I have a box where I keep ideas, like props I want to play with some day. In that box sits a light bulb twice as big as my palms.
It’s hard to hold onto ideas, sometimes. They’re fleeting. Unclear. Brilliant but bygone as soon as you try to fill them with details and words.
This light bulb wove its way to the top of the box and the top of my mind, after decades encased with a clip between plastic and cardboard. “It’s my time,” it whispered, then rattled some more.
The sun had barely crept over the mesa when the light bulb woke me that day. At first it asked to simply be held and beholded. It was slippery, that idea. My lack of opposable thumbs didn’t help!
I sought a twist-tie in the kitchen, but it was too short. Then I found a rubberband in my junk drawer, where other ideas toss-tumble and jumble, waiting their turn. Now I could hold that idea more firmly, testing its shine as the sun spilled over the peaks, past orchards and pastures, into my window. I leaned into listening to the idea, so quiet at first.
When have you heard an idea beginning to form? Does it whisper? Does grab your attention with a blinding Aha!!! ???
Snowflake, having finished her breakfast, had questions about this idea. But it was too early to clarify with any coherence, so she glared instead.
“Too bright,” she mutter-meowed.
Truth. Beauty. Love. Good words. Good ideas. But where do we go with concepts like that? We must lift up ideas to be seen, examined, experienced…
Let new ideas swirl in the light of day dawning…
Go toward the light. To the window! To the view!
“Staying indoors is not good enough,” said the idea. “Go outside and play,” it insisted. Ask other bulbs how do they grow…
When queried, “How do you do? And by the way, how do you shine?” the grape hyacinths answered, “We simply bloom from our bulbs into blue. We just be as we do.”
“So that’s how you shine?” I and the light bulb replied, our question mark rising an octave.
“I’m beginning to see,” I said to the light bulb, meaning this idea about shining your light.
Aha! I declared as we brimmed full of photons. We are diamonds in the sky, day and night.
We can twinkle in daylight, we can twinkle in dark. We can dream in starlight and sunshine.
What ideas are coming to life because you’re shining your light?
How are you holding the light that YOU are, not just in your mind but your soul?
We love the idea of YOU and your light! Please keep shining brightly!
I made Monday a Sunday.
Slept in. Dawdled. Worked only one hour.
Then I went to the beach by myself plus my soul and my snapshot machine. And beach blanket.
High tide was on its way in. So much for exploring.
My self said lets sit. No need to explore. We can see what we see from this spot on the rocks.
She was right. Our eyesight grew sharper with a short-sighted focus. What could we see in the sand and the gravel and driftwood from here? A lot it turns out.
Like flat rocks to stack, like thoughts on a shelf.
And blue mussel halves of size large and medium. Then lo and behold, a super small two-halves still-intact whole!
Add a half ancient shell with hole for a string to add to my collection back home, then a super small shell of the same kind, sans string hole.
Clear sandblasted glass then a green shard.
My eyes were having so much fun noticing, I mostly took pics with my mind.
I noticed how high tide comes in with so much stuff in the swells. It matches the muck in my mind that’s needing releasing.
The waves serenaded. The sun played hide and seek. The sand bugs jumped up and down in delight or delirium; it was hard to know what they meant in their popcorn-like frenzy.
Time slowed. Time passed. Sea slowed and did a 180 sans fanfare.
By the time dinner called I noticed the waves were clear of all stuff. So was my mind.
I walked down to the meadow on Saint Patrick’s Day to visit my friend, Mr. Gnome. The daffodil sisters were shouting with their hyacinth smell for me to come over. They had something to say.
I stood on a log to get closer. The eldest leaned down. I peered into her face, and inhaled as big as I could.
“Oh my gosh, you smell divine!”
“Why, thank you,” she said, on behalf of the whole clump of girls. And they giggled and waved with delight.
“The slugs have been bugging us,” the eldest told me. “Their breath is so bad. Can you help?”
“I’m not at all sure,” I replied. “What can I do? They live here, too.”
“Just look at these holes in our petals!” she cried.
“You may look bedraggled,” I said, “But that’s what comes from a full season of growth. You’re living your life. You’re feeding the slugs. You’re perfuming the air with your heavenly notes. You’re lovely narcissus!”
Then I added, “You’ve made this meadow a sight to behold. I’m beholden to you and your crew.
“And I know for a fact, you’ve blessed and impressed more than me, the slugs and the bees. We’re so lucky you live here. I don’t know what to do, but let’s ask Mr. Gnome.”
I knew with his spidey-sense ears that he’d heard the whole conversation.
Mr. Gnome simply whispered, “I’ll have a talk with the slugs.”
It was a rainy Sunday in Seattle, and Emotikin needed to get out of the house!
“Let’s take a walk,” she said to rubber ducky, who had been twiddling his leash
and watching TV all day, bored bored bored, just waiting for the invitation.
California Avenue on a Sunday afternoon was busier than they expected.
Lots of folks with cabin fever were out and about since the showers had turned to drops.
“Whoa!” said the dog (fresh from his grooming appointment next door).
“What the duck?!”
“Can I smell that maple creature?”
“Hey, don’t get too close to my duck, dog! That’s not a toy!”
Lucky duck, escaped the dog!
So the duck and Emotikin continued their walk in West Seattle,
and greeted other Sunday walkers on their way.
“We don’t need no stinkin’ umbrella,” whispered the duck after those folks passed by.
Stopped to talk with a worm who didn’t say much.
Emotikin couldn’t help but start humming that song made
famous by Ernie. “Rubber ducky, you’re the one…” “…you make Seattle so much fun,
rubber ducky I’m awfully fond of you!
Boo boopy doo!”
Some days in Seattle, especially Sundays,
it’s necessary to make your own.
Sun, that is.
We have these Pantone color-matching cards that make the perfect,
and we mean perfect, sunshine colors.
Mimosa makes sense for PMS 14-0848,
like Sunday brunch at the beach. The mechanics are a bit like flying a kite,
string required, of course.
A bit of wind helps, but not too much.
You wait for just the right breeze, the right lift,
and you hoist your sunshine into the sky.
And bask in the glow.
Good for the soul.
SPF 2 is plenty.