It’s for you that I write these blog posts. But it’s also for me. As I encounter so many ups and downs in life, blogging every morning strengthens me for the day ahead.
It’s for you that I’m trying out a new, unfamiliar-to-me editor as I blog today. But it’s also for me (to increase my confidence about using new technology as I prepare to host my 50th high school reunion on Zoom).
It’s for you that I captured all these images, but it’s also for me.
It’s for you and for me that I realize that “It’s for you” would make a good caption for this:
It’s for you that I have a comments section but it’s also for me.
It’s for you and for me that I collect images of gratitude to end these posts.
I’m grateful that writing this post with the new editor was much easier than I expected! This reminds me of the helpful cognition I’m working on in EMDR therapy:
I can trust myself, which allows me to figure out who else to trust.
Thanks to Pat, Lyle, Harley, Michael (for the burritos), the South Shore of Boston, our neighborhood church, our neighbors, snowy and not-so-snowy egrets, WordPress, and YOU.
It’s remarkable how many remarkably comforting and thoughtful remarks people have been leaving on this blog about the recent loss of our remarkable kitty, Oscar.
It’s also remarkable, to me, how anybody can still support our remarkable U.S. President, who thinks it remarkable that he passed a cognitive test and remembered the words “Person Woman Man Camera TV.” I don’t think it’s that remarkable that I still remember those words in order, days after hearing them.
Recently, I remarked to my husband that I found it remarkable that somebody had used a marker to mark up a nearby wall with this:
Yesterday, I brought a marker with me on my walk, with the intent to re-mark that wall. However, my marker was remarkably thin, so I couldn’t remark the MAGA marks, even though I tried. Instead, I marked up the wall directly above, like so:
As I re-marked that wall, I listened for remarks from people nearby on the beach, who were enjoying the remarkable day. Everything was remarkably quiet. When I was done re-marking, I resumed my remarkable walk.
Which of my photos today are the most remarkable?
.
I find these images particularly remarkable, here and now.
It’s remarkable how comforting it is to have Harley around as we grieve the loss of our remarkable Oscar , who looked like this:
After I saw that cat food bag at the supermarket yesterday, I showed that photo to my remarkable husband Michael, who has so often remarked in many remarkable situations, “Look, Ann! That cat looks just like Oscar!”
Your participation is requested in this blog post, as I share these photos from yesterday.
How do you tend to participate? Do you participate more when your participation is requested?
Your participation is requested in answering this question:
When I was participating in the flow of love yesterday by taking one of the photos above, somebody came out of their house and asked, “Can I help you?” When I said, “I’m taking a picture of this because I thought it was funny,” she nodded, went back in her house while saying, ‘We are big skiers.” Which photo was it?
When I search YouTube for “your participation is requested” I find this:
Your participation is requested in appreciation and gratitude!
It’s jaw dropping to me that I forgot about the invitation (which I included in yesterday’s post) to stream Stephen Sondheim’s 90th birthday celebration last night, with its jaw-dropping lineup of stars:
I have found many things jaw-dropping lately, including
American leadership’s responses to the pandemic crisis,
racism, sexism, ageism, and homophobia,
how difficult it is for people to get what they need,
how little there is to celebrate these days, and
people’s ability to celebrate, anyway.
Do you see anything jaw-dropping in my photos from yesterday?
It’s jaw dropping
that there was no spinach, parsley, or flour at the supermarket yesterday,
the delicious meal Michael made anyway,
how hard nurses work for us every day of the year,
the level of suffering out there, and
how lucky I am, here and now.
Here‘s the jaw-dropping celebration of Stephen Sondheim from last night:
I look forward to your jaw-dropping comments with (of course!) jaw-dropping gratitude.
Yesterday, when I was walking down the street with my feet first, I heard “Feet First” from the album Street Dreams by the late, great keyboardist Lyle Mays.
My first thought was “Tomorrow’s blog is going to include ‘Feet First’ and photos with feet!”
The first photo I took was of my own feet on the street.
And as I walked through the day with my feet first, I realized, again, how much it helps to take life one step at a time.
Here are the other feet I captured yesterday:
Now it’s time for me to step through another day, feet first.
Thanks to Lyle Mays, artists, cats, and all who help me step through life feet first, including YOU!
No matter what is going on in your life right now, be your own hero.
Even when your blogging platform (a metaphor for LIFE) throws changes at you that you cannot control* which make things more confusing and difficult, be your own hero.
Even if your eye turns red frequently because you’re on anticoagulants …
… be your own hero.
Even when you have trouble remembering things, be your own hero.
Even when you have a strangely-shaped heart (or anything else that’s unique, different, or weird), be your own hero.
Even when you have to rush, be your own hero.
Even when you have all sorts of feelings …
… like when $&@^!!?&%£!! WordPress makes it MUCH harder and time consuming to add photos and is probably totally screwing up the formatting of this post, be your own hero.
Even when you can’t always be first class …
… be your own hero.
Even when you have trouble making decisions …
… be your own hero.
Even when you are planning a 50th high school reunion in an ageist culture, be your own hero.
Even when you have to rely on other heroes to get things done, be your own hero.
Even when you have no idea how people are going to receive what you send out into the world (like this blog post), be your own hero.
