Joys large and small

Joy comes in all sizes - large, small, imperfect, perfect, near, far. I love it all. However it comes. This tiny green sweater clad gal continues to really do it for me. (As do the others like her - adorable extensions of people I have long loved in the world, Emilys, Zoes, Madelines, Hunters, Avas, Islas.) Helps me ponder. Helps me keep perspective. What do they think? What do they know for sure? What is their joy source? (How can I get my skin like that?)

This week has seen some major breakthroughs, tough moments and wonderful epiphanies. I am so thankful today - for all I know, all I see, all that I have , all I love - and all that reminds me that life is joy.

xo

Thank you.

Amen.

Mi Mi Mimosa

Can you believe that there is a mimosa tree on my street.? I picked a blossom on the way home from tennis yesterday and then situated it in some hydrangeas. Half the block smells like sweet mimosa blossoms. They are actually pretty much weeds, these guys, that grow into real trees. I love them so much. Their flowers are softer than feathers, their design more refined that the thinnest fiber optics, their scent sweet yet fresh. I have wonderful memories of mimosas.

When my father built the house in which he now lives, originally meant for our family, he planted a mimosa tree under my window. It was struck by lightening. No joke.

Hush This!

Hush puppies the new wonder food? What's that you say? We've all heard about blueberries and spinach and magical pomegranate potions...trendy new super foods that race off the supermarket shelves until the next new trend blazes through Hollywood blogs and diets. Well, here's one for ya. Hush puppies. Those little balls of fried dough that can hush baby dawgs and clog up southern frying pans across the bible belt can also strengthen your bones and provide enough fiber (cornmeal, you see) to push a whole catfish through your lower G.I. labyrinth! Who knew!?!? When Brangelina and Cameron and the other celebrity bigs catch on to this, remember where you heard it first!
http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2007/healthy.bodies/nutrition.html

Wimbledon It Ain't

Do you know why we wear white to play tennis? Well, contrary to the opinion of a friend of mine that it serves to reinforce the racism and elitism of the sport (I know, I know), tennis clothing is traditionally white because it shows less sweat. Purple v-neck double layer shirts, for example, show more sweat. Well, I think they do anyway.

I cried when Federer won yesterday. I don't know if that is noteworthy at this point since I have cried every day this week (more on that later). I cannot imagine the feeling of winning something like that. Much less winning to tie a record. Nor can I imagine losing. When Federer lost it, I joined him.

Therapy is working. While I am conflicted about focusing on the negative for a whole hour each week, I suspect that my subconscious dwells there more than I like to admit so might as well tackle the underground business. What it does though, at least until the healing starts, is expose all the raw feelings that I manage to tamp down with food. It's a floody, rough slog. (Can slog be a noun? Yeah? If not, I don't know what to say. It sure feels like a slog...)

Onwards and upwards. Onwards and downwards.

I am going back on the no food that isn't food plan today. I can tell my body is changing and I now enjoy shopping at the upper limits of Ann Taylor clothing which is an utter thrill for me. Now I want that scale to cooperate. Two hours of tennis? Take that you poundy little bastards!

Some things really make my day.

Some things really make my day. Like seeing this on the sidewalk ont eh way to my therapy appointment. Whew. Good thing I saw it on the way into the appointment, while I could still laugh. Whew. That was a toughie!

The best part of seeing this little guy on the curb was this: someone put it there hoping someone else would see it and appreciate it. It wasn't just put there - it was placed. I love New York.