Like that…

Elizabeth & Colm at Denver Web Studio

Elizabeth heard me and asked, “Grandma, what is remarkable?”

So, I said, “Remarkable is someone who influences others for good, to the greater benefit of others.”

She said, “Like me?”

Before I knew it, both she and Colm were standing in front of me, saying, “Grandma, you could take a picture of us being remarkable and post it on your website, so people will know what that looks like…”

So, here it is. Remarkable.

The meeting starts at 9 AM.

She’ll be there, but a few minutes late.

This isn’t the normal stature of her game plan, she’s ruthless about deadlines, timed arrivals and getting the job done. But some mornings just don’t go as planned. Life happens. We adjust and move on through the wrecks of our existence and take a breath to catch up.

Breathe.

Sweet, clean, mountain fresh morning air, sucked deep into the lungs can refresh even the most exhausted among us.

In the hurry to accomplish our lives, we sometimes miss “living” our lives.

That’s what sharing the road is all about. We grasp the part we can carry and hand off the rest to the next person who is willing to grab ahold and help. Sometimes, we leave a few boxes along the path for those who trail behind. It’s what life is all about. It’s what we do.

The pioneers called it lightening the wagons.

In today’s world, we call it stress relief.

But those who come behind us, pick up what we left behind and appreciate the gifts and blessings they’ve found… and call them treasures.

Don’t be afraid to leave something behind as you share the road… er load.

“What about the projects?” He says.

What Projects?

So he starts asking me about the HUGE number of PROJECTS that I continue to do on a daily basis. He wants to know what I’m doing with them.

I reminded him my desk still has drawers… And the conversation moved on from there.

Home again, I’m looking at the massive file “holders” in my drawers and wondering if I can thin out some of those too. That’s when I remembered.

My son – is a virtual assistant. All I have to do is carry all those files up to his office (he’s got one upstairs), and my drawer will be virtually empty.

There’s a surprise on his desk when he wakes up!

I love that place.

It’s like a little bit of home tucked in between the Mousetrap and the Denver Merchandise Mart — we went with friends and enjoyed an overdose of Tacos and Burritos, plus enough Potato Oles to choke a … Okay, I won’t say that.

But, it really WAS a good time out with friends.

If anyone in Denver is searching for Taco Johns – 58th Avenue just east of I25.

Do it! You’ll be glad you did.

Not the sparkly, shiny ones with jewels and velvet, the African variety that is plain, gray and wrinkled.

I’ve heard an elephant never forgets. And yet, an elephant can be trained. By putting a chain around his foot, you can teach him to stay within the boundaries you set. As big as he is, he offers a timid countenance, gentle and caring on a level that leaves one wondering why? Once trained, an elephant can be tethered by a string, and he will remain in the boundaries he’s been trained to hold.

My consensus is easy.

They forgive.

They may never forget, but they forgive.

Those who train them to live in a small circle, are forgiven. Because an elephant rarely goes beyond his chosen location once he’s trained, so he must forgive those who take away his freedom. He must.

The distant desire is still there, in the elephant eyes, just beyond the complacency and acceptance that he must remain. Yet, he remains.

As people we often find the pain of succumbing to those boundaries set by others, but we rarely learn to comply. We rebel. Until we forgive.

Once we forgive them. Once we give away the anger and frustration. We haven’t forgotten, but we’ve forgiven and we begin to comply.

I may forgive. But I’m still an elephant. I will never forget.

I hold deep in my heart the desire.

In a moment of peace and tranquility, I endeavored to  understand the concept of loving others when the question wasn’t love. In that moment I remembered, “Where is your heart?”

Mom kept reminding me all day in her centric fashion as I swept through the trailer, sorting and converting the chaos to keepsakes, attempting to reunite a few of my more sensual beliefs with the reality of the mess I still have to clean up in my former home. The shell of my home has become a catch-all, storage for things everyone needs someplace to put. Including me.

Somewhere in the middle of gathering my things I was reminded to stop for a moment and recount, “Where is your heart?”

Acknowledging that my somewhat dysfunctional family is filled with good hearts, people who mean well and spirited individuals means I have to admit to being a little bit off the beaten path myself. I carry my own tune, sing my own song, and travel paths not yet secured by civilization on any average day. I live, love and laugh on the cryptic edge of society. I like it here, just beyond normal, a little to the north, and off the beaten path.

Last night, I dreamed that I was strolling through a shop. There was china at first, I was walking through a friend’s antique store, his truck was parked in the garage, but he was nowhere to be found. Then other things, in the back was a blacksmith molding hard steel. As I passed, I saw another young person there, and at the back of the shop there were two doors. Both opened in, I asked which door to take. Both doors opened to unappealing pathways. The boy said the one on the left goes up the mountain, the one on the right goes to a cabin. He paused before me and said, “You can’t go back.”

I said, “I need to go back to Denver.”

He said, “I don’t think Denver is on the map.”

I chose a door and walked out. Outside, there were people milling around and I came to a sidewalk. A woman was captured in a bit of concrete, trapped and people surrounded her attempting to help her escape. I kept walking, and ahead of me I could see the city.

My goal was in place. I had to make it to that city, and I could get back home.

But the words came to me again, “You can’t go back.”

Then I realized, “Where is your heart?” in my mother’s words, meant, “Follow your heart.”

And I have awakened, to follow my heart. The life I choose to live is miraculous. Filled to the brim with good, healthy and lovely things, people that come with precious values and principles. Those are the things that bring abundance, the gift of life, God has promised.

But, no… you can’t go back.

The promise that we’ll be blessed daily is the reason it will be a good week.

No matter what happens, each day, I know there’s a blessing waiting. The blessing may be a lesson learned from a bad experience. It may be a challenge I must face, or even a battle I must fight, and win. But the reality is, there is a promise from God that each day, each moment holds a blessing he intends just for me.

That promise is a gift I choose to accept.

While the rest of the world whines about “more snow” or complains about all the issues they have to face, I’m going to be counting my blessings. I’m going to appreciate the moisture that promises to bring flowers, grass and trees budding in my neighborhood, and will hopefully abate the fires that might come later in the year, if moisture isn’t part of our spring. I choose to celebrate the moments and appreciate whatever comes, because it is God’s gift to me, to teach me and show me his will and his way.

Tell me about your Monday and what Monday means to you… I want to know.

Speak blessings and pray for your enemy as the Bible tells you to do.

These words of wisdom are true, spoken in the Bible and gifts, promised to us by God almighty.

Truth we can hold in our heart and lean upon….

Come join me in speaking truth, love and honor on mankind!

I appreciate the variety and opportunity to update backgrounds and change the whole look of the page. Especially this time of year! Spring has sprung on my blog and everything is coming up yellow – roses. My favorite flower! I love it. and I love the color.