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Let’s go for a walk

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Let’s go for a walk. I cannot begin to put a number on the amount of times that I’ve heard that request put forth by various members of my family. From childhood until now, that has been a reoccurring request. From grandparents who walked a few miles a day, to family in Louisiana wanting to go to the river, to my own children requesting to walk my parents’ farm. Wherever we are, whether at home, visiting cousins, or taking in vacation sights, it’s the same refrain. “Let’s go for a walk.”

For the most part, we are an active family most happy in the outdoors. I will go ahead and confess that there was a good sized portion of my life where I rebelled and went against the grain. I refused to go outside unless to lay on a blanket slathered in oil, cooking myself in the sun. Exercise was a dirty word, and any attempt at getting me to participate in family activity or chores was met with a truly awful display of my teenage personality. I was rude, whiny, obnoxious, and generally so unpleasant that my poor parents became loath to even try to engage me. I missed a lot of good moments that way and I have more than a little regret about that. Slowly, I have come to the realization that not only does taking a walk make me feel physically better, it is become apparent to me that being out in nature is the very key to dealing with the anxiety and depression that I have developed in the last few years.

The joy of living on a dirt road.

Growing up as I did, as an only child of fairly loner parents who preferred to live tucked away from society and did not own a television, while making me quite happy and comfortable with being alone and capable of amusing myself, also had the effect of instilling in me a desire to live in a big city. I made sure to let my parents know on numerous occasions how they were ruining my social life (as that ever so pleasant teenager, again) and that at the first chance I got, I’d be moving to a big city and living amongst civilized society. I told them I hated the farm and gardens were stupid and I wanted no part of any of it. (Glad you didn’t know me then? You should be.) I had zero appreciation for the beauty and comfort of these Tennessee hills.

As I said, I had big plans to be a city girl. Fast forward to my very early 20’s. My first husband and I moved to an apartment in the little town of Ardmore. Now, this was truly a small town. At the time we had one chain fast food store, two small grocery stores, and a couple shops. The apartments were few in number and not fancy, but were decent and mostly quiet as those places go. As I started out in my big girl independent life, I began to notice something. Between an older neighbor who was, ahem, quite involved in keeping track of the comings and goings of the folks around and the parking spots allotted to them, and the lady on the other side who enjoyed a rather vigorous love life on the weekends, I came to the realization that I didn’t particularly enjoy having neighbors quite as much as I thought I did. Police sirens and garbage trucks, music, revving cars, and an unceasingly barking dog began to drive me to distraction. I got a puppy and took her for walks. First just in the field behind our building, and then to other parts of the tiny town. I had a car, mind you, but the puppy needed exercise and though I was not cognizant of it at the time, I, too, needed to get outside and take a walk.

Valleys and hills of TN.

After a year, my first husband and I, who also grew up on a farm, both began to understand that we craved to be back where we came from. My parents deeded us just shy of an acre on the back of their farm, and we built a house up on a hill on a dead end dirt road. Things happened, as they sometimes do, and shortly after, we divorced. I decided I wanted to keep the house instead of selling, even though it meant I’d have to work double shifts as a waitress, and my parents had even generously offered that I could move home to get myself back together. I loved my little house in the woods and didn’t want to be anywhere else. Later, an old friend and I dated and married, and after discussion, he sold his house in a small country neighborhood and moved into my secluded little home. It took him only a short time to get adjusted, and now he too loves living away from people out in the hills.

At this point in my life I understood my need for solitude and nature around me, but hadn’t yet come to the realization that I needed to go for a walk. We had three kids decently close together and were busy doing all the activities involved with young children. During these years, my parents still wanted to go for short walks occasionally and the kids, when they were a bit older, began to request to walk to the back pond after our customary Sunday Mexican food lunches. Sometimes my husband and I would walk with them, and other times we’d take advantage of a quiet opportunity to nap while they strolled with their grandparents through the trees and fields. Now, knowing what I know, if I could go back in time, I would go for that walk each and every single time it was offered. I cannot change time, but I can move forward and take the walks from now on.

One of two ponds on the farm.

I can remember, back when my maternal grandmother was still alive, and then a few times after she passed as well, being at her house in Louisiana with all the aunts, uncles, and cousins over for a meal and visit. On occasion, we would walk down to the river, I don’t remember which one, and watch the kids poke around in the muddy water, looking for critters to mess with. A handful of times, at my aunt’s house a few miles away, we would tramp around her back acres near the swampy lands, discovering flora and fauna, and attracting an alarming number of mosquitos. We didn’t walk on the roads there, because of crazy drivers and the fact that she lives near an alligator farm and I feared running into an escapee. (That actually happened to her once, as she was out running. I don’t think she ran that way again after that). Still, I didn’t always go for the walk. I just hadn’t learned yet.

My other grandparents, who were from Oklahoma, walked every day until they couldn’t. They always asked if I wanted to go, and there again, it was almost always a no from me. I couldn’t understand the point of walking just for the pleasure of it , and certainly hadn’t made the connection of the outdoors being vital to my mental health. My parents also live on a dead end dirt road and a small creek runs along it for a good bit of the way. There is always something to see there, and adventures to be had, though all of that was still kind of lost on me. As I said, if I could, I’d go back and take every walk I could. I’d probably have been healthier and certainly I’d have been happier.

From a wonderful walk through Dismal Canyon.

Slowly, over the last few years, I started to understand how much better I felt outdoors. I started gardening and then went for the occasional walk. My children and I began to go on short day trips to take hikes. We love a good hard walk with the reward of a waterfall at the end, and major bonus points if it has a swimming hole at the base. I was getting the love for the walk. Then came the devastating news that my mama was ill, dying in fact, of cancer. Months in the hospital and the heartache of the everyday battle took its toll on all of us, so what did I do? I took the kids for a hike. The woods and the exercise gave healing and strength for what was to come. Against my strongest prayers, my mother lost her battle with cancer, and shortly after we lost a dear youthful friend. We had also lost another young friend right as mother’s diagnosis. So much sorrow in such a short time. Winter came and then during what was to be a spring of rebirth and healing, came Covid. A pandemic that sent us all home to hide.

For a time, all we did was sit and watch tv and eat. Depression and fear will do that to you. I realized we were all miserable and I’d noticed a decline in my own health. So what did I do? I went for a walk. At first it was just because I was counting calories and a walk earned me the ability to enjoy more food while dropping a couple pounds. Then I finally began to notice it was helping me mentally. I didn’t think as much about my sorrows when I walked, I concentrated on foot placement and breathing. My dad would take us for walks on the farm, which I began to finally forge a real connection to. We followed every fence row, moving through hills and valleys on horse and deer paths. He showed us the different trees and we learned which rocks held fossils and which held little deposits of glitter. We came together to heal a little, moving through our loss and making new bonds. We walked with the horses, making friends with the newest baby and tracking her growth. I finally understood, after all my 46 years, where my heart and happiness lie.

If a walk doesn’t end in a waterfall, it’s best if it at least includes a precious baby horse. Meet Jean the beauty queen.

I am still struggling through grief. I still battle depression. I still have times where I cannot get up off the couch and do much more than the basics. Those days, I am happy to report, are becoming much fewer and farther between. I pray, I write, I garden, and I cook. Those activities all help. I feel best, however, when I get up and go for a walk. On mother’s day, I took my mama’s ashes and I went for a walk. I scattered them through the woods and paths she loved and I talked to her through my pain and longing. We took our last walk. A few times a week, we drive over to my dad’s and we go for the walk. I got up the other morning and realized I was all out of sorts and full of what I called the sad/mads. Instead of starting an argument with anyone in my family, I put on my coat and shoes and I went for a walk. I felt so much better afterward. Today, all my kids are home and though it’s quite chilly, the sun is shining and the wind has calmed. We plan to gather a picnic, and you guessed it. We’re gonna go for a walk.

These are troubling and scary time for all of us. Pandemics, civil rights movements and all that comes with society struggling to move forward, and now civil unrest in our beloved country as well. My advice? Turn off that stupid TV, put down your phone, take out the earbuds, say a heartfelt prayer, love thy neighbor, and just go for a walk. Be blessed and kind. Go in love. Speak peace. Grab your shoes and go for a walk. Love, Jessica.

Morning has broken

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This is my view every morning. I look out of my window, across the porch rail and through the garden gate to the trees on top of the ridge we live on.

Good morning. And it is so good. I love mornings. I am one of THOSE people. The ones that snap awake before the sun even begins to rise. The ones who are alert and functional immediately upon opening our eyes. I know, we are obnoxious to those of you who prefer to sleep and not speak until the sun reaches midway in the sky. I’m happy and hyped up to start the day in the morning and don’t even need coffee or tea, though I do enjoy them.

For me, the dawn is a sign of beginnings. A fresh start. A clean slate, as it were. Though past actions always have consequences, the dawn brings everyone a promise and a gift of another chance. I’ve seen many a glorious sunset, and the Good Lord knows that the evening’s light can make a pretty show, especially on water, but for me, its always the dawn that sings to my soul. As a matter of fact, the title of this post is the title of one of my very favorite songs. I love the version by Cat Stevens, and though it may sound silly, I joined my church in part because that happened to be one of the hymns they sang on my first visit. I took it as a sign,

All of my life, I have been a daytime person. Though Mother said, upon occasion, that as an infant I tried her patience and attempted to switch my nights and days, as far back as my cognitive memory goes, my energy follows the sun. As the day wears on, I wear down. As a matter of fact, I’m as grumpy after 8 pm as some are before 8 am. I rarely will answer a text after that time unless it requires immediate action, and have always been a matinee movie sort of girl. I have asked my husband on more than one occasion why good music is so often played at venues when it is past my bedtime.

Even as a teenager, I wasn’t great at being a night owl. I remember many an evening riding around in a car with friends. You folks from small towns know what I mean. There’s nothing to do other than drive in circles, blasting music, and clustering in random parking lots, standing around tailgates or hoods, posturing in your best outfit, hoping to be seen by someone different than the same 20 people you saw every other weekend. I have always been less than completely social and that certainly didn’t improve as the evening went on. I was notorious for sitting in my friend’s passenger seat, locking the door, and napping until something exciting came along or it was curfew. (Incidentally, I learned to lock the door, because, teenagers, right?) And I promise you that while my friends were tolerant of my eccentricities, they also quite often used the opportunity to amuse themselves. I cannot tell you how many bare bottoms I saw, and sadly on at least one occasion, my repose was interrupted my window tapping, insane giggling, and I opened my eyes to ahem, male paraphernalia against the glass. Fear not, I wasn’t traumatized, but as I inherited my mother’s acid tongue, that young man may have questioned the appeal of his own personal nakedness for some time after.

I have had, over the years, several friends who are avowed night owls. Folks who can sit up through to the wee hours and still be perfectly cheerful and come up with many ideas of fun to be had. There were plenty of times I joined them in my youth. I’m going to be completely honest and admit that while some great fun was had, Mama was quite right when she said nothing I was getting up to after midnight was anything I SHOULD have been getting up to. This statement came as I was arguing the point for a later curfew since wee lived a good 25 minutes outside of town. Since I was at the height of my teenage hubris and had no damper between my brain and my mouth at the time, I popped off with, “ Mom, I assure you that I am doing the same things before dark as I am after.” That particular moment of genius served only to backfire immediately. She thinned her lips and her eyes narrowed, clear warning signs of doom in my mama, and guess who had to be home even earlier for a while until she learned to keep her smart mouth shut.

Dawn, for me, has always been the harbinger of the best times. Dawn is when I would hear my parents stir in the house. Coffee to be made, a cow to be milked, a wood stove to be stoked in winter, breakfast cooked, and then work or school. Dawn is Christmas morning gifts being opened quietly and enjoyed before the chaos of cousins. Dawn is Easter morning candy consumed unsupervised with gleeful abandon. Dawn is packing the car to go see family in Louisiana. Dawn was driving to Nashville to catch a flight to my only trip to Europe. Dawn is my aunts and mama drinking coffee and softly laughing on the porch, their time to bond and reminisce without all the kids around. Dawn is a spectacular light show to the soundtrack of birdsong, rooster crows and animals calling in the fields.

Recently, my oldest and I have begun to make it a more conscious habit of opening the curtains and the front door to witness more fully the changing of the light. We grab a cup of hot tea or coffee and quietly watch the colors shift from dark to light. Dark blackish blue gives way to streaks of gold, pink, and purple, that gradually fade away to a bright day sky. I built this house to face east just for that reason. I bless each morning, grateful for another day. You never know which one will be your last, so praise every dawn you see. Happy New Year, friends and family, I hope your future is as bright as the rays that peeped over these glorious hills of Tennessee this morning. Go forth and God Bless.

Dear Mama

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Dear Mama, today marks one year since your soul slipped free of your failing body and flew into the beyond, free at last of the pain and suffering you had spent your last year of life in. 365 days since I have seen your face or held your precious hand and longer still since I have heard your voice. It seems unfathomable that I’ve already gone a whole year without you. All of us here are still a little lost and still figuring out how to cope with your absence. It still surprises me that I can’t pop over to the house to see you.

This is the last family photo of the three of us. It shouldn’t be.

Dear Mama, I spent some of this past year so angry with you. I was mad that you ignored your own health, believing that there was nothing that would happen in this life that you couldn’t control. I was angry that you made choices in life that took you from us way before any of us were ready. I raged against the fact that you couldn’t conquer your pride and personal demons to get the help you needed. After you passed, I threw myself into going through your boxes and boxes of belongings, throwing away lists of chores, notes, and carefully clipped magazine articles. I tossed piles of shiny things you had bought in crates for charity and gave tons of pretty garden decorations to your sisters to take home. I blew through your closets like a whirlwind, giving away anything I could, keeping only a couple T-shirts for myself and one of your favorite blouses that my dear friend B made into ornaments for us. I was in a rage, eager to throw away memories because it hurt so bad that you weren’t here instead.

The beautiful ornaments made by my friend B out of your favorite shirt.

Dear Mama, I did something I didn’t even know I was capable of doing. I arranged your funeral. I made calls I never wanted to make and tried to write up your life in a couple sentences for a newspaper notice. I wrote your eulogy that took me 2 weeks to even begin, in fact I wrote it the night before your funeral because I couldn’t accept the finality of it all. I wrote paragraphs in a flood of tears and snot, trying to convey my love for you without screaming into the gathering about how absolutely wretched your absence made me feel. Funny to sum up my whole life with you in a simple speech. I think you were with me giving me strength to speak to a room full of people without breaking down. I have books written in my heart for you, mama, so many things left to say. I hope you heard me speak that day and knew I’d done the best I could. I took some of your ashes to your parents’ graves and mixed them in the soil, so you could be with them in your beloved Louisiana, and then I spread the rest on the hills and valleys of the farm you loved. I have a pinch left, and will burn them tonight in a prayerful fire and try to release the anger and sadness that still fill my heart.

This picture sat on the table with your ashes. It is on of my favorites. My amazing parents on the day they were married.

Dear Mama, thank you. Thank you for choosing to have me. Thank you for keeping me. Thank you for a childhood full of magic, books, costumes, laughter, and love. Thank you for baby goats in the house and owls healing in the spare room. Thank you for Monty Python, Steve Martin, and Lily Tomlin skits we could recite by heart. Thank you for cutting up my waffles until I moved out, just to show me you loved me. Thank you for loving me even though I was a troublesome child, and refused to listen to your wisdom even when ignoring it hurt me. Thank you for supporting all of my dreams and interests, no matter how silly and pointless they were at the time. Thank you for the effort you put into my weddings, sorry you had to do that twice. Thank you for taking the time to make things special. Thank you for raising me the way you did, though I failed to appreciate it at the time. Thank you for listening to me vent when I had no one else to talk to. Thank you for being my friend and sounding board when the rest of the world seemed to much for me to deal with.

Thanks for the laughs and always being unafraid to be silly.

Dear Mama, I’m sorry for being an ungrateful and unhelpful daughter. I am sorry I didn’t do more on the farm or help more around the house. I am sorry for the clothes on the floor and dirty dishes in my room. Having my own kids, I totally get it now. You were a good mama, and I’m sorry for all the times as a teenager that I told you that you were not. I’m sorry that I didn’t grow up completely, and sorry I never got to know you on a more adult to adult level. I am sorry that I didn’t push harder for you to tell me why you were so thin and tired, though I am not sure you would have ever admitted to me that you were sick. I am sorry that you had so much pride that you tried to deal with it all alone. I’d have taken that burden from you if I could.

The day you came home from the hospital. There was hope you’d beat the cancer, but I think we knew you were on borrowed time even then. My heart had such joy at the time.

Dear Mama, the kids miss you so much. I hope you watched from your airy perch when Sophia graduated and walked across that stage. I sure wished you were there with us. I hope you are with them all as they grow into such wonderful people. I know you were so proud of them and they knew it too. You took such care to show interest in them and support everything they did. They will remember that forever, and will tell your stories to their kids someday. What a loss for them, their precious Baba gone before they had the years with her that they deserved. Thank you for helping me be a better mama, for showing me how to raise them, for all the lessons and help. Watch over them as they grow, and be with me as I let them spin from my hands like gossamer out into the world.

You always smiled when the kids we with you. What beautiful memories you gave them.

Dear Mama, in a way I am glad you weren’t here to what what this country is turning into. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see the way people are turning on each other. The way we have lost our way to brother and sisterhood. The whole pandemic shutdown suited me just fine when it happened. I was so angry and stunned that the world went on without you, that when it kinda stopped, I was just fine with it. Every time I went to the grocery store we used to go to together, or ate at one of our lunch places, or drove roads that we’d ridden together a million times, I was shocked that they were still there without you. How could your absence not be noted by the world. How could things just roll on like nothing was missing? But, life does go on, doesn’t it, Mama? We’re all just a brief flicker of light in this world, before we pass on and the next generations take our place. I understand that, but how meaningful we seem to our own ones.

I love this picture of you and your sisters. That’s the last beach trip we took.

Dear Mama. I’m going on. I am working my way out of sadness and trying to find my way to the potential you saw in me that I never reached. I’m going to continue to try to be a better mama to my kids. I will try to help my dad more on the farm. I will plant things and then rescue them from my own neglect, haha. I will try to do small kindnesses for others and spread joy where I am able. I will do my best to continue your acts of giving. I will write down our stories because they were too beautiful and funny not to. The world needs an accounting of the silliness and love that our family holds, an anthology of our adventures and mishaps alike. Guide me, Mama, sometimes I struggle with everyday, and trying to find my own joy. It’s pretty hard some days to remember that your love and advice are no longer a phone call or a short drive away. You will never be far from all of our hearts and thoughts, Mama. I know most of us talk to you like you’re still listening. Maybe you are.

You were never a fan of selfies and really even pictures at all because you felt old. I wonder if you knew how beautiful you were and how much we long to see this smile again.

Dear Mama, I love you and I miss you with an ache that has yet to ease. That’s about all that’s left to say. We wish you were here to laugh that crazy laugh or even slide your eyes at us like you used to do. Until the day we meet again, we send our love. I will always keep with me the memory of one of the last lucid things you said to me near the end. That shining moment when you stopped trying to walk and grabbed my arm, looked me fiercely in the eye and said, “Jessie, no matter what happens, remember I will always love you, No matter what”. Back at you Mama. Right back at you. Peace.

You’ve Got to Ac-cent-tchu-ate the Positive

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This is a post about why I’m turning away from a lot of social media, and keeping more to myself these days. It’s a post about the struggle to stay away from ugliness and negativity . These are troubled times, no doubt about it. The world has always been a rough place, full of intrigue, barbarism, war, disease, and famine. Wait, those are not exactly the four horses of the Apocalypse, are they? No matter, I just assume the actual apocalypse may have four main horses, but there will be a whole lot of nasty little biting ponies behind them. (No, no, don’t write me a response telling me off for being a small horse hater, I’m not. I love all horses, but childhood experience taught me some ponies bite. That’s another story though)..

This is Jean. She’s not a biting mean pony. She’s our sweet baby girl born this year. See, I know the bad ones are few and far between, I promise.

Ok, where was I? I got sidetracked thinking about hateful ponies. Oh, right, the world has always been an ugly place. It’s true, there’s always been evil in this world. I will be honest, though, that in my personal bubble, since my birth in the early 70’s, my life has been pretty calm and unruffled. I realize that I have had more advantages than quite a lot of people, so by no means am I speaking on anyone else’s experience. I had a loving family, health, security of all types, and many other blessings. I didn’t worry about much other than my wants, and certainly had all my needs covered. I was most likely what you’d call sheltered in a lot of ways. While I was aware that many others did not have what I took for granted, it wasn’t until much later in life that I found out the depths of what I did not know.

There’s a whole lot of folks out there who haven’t had a lot of happiness in their lives, and we’d do well to recognize that and learn some empathy. I was taught by my family to do for others. If you had the means to help someone, that’s just what you should do. My parents helped a lot of folks over time, in a variety of ways. Mama also taught me to do small kindnesses for people. That means, not big stuff like helping pay bills or whatnot, but making little treats for someone, or leaving them flowers on their porch, sending a card, or giving them a silly heartfelt gift. Sometimes, a little note of positivity helps a person get a better outlook on what’s going on in their life. Mama always taught me to make things a little fancy too, like simply putting maraschino cherries on a plain ol’ chocolate box cake to take to a friend. (And this was way before Martha Stewart, or Pinterest, folks).

I lost the path again, there. Is that just me, or is that a southern thing? Who knows, hang in there, there’s a point around here somewhere. Ahh, yes, it was there is ugly everywhere and people suffering. But, you know what? You don’t have to take part in it. You really don’t. Now, I am a firm believer in helping bringing about change to make things right and good for the benefit of everyone, and sometimes you gotta roll up your pants legs and step alll in some mud and manure to get that job done. That’s necessary work. What I am trying to say here is- You don’t have to be the captain or even part of the crew of the ship of fools. That means you don’t have to be a part of the ugly. Not only is it not necessary to join in, but it also means you don’t have to entertain it. You don’t have to tolerate it or stand in the same room with it. This is something I have struggled with in my own way. It’s so easy to get caught up in hate and despair, but you can choose not to.

Growing up, my mama always sang me a song called Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive. Some of y’all might know it, but for those that don’t, the first stanza goes like this- You’ve got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative, and don’t mess with Mister In-Between. Pretty great, right? The rest of it is wonderful too, but I’ll let you all go listen for yourselves, and I bet you’ll want to add it to your repertoire right away, and there are several versions to choose from too. So, lately in this current political climate, in our world of social media, constant TV, and sensational news (both fake and real), I’ve learned that people have just become downright hateful in their opinions. They just want to tell anyone and everyone how dumb they are and how underserving of love they are if they don’t agree. I don’t know about you, but I was taught a little better than that. I think we all need to grab a glass of tea and listen to this song again.

This is Major Tom. Tom wants everyone to stop arguing and pet Tom. Yes, he does speak in third person, he thanks you for asking. Tom says Tom’s chest is soft and good for scratches which just makes everyone feel better about everything.

I’d always heard that you never discuss politics, religion, or money in polite company, and now I know why. Because you can’t. People feel rather strongly about those subjects (heck, they will fight you to the death over what a celebrity wore on tv, so imagine the vitriol that comes with real issues), and have, apparently, lost the ability to agree to disagree, or gasp, even listen to another person’s perspective with an open mind and heart. I had no idea of the bitterness and hate in some people’s hearts until recently. Call me naive, I suppose, but here I was, just bopping around in my little bubble of chaos (if you know me, I don’t even have to explain that one), thinking people were walking around loving each other like we are supposed to. Guess not..It’s a dog eat dog world out there, and social media has brought the worst out in everyone. That’s no fun at all!

I’ve been struggling a lot lately with positivity, like I suspect a lot of people have. I lost my beloved mama to cancer last year, a couple of precious youth members gained their wings, and then the whole pandemic started, and somewhere right in there, we started turning on each other. This country took a moment when we needed to reach out and help and love each other, and instead turned it into the Purge. People I know and love have started spouting rhetoric that makes me wonder if I ever really knew them at all. Now, though I inherited my mother’s high emotional status and fierce temper, I’m actually pretty much a pacifist. I dislike conflict and discord. I have been antagonistic many a time, and won’t pretend to perfection, but my heart really does yearn to be a good neighbor to the world. I’ve cried and been aghast at what I’ve seen from folks, and finally, after a couple of soft attempts, have finally elected to shut down my FB page. I decided that I needed to be away from that kind of negativity in my life and I’d just write my little blog and not know about everybody else’s hateful thoughts. So far, it’s working out quite well. (I should admit I have a small page to share my blog on but I don’t follow people on it).

In all the sorrow this past year has held, we had some shining notes too. Pandemic be darned, we managed to be able to celebrate our oldest graduating with honors from high school!

I’ve been going to the library lately, reading books on positivity and choosing how you react to a situation that you cannot change. One such book that I am working on is called Three Simple Steps by Trevor Blake. I’m still in the beginning, but found a quote that I have been mulling over for days now: “We must change our thoughts from being against things we don’t want, to being for things we do want.” Simple, right? If you think about it, though, it’s really deep. We can choose not to sit around and just hate stuff we don’t like and turn around and celebrate what we do. I think it’s kind of a revelation. I can sit here and read awful things people say and be sad, or I can walk away from it and find my joy. It also seems to tell me that if I want to love some people in my life, I probably shouldn’t know a whole lot about what they think about on the daily…

Even Nature reminds me to look for joy. This tree certainly appears to be happy!

Clearly I cannot change other’s hearts, but I can protect mine. I can walk away from the negative, and continue to be positive. I can read books, and watch documentaries. I can search out information from a variety of sources, and educate myself. I can love people (from a distance if necessary), and try to do those little kindnesses. I enjoy my church family. I enjoy my husband and children. I have family and friends I can reach out to, and who are more than welcome to reach out to me. I can garden, paint, cook, and craft. I can hike the woods and enjoy Nature. I can step away from arguments and turn my face away from temptation. I’m gonna sing my little song and listen to my heart. I’m gonna take my advice from Mr Rogers and try to be a good neighbor. I’m gonna acc-cent-chu-ate the positive and eliminate the negative. Wouldn’t you like to latch on to the affirmative too?

This is my tiny tribe, my reason to be my best. We choose positivity together.

We can be the agent of change together. We can choose love. If you have the means, get out in nature and take a walk. We can write letters again. Cook for someone. Plant a garden or even just a houseplant. Look at each other in wonder instead of disgust. Share your gifts and talents with the world. Pray if that’s what helps you. Talk to each other. Humble ourselves. Make a list of your blessings and start the day with that so you can face the trials with a clear head and happy heart. Volunteer. Learn. Grow. The world has it’s sorrows, don’t be one of them. Love to you all, I hope this finds your heart. Jessie, Weeds and All.

Jessie, weeds and all.

2 Replies

Hi. Welcome. I’m glad you’re here. I’m pretty glad to be here, myself. This blog you’ve stumbled upon is probably going to be a halfway incoherent jumble of whatever is happening in my head and life on any given day. I’m disorganized, messy, silly, and an introvert prone to the occasional bout of socially acceptable behavior. I’m also an optimist, a somewhat decent cook, a chaotic gardener, and a lover of life and all its adventures. I like to take photos of food and talk about it way more than any sane person is probably interested in. I laugh at both kid’s jokes and completely inappropriate humor. I’m Southern, so I do tend toward manners and a sense of propriety in a public setting. I won’t be talking politics, trying to sell you any merchandise, and I certainly will not be showing any photos of my perfect home or amazing outfits on fabulous vacations. It’s just me and my family, having a pretty good time tucked away on a dirt road in the beautiful hills of Tennessee. Stick around for the odd recipe or two, haphazard attempts at gardening and crafting, and the ability to be honest about my goofy self and have a good laugh at life’s absurdities. This is me, Jessie, weeds and all.