3:21am

Sometimes I wonder when the war with 3am began. My first clear memory that 2am was in the green zone was when I was around twelve years old and living in Georgia. I was watching the moon rise in the bedroom and how it's silver light coasted up the walls and traveled across my bed. I looked at the clock and thought, "It's all right. It's only 2am."

...Send It Soaring....

It’s an amazing amount of entertainment, boating around up there. The wind rushing in my ears, my fingers cooling and my feet swinging. Last night, I looked down to find a doe and fawn and, for the first time up there, I heard the Wind Woman laugh at me.

I am just over thirty teeny flights now. Why I still get so nervous before takeoff that I could chuck all over the hill is a mystery to me.

Flight on the other hand, now that is increasingly fun. Even in traffic (and mind you, I have only been exposed to mild congestion at this point) is not that bad any more. I have stopped hyperventilating too. I still sing though.

Last night, I practiced letting go of the 'brakes' and turning just with my hips. Every time I let go my hands ache so much they scream. I am not very good at turning without holding the brakes but I think plain old practice will help.

In all honesty, my landings are ominous. I get too focused. I want to land like the 'cool' kids do. I think about it until my mouth hurts from my biting it and my tingling hands worsen my preoccupied distraction. This all equals a skidded ending with dust all over the place because I flared too late or too early.

OOO –just thinking about it my hands start to get cold and I have to stretch the little fingers. Hehehe….

Thursday evening

Friendship

Last night my husband, Sally and I staggered into the house weary and happy and hungry from our evening run. About two seconds after I had inhaled my eggs on toast I suddenly thought “Where is Charlie?”

At about that exact moment, my sweetheart, who had just stepped outside to change the sprinklers, yelled “HEY!!”

Darting outside, Sally went left, bristling as she herded the neighbor’s dog off our yard from the driveway. We found Charlie puffed and perched on the edge of the eight foot brick wall on the right side of our property. In his mad dash to escape the teeth of the copper colored dog, Char had made it up the wall in record time. My husband had a hand reached up to try to soothe the terrified fuzz ball also known as our cat and Char had a shaky paw extended back, claws latched onto the sleeve of his hero.

I know I have mentioned before that I love this furry individual dearly. He is just so gentle, good and kind-hearted. I reached up retrieve him and I cuddled his tense little body so tense, each paw a knotted little pin cushion.

He coiled up against me, his face in my neck... but as I started to step away we all realized Char had kept one paw locked onto his rescuer's sleeve and  Char was not about to let go.

I handed over the shattered spooked dude to my husband.

Upon inspection of our arms and hands we discovered a bit of blood and a closer examination revealed all of his paws shredded and a back foot missing a claw from scaling the rough tall partition. And you know what? Even though this little creature was scared witless and a bit hurt, he never once, accidentally or not, scratched either of us. We cleaned him up and tucked him into his blanket on the back of the couch to watch his ‘TV’ (aka cracked open window with shades partially drawn up).

The next morning I got up to say hello and received my usual purred reply. My husband got up and was immediately greeted with meows and conversation.

Friendship given by animals is such a magnificent and strange relationship. They choose us even more then we choose them.

I keep having these dreams that are in watercolor back drops.

I can see the texture of the paint brush that was used to make each stroke. I have decided that this means that I have neglected this medium for far too long now.

There is a great restlessness in me lately. I feel I am squandering my talents and I am creating a great waste. It feels as if fate were resentful of the gifts I was given and have used so little to the benefit of myself or others.

I heard the Wind Woman hiss at me yesterday. I was walking into the back yard yesterday to study the place where I promised myself a garden with tomatoes, zucchini and string beans.

“Are you so frightened? Are you so afraid?” She wondered aloud while running her drizzling fingers over the metal top of the well.

I wanted to tell her that I am not brave but that is a lie. I have been brave. Many times. Sometimes it worked out and sometimes it did not. The trouble is that I always knew exactly what to do to be brave and this time the path is hidden. I do keep poking about and gingerly parting the poison ivy and oak that hide the forest floor but my attempts are half hearted at best.

No one likes a rash.

All Hail, the Power of the Shoes

This morning I work up incredibly comfy...

Getting up was torture but I managed to stagger up. After the usual self wake up rituals of coffee, cold water on the face, teeth brushed and contacts in place, I took inventory of my outfit choices.

I donned my previously chosen black stockings, black knee length pin striped skirt and a simple green shirt.

Then I spotted The Shoes.

A vision came to me and suggested an outfit. I obeyed despite the extra ten minutes that would be needed. I returned to the bathroom and coiled my hair up into a mess of braids and then piled the woven strands up so that the ends of my hair sprayed over in a crown on my head. Taboo as it is in our spoiled culture, I decided I must wear the same fitted persimmon long sleeve sweater I wore last Friday and then…

I placed The Shoes onto my feet.

I towered in the mirror, propped up 4.25 inches above my given height. The simple outfit transformed into a ‘nazy’ modern look and I surveyed the results with terrible satisfaction.

Sadly, as I went to show off to my husband he discovered an eye shadow smudge so the effect was not what I hoped.

Makeup corrected, I sauntered (carefully, as I really am only qualified to strut in 3.50 inches) into work and the compliments began. “Your hair looks great! Did you do that yourself?” “I really like that sweater” and my boss “I must say you look quite nice today”

Here is a summary of facts: I do not possess incredible good looks. I know I am a little bit plump for my actual height. I wear my hair like this at least once a week without anyone commenting. I just wore this exact sweater without anyone taking a second glance last week!

But Reader here is the magic: I have not worn The Shoes with this hair and outfit. I am like Wonder Woman and her magic invisible plane, gold clunky bracelets and boots. The Shoes have transformative power.

All Hail The Shoes….