Monday, April 25, 2011

Frozen tuna casserole.  The egg noodles are good.  The celery is not good at all.  Not sure where the tuna went.  However, the peas make up for everything.
I am happy to be your friend.  I am glad to be able to take you out for shopping, or meals, or just to go somewhere for coffee and an hour or two of conversation.  Really.  I know that you are lonely and I am, again, happy to be your main social contact.  Truly.  That said, I am not certain that I am able to take you out for many more of these long days. 

I am still feeling ill and Easter Sunday brunch yesterday would have been so much fun if it had been only three or four hours.  Arriving back home at 10:00 p.m., I must admit, was way too late. 

We can still go to the big city for one of those thirteen hour days of lunch, shopping, sitting and talking, dinner, talking and all the rest.  Then, later, I think we need to talk about this.  At least a little.  Huh? 
Rhubarb, I love your hearty efforts to survive everything you have endured for the past three years.  The transplanting, the stomping and tromping, the late season, wintry weather.  Even a covering of April snow has done nothing to offend or inhibit you.  You just shoot your brilliant crowns up through the still-chilled soil and unfurl your dreamy green leaves.  I need to find my inner rhubarbness so that I am not feeling distraught over my own snow bonnet.  Metaphorically speaking, but you already know that.
I had to decline a new opportunity because of the last thing that happened with that gallery manager.  On Friday I was offered major space and I just kind of said that I was no longer exhibiting, mostly because I do not want to rehash what happened or even re-experience those feeling from earlier this year.  When the gallery owner replied that that was not possible and kept staring at me, waiting for some kind of an explanation, I realized that it might be true.  I might not have the heart to show my work anymore. 
I am simplifying my schedule.  I have eliminated three obligations and moved four more to different days.  With any luck, I will have three or four days each week for taking care of my older ladies, for cleaning better around here, for spending more time with my grandbabies, napping, sewing, napping.

The difference between all the past months and May is astounding.  May looks positively empty.  I am not sure that the future will find me all that happy about releasing some of these obligations, but for now, it seems wonderful.
In releasing my attachment to judging other people, I seem to be more stuck on critique, criticism and nit-picking on myself.  I am a slacker of the highest degree and deserve that kind of observation and correction.  I am hoping that my desire and efforts to improve myself, and all of the attendant issues, can keep pace with the urgent attention paid to how much have I still have do and how far I still have to go. 

I am running as fast as I can.

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