The Gratitude Pool

More than time to dip the toe in the pool of gratitude.

I’m so grateful to write online again after 4 months of not being physically able. I’m grateful for rest and replenishment and grateful to have become more acutely aware of the need for balance in the expenditure of that precious commodity-my energy.

I’m grateful for oxygen getting to my brain and brightening my senses and for every physical ability this amazing thing called a body can do—especially healing itself…if only I give it the honor of resting time in which to complete its resetting and restructuring in ways better than I can imagine.

I’m grateful to know also that, no matter what anyone else thinks, I am just perfect wherever I am in the process of healing. There is no “too slow” or “too fast.” There is only perfection in each moment and the less I struggle against what is, the better I go…(or not).

In Light and Love,

Florence

Which Way Did They Go?

by
Florence Ondré

What's Saturday doing here? Wasn't that yesterday?
I’m fairly sure that's when I woke up with weekend to-do lists in my head.
So, what's it doing on my plate today?
It's brain boggling how days can get lost like errant socks in the wash. They must be in the tumbler on spin cycle of my mind.
There's where I need a repair person.
Ratchet my grey matter up a notch or rev the world down. I don't know which would give more ability to keep things like days of the week in a more orderly fashion. Time's a blur right now. I can barely keep two thoughts together in a semblance of shape. There’s so much busyness; cacophony of chores calling, “Me first. Me first!”
Days become night before I get half of what I'd like to accomplish done. Dinner slips into an 8-ish slot and heartburn makes a frequent P.M. visit as I barely get the pots and pans washed and put away.
If I hit the couch, I'm a goner; waking up in some wee hour with drool on my cheek, a crimp in my neck and permanent eyeglass pinch marks on the bridge of my nose.
Now that's attractive!
Of course, by that time, I'm up. And getting to sleep is either a stumbling-up-the-stairs-fall-into-bed-like-a-stone affair; mumbling like my father used to when Mom caught him napping, “I lay down for a minute. Was just resting my eyes,” or my peepers are wide open like someone toothpick propped them. No rest for the weary. Good time to write.
Everything is still. Nothing to deter me from getting words together. No one to blame for interruptions in the creative flow.
..................And my mind's a blank.