The weekend approacheth....

Friday is nearly over and Saturday will very quickly be upon us. One more week of not accomplishing enough to satisfy the demand.  Saturday and Sunday will bring little, if any, relief along that line but perhaps a chance to rest will present itself.  Too soon Monday will threaten and then be upon us one more time. It sort of reminds me of a short rhyme I wrote many years ago...I can't recall now why I wrote such a thing but it went something like this:

To wake to the dawning;
Oh, but a mournful sight--
If I could be keep my thoughts
And visions captured within
The night...
But alas, the dawn doth bring
The cruel and loathsome rhyme
Of facing one more day to act
In the reality of time.
Circa 1970

I think I was decrying the fact that I had to get up and go to work the next morning. I have a brother who says "work is for people who do not know how to fish." He may very well have something there.

In a few short minutes it will officially be Saturday...but I won't go fishing. I will work in the garden and hope my squash plants start looking better. The yellow crook neck and the zucchini are blooming quite profusely, however, their leaves are starting to look...as my mother would say...a little peaked (pee'-kid meaning to have a sickly appearance.) I am not sure they will ever make squash. My tomatoes are doing very well. The beans and peppers are looking good, too.

I dig the soil, plant the seeds, water, feed, weed...sometimes, it actually pays off...but most of the time, I could have bought a couple of bushels of vegetables with the money I spent...not to even mention the time, the broken fingernails, and the sore body I could have prevented by shopping at the farmer's market instead of Lowe's. But, the meek shall inherit the earth...and after I have made my body dirty and tired working in the garden...I would be glad for them to have it!

In all actuality, I love to work in the soil and see things grow. I have a small copse of trees planted in large pots waiting for a yard in which to plant them permanently. I have peaches, plums, fig, loquat or Japanese Plum trees, and grapevines patiently growing in pots....all with an air of expectation and hope of a good home soon. No, my trees do not talk to me and unlike Clint Eastwood's character in Paint your Wagon, I do not talk to the trees--(who would have ever thought about Clint Eastwood or Lee Marvin in a musical?)...I can't help but to know as I walk among them with feed and water that each of them have the hope of one day being productive and fulfilling their life's purpose. But then, don't we all?

What is our life's purpose? Well, that is a good point of discussion. We know we have come to this earth to gain a mortal body...a perpetuation of our eternal progression. We live, we procreate, we walk by faith, we endure to the end...Yep, sounds simple enough doesn't it.  Well, I think I am kind of like my squash plants; I think I may be a little peaked.  I have at times in my life bloomed profusely, I have born fruit, perhaps it is just my duty now to produce a lovely shaded spot in the world for others to enjoy...and that has nothing to do with my weight so don't even go there. Just pack a lunch and enjoy the coolness of my umbrella.

My umbrella, I think, would be my personality, my ability, my talent, my willingness to share part of me with others..to be of service in anyway needed. Or heck, it could just be a good joke and a blog or two....nothing too profound. Then after we have done all we can do...we go into another realm of eternity to live, to work, to never be tired, to never know the sorrow of pain or loss. Yeah, heaven..That is our purpose in life....Sounds like a great weekend retreat that never ends!  I am up for it. I would venture a guess that even though we will have work to do, it will never be Monday in heaven...whaddya think?

I have long contended that heaven will smell like freshly baking bread and taste of fine chocolate when we desire it. But now that I have written this....I think I could forgo these pleasantries for no Mondays!
But for now, in our sphere of mortality as we know it, I will look forward to the weekend without giving thought to Monday for a couple of days. So, if you've a mind...just pick a shady spot and enjoy life. Things could be a lot worse.....you may not ever have gotten to know me! Remember Today's life thought:

Today may there be peace within your mind and heart. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself in knowing you are a work in progress. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.

Had I lived in Days of Yore....or, a Cheeto, a Cheeto, my Kingdom for a Cheeto

If I had been a fair maiden when the civilized earth was but an adolescent I would have played upon my Rote (a medieval stringed instrument played by plucking) and sang songs of forbidden and unrequited love. I would have pouted about by lipid pools and languished for the want of a knight to rescue me from a life of "fair maidenness.”

I would have dreamed of being a pub wench and serving grog to sailors. I would try to imagine myself as a swashbuckling female pirate dressed in red brocade with thigh-high boots of glistening black leather with silver buckles. I would envision me riding a white stallion o’er hill and dale with my raven black hair blowing in the wind to meet a tall handsome lover in the nethermost part of the most-dense woods beyond the city wall. I would see myself sitting tall on the monarch’s throne with a crown of rubies on my palest of pale blonde curls while sentinels with golden swords stood guard near by and servants waiting to cater to my every whim.

But alas, and alas, I am not a fair maiden and these are not the days of yore. I have not a
Rote (unless you wish to rename my Compaq) upon which to pluck and no lipid pool by which to pout or to languish….but I still wish for someone to rescue me—so, I suppose we can keep the lanquishing part…

In my days of now, I am still dieting and walking. My caffeine habit has been overcome. I no longer have to say the Soda Pop Creed (See earlier post A Jam Sandwich and a Pine Float)…..but in the back of my mind somewhere in a barren, desolate vale of nutrition my heart cries out….a Cheeto, a Cheeto, my kingdom for a Cheeto. Gosh, I love those crunchy, orange bites of absolute junk food! When I was a mail carrier….many were the pieces of mail that were delivered with orange “Cheeto Tracks” on them. But alas, and alas (people said that a lot back in the days of yore) I have had to swear off Cheetos, Gummy Bears, Rolos, and assorted other good-to-you/bad-for-your-belly-fat foods.

By August I shall be but a mere shadow of the girl I now am. My thin body will flow like water as I walk and an almost inaudible sound of rustling heather will follow my foot steps. The tiniest fragrance of Honey Suckle will caress the air as I pass. All heads will turn to see the magnificence of me…..I shall periodically stop and sigh with the most feminine of sighs to allow the onlooker to partake of the beauty and burn the breath-taking image into the inner recesses of their minds. (Remember in what I majored in the “School of Hard Knocks” --See my profile article…In the beginning God created…And do not say I did not warn you.) All will be well in the world and all God’s Children will have bread. Except for me—I will be clinging to one orange morsel…never to be consumed in this lifetime…a morsel to remind me of how far I have come since my days of leaving Cheeto tracks on people’s mail as I delivered letters being in the company of one cool Cheetah.

So alas, and adieu my dear friends….until another day, another time when once again you will ride with me as the wind blows our sideburns against our ears as we follow the golden trail of cheesy goodness into another realm of absolute madness and merriment.