fixed.
Family Time, Friend Time, is so important to human survival. We don’t have to be best friends with the world to be best friends to one. Find one. Find a dozen. Share yourself. People will accept you, quirks and all.
And who better to share smores with than someone who is as full of sticky sweet sugar as you?
I just spent the holiday weekend camping up in Door County. It’s an annual multi-family gathering, full of great food, great company, and great outdoors. There is nothing more delightful than being in the Great Outdoors, sharing secrets with Mom Nature, roasting marshmallows over the campfire and hiking down the trails. We don’t do hotels, nor can we afford a pull-behind camper. My hubbie and I are quite content to use my son’s popup tent. But I have decided that next year is going to be different. At least comfort-wise.
Now that I’m sitting dry and comfy back in my livingroom, I’m going to change my comfort plans for next year. My body’s aches and pains are telling me that this was the last year for army cots and mummy sleeping bags. I think that I am old enough to bring a little more comfort into my camping zone.
I want to go out and get a nice, fluffy pillow for starters. It can be polyfill, but I’m tired of my neck being stiff from flat head. I also am tired of the mummy-bag-look. It was alright when I was in my 20’s and camping with the gang. But with my hot and cold flashes, I can’t breath when I’m a half inch away from poly filling. Besides that, I need to be able to accommodate my Restless Leg Syndrome. I need room. So next year I’m bringing a fluffy, over-sized comforter as my bedding. Floral preferred.
I also need something better than an army cot to prevent stiff bones and joints. Between my tail bone and hips stiffening, I need something that at least pretends to be a bed. A twin-sized air mattress should do the trick.
While we’re at it, this past weekend was a rainy one. Mud everywhere. We do take the luxury of putting a mat outside the tent door, but I think a few wash ‘n wear rugs on the inside floor would be the perfect resting place for my muddy shoes and callused feet. Floral also preferred, although these should be a darker color scheme.
I do set up a little table in the tent, but, alas, my husband’s bag usually takes up most of the room. The table also doubles as a holding spot for glasses, bottles of water, phone, and other oddities that goddesses need throughout the night. So I have to remember not to fill it with silly fluff just for fluff sake. But I need some ambiance, something to keep his stinky clothes at bay. A throw of some sorts should work as a tablecloth, along with a solar centerpiece or battery operated candle. Nothing bright — just enough light so I can find my way to the door. Nothing like stumbling over stinky dog on your way to the bathroom.
I know you are saying to yourself, Hey — this is camping, you know — not an evening at the Hilton. Camping is made to be a little rough, a little dirty. I so agree. But I also know that my “seasoned” bones need a little more pampering than they did 30 years ago. I have to understand that it’s okay to be a little slower, a little more cautious when it comes to doing the things I love. I can’t run down the road with the four-year-old, chasing him and his bike. So be it. I can be standing in the middle of the road when he circles back, though. That’s what granny’s do.
Grannies also take care of their surroundings. Both for themselves and others. And this granny deserves to have a little softness in her rough and tough camping world. I don’t think adding an air mattress or a fluffy pillow takes away from the glory of a tent in the woods. These “additions” would bring comfort to my body and my psyche, translating into a happy camper. And isn’t that the point of going?
I might think a little more about throw pillows, though…
Last weekend I tried to escape by myself to get a couple of days worth of ME into the cosmos, doing nothing but writing, sleeping, and downing an occasional bottle of Reisling. Alas, my grandbaby (who is two) and my daughter-in-law wanted to get away too. So how can you say no to that?
This weekend I am going camping with extended family (which includes the aforementioned daughter-in-law and GB) — three days of isolation up in Door County somewhere. Since there were plenty of extended family members to entertain said GB (and knowing my daughter-in-law could use a break), I thought I’d outline a sequel to the novel I finished a while ago. Now I find out there is no electricity. Hmmm. No electricity = no computer.
So I have to put my creative muse to the side — AGAIN. Here I am in my blogs, encouraging everyone to get in touch with their muse and get into whatever creative endeavor sings to them, yet I find myself putting my creativity to the side in order to have more exposure to something else I love more.
Now there is love, and there is love. When you love your kids, you love them all 150%, no matter if they have green hair or ACT scores along side of Einstein. We love our dogs, our cats, and occasionally the rest of our family. We love music, movie stars, and chocolate, although those loves are tinted by the recipient’s inability to directly respond back to us. But what happens when you find an activity, an expression of your true self, that you really enjoy doing. but you don’t have time enough to prove that love?
I hate always being an armchair lover. I would “love” to go to Ireland or Italy, I’d “love” to learn how to cook a souffle, I’d “love” to ride a scooter to and from work, or Ride the Wild Surf at Ventura Beach. But the odds of any of those “loves” are as good as getting struck by lightning (which is at least better than winning the lottery). So I learn to channel my out-of-the-box loves into forms that I can handle in small bunches. Classical music (Schumann, Mozart), rock and roll (Molly Hatchet, Lynyrd Skynyrd), television (Closer and House reruns), taken in small batches, often scratch the itch from the creative mosquito. Something is better than nothing, they say. And it’s true.
Better to get one bite of rich, dark chocolate, than never know what it tastes like at all. Better to get one quilt patch done rather than still be waiting to buy the material. We don’t have to be a quantity-driven society; in most situations quality is just as important (if not more so). So I can’t spend a week or two with aforementioned GB — ten minutes of him laughing and saying “gamma” fills me during my lonely times. Walking around a city block isn’t the same escape as walking through the woods, but grass is grass and air is air, and just being out in Mother Nature does wonders for your psyche. You all have little experiences you wish you could turn into bigger ones…just jump on the little ones and forget about the bigger ones. You’ll be surprised how much satisfaction you get from them, too.
Don’t let your inability to have it “your way” stop you from getting it any way you can. Just when your schedule can’t get any more screwed up, a patch of blue opens before you, allowing you a chance to connect with your creativity. Don’t be afraid to work around it, with it. Let the tease remind you of why you love your hobby in the first place. You’ll eventually find time. They also say wherever there’s a will there’s a way. That’s true, too.
So now when I go camping this weekend I’ll be prepared. Guess I’ll have to create the old fashioned way — with a pen and a spiral notebook and a flashlight.
I just have to be careful not to get the grand baby’s smores on my paper.
Just returned from a few days camping with the grandkids and their other magical grandparents. It was excellent on one end of the scale, and exhausting on the other.
I have to say I’m a bit old fashioned, but after visiting another place for a couple of days, there’s no place like home.
Humoring the Goddess 