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No matter what, our dogs remind us with their joy and love that life goes on. We leave pieces of ourselves behind with each dog who leaves us, and we’re given new pieces by each dog who remains. It’s never a replacement of what we’ve lost, but a chance to build on what we have.
A brown and white papillon and a cream-colored Chihuahua vying for head pets.
#MondayMusing on the blog (link in bio). Happy to be writing again and hoping to write more this year. . . “It’s another rainy Monday today and I'm watching the temps lest it drop again. So last Friday, it rained and temperatures didn't stay at 39 degrees as promised, and instead plummeted to below freezing. Long story short, I went home a bit underdressed but still warm and toasty, but suffered the misfortune of slipping on the ice a few meters from my doorstep. I almost made it but miserably failed despite my lug sole winter boots. I'm lucky that I've always been good at breaking a fall, even if in the end, I have a scraped knee, tenderness at the palm of my hand and at times a sore bum. I survived. I think the temperature is holding above freezing today, so I am optimistic it won't be as treacherous a walk home as Friday's. Spring can't come soon enough.” . . . #gothamchickwrites #pinaynewyorkerwrites #mondaymusingsfromgothamchick #writingagain #ontiktok https://www.instagram.com/p/CZs-zzKupoW/?utm_medium=tumblr
I have a new friend I met early this year who is quite on the logic-heavy side, and considers himself a pessimism. His asterisk to accompany that statement is he’s a *positive* pessimism. Meaning, he prepares for the worst (the second half of the quote to “Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.”) Because to be prepared for the worst means you’ll rarely be disappointed or left high and dry. Because if you’ve already imagined the most pessimistic outcomes, you’ll rarely need to reel yourself from a rude awakening. And if anything, expecting the worst outcomes will actually leave you feeling pleasantly surprised afterwards, positive even. And thus, positive pessimism. I had this thought about a month ago in May. Things had finally settled and nothing stressful needed to be tended to. But the thought crossed, reminding me memento mori, nothing lasts forever. And lo and behold, the roommate drops the news how the lease is actually up in a month and they don’t plan on renewing. Fuggg. My boat was rocked, but at least not too badly. I’d already gone though the moving process so many times this past year, so I know I could take this head on. Still a bitch, still stress-inducing, but definitely manageable and not too overly surprising. And so today happens to be my friend’s birthday. And with that, I toast to the reminder to stay fluid, “Be water, my friend.” Entertain the most pessimistic circumstances, only to feel positive about everything else around you. MUSES: #mondaymusing #mementomori #thistooshallpass (at New York, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CClnP0jDKxM/?igshid=wofdroepjtid
The most magical and celestial object in the night sky. The earth moon’s quite stunning tonight. You can really see the craters. V v cool. #bokeh #moonwatch #moon #mondaymusing https://www.instagram.com/p/B8arSK_ntF3/?igshid=e26c39lcxyy5
Know what we seek is seeking us! So, I offer this reminder SPEAK & SEEK. #RebirthwithLaToniaTaylor 🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋 #affirmationsoftheday #affirmationpositive #purposepleasurepassion #mondaymusing #riseandshineinspiration #grandrising #settingtheatmosphere #carefreeblackgirls #coachinglifestyle #inspirationforthesoulmiCoachingTip #worklifebalance #innergame @michaelbbeckwith repost https://www.instagram.com/p/B1WLuRchtIW/?igshid=ijp463easnb4
Hey Sis! Would you like to be free from "it" all? Still waiting on permission? Being good? Measuring? Judging? Who are YOU without all of "it"? The answer may be Unique, but how will you know when everyone's voice is in your head? Join is TONIGHT! Unique Renee of Internet Gigs for Girls invited The Mother of ReBirth to begin a candid conversation to ESCAPE, RECOVER & REBUILD!!!! ☆☆☆☆ Join Us: https://attendee.gotowebinar.com/register/1539083583216755468 ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ #FixMyLifeCoach #purposedriven #HotGirlSummer #mondaymusing #redtabletalk #settingtheatmosphere #carefreeblackgirls #travelandadventure #sleeplessinthecity #superfoods #inspirationforthesoul #worklifebalance #innergame https://www.instagram.com/p/B1EvUQwhQg7/?igshid=14j21bkq7fjz4
Survival in a world where you won’t always be the preference. #mondaymusing https://www.instagram.com/p/BoGy1gVn1n6BtEl8ykEPjpG_K7okz7kDQIVBGY0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=orvgutbdcigk
46 Ronin
It was when my mother said, between knitting blue and grey oddments of wool together, that had she had me when she was 18 - a very usual occurrence in the village where I grew up - I could, quite feasibly, be 46 years of age now.
46.
...And they held out the tablet smilingly. It had a smile on too. What's this? In my naivety, I took it...
Old enough to be my own mother, had I had myself at 18, in a circle of teenage pregnancy. My sons' grandmother. Old enough to be my husbands' mother, and young enough to be his fathers' wife.
...It wasn't until the trip kicked in that I stated sweating. Up until that point discussing the merits of Danni Minogue in a Soho gay bar seemed a reasonable conversation, not too taxing and hardly perspiration inspiring. Though where the navy uniform came into the equation the last but one bottle of Veuve Cliquot cancelled out all recall of why...
The drive home was thoughtful. Where would I be? What would I be like? The same person in a different time. 1997 to 2013. Listening to the same music on Absolute 90's on Radio 1 instead. REM 'Daysleeper' and '74-75' by the Connells would have more resonance. Wearing the same jeans with the same sort of jumper. Dirty blonde hair in utility ponytail. And my child born in 1991, living his life 6 years in the past.
...I left my bag on the seat and went to the door, the early evening dusk having given way to street lit light. The doorman oblivious as I slipped under his arm and shivered as the cool air hit arms drenched in sweat, covered loosely with silk sticking to skin, and hair limp to the face. The queue of prospective drinkers tailed around the corner, a myriad of colour catching fluorescent light. Faces painted and eyes narrowed. I wasn't skipping the queue, in my mind I had never left the building...
Maybe I'd be a journalist, living out my youthful ambition in a parallel dimension in time; traversing the globe with a child in tow, teaching him life in harsh reality under the guise of 'home schooling'. Or would I be here, in this town, surrounded by these people with someone else for my husband and he, someone else for his wife?
...Trying to get back into the bar was a non starting option and I attempted to explain that I had left my bag inside, stepping out for a brief spell of air, but the neurological links between my brain and my mouth had become confused. I was sure I was saying one thing, lucid and correct and yet they appeared to look at me like scum that floats on dishwater, waiting until the plug is released to leave grease upon stainless steel...
