Living in the Now, and Chick Movies (again)

Well.  I saw a friend for lunch last week, and about the first thing she said to me – once we got settled in at our table and comfy – was:  Wow.  What a SAD blog.  This, of course, is one of my friends who actually reads my blogs.  I have to say, I didn’t much like the review.  Now I know it was all about true things, and not many of them, if any of them at all, had a whit to do about happy things.  I get hardly any replies from my faithful readers unless I happen to be making funny, or finding myself the subject of some strange, almost chick movie quality tale, of some slick slide off the main road of life.  It appears I’m not good for much more than comic relief.  So be it.  But I have to have access to a soap box every now and then, because sometimes I just get royally pissed off, and who else do I have to listen to me?  I don’t seem to get out much anymore.   Well, not exactly.  I mean I know I just rafted the Grand Canyon and spent some time hanging out in West Texas, (worked a bit, I must say – and we know I love my work).  But a lot of stuff’s been happening since I got home, and on the world view side of things, it just sucks.  Pardon my French.  Queenie gets carried away now and then.

So what is it I’m to write about when news seems so much of the dubious quality?  I hesitate to relate the latest news from the neighborhood, for a lot of it lately has the smell of bad reality television, and I don’t want certain parties coming after me.  I was assured today from the highest (or lowest) sources that it could happen.  Well, what has happened to the neighborhood, indeed?  I ascribe to the credo that our lives are what we make of them, and I wonder what some of these people are smoking.  Or maybe it’s that they’re not smoking.  I don’t know. I DO know that life is too short for mucking it up, (see previous downer entry), and we should all be doing our best to be doing our best, instead of the pale imitations of our possibilities that we keep putting out there for public consumption.  Not to mention what the private parties are witness to.  And so here I am again, back on the same soapbox, handing out those Shoulds like every one is standing in line to get one.  What I would like is for everyone to be standing in line to buy my books.  Wouldn’t that work out just nicely for everyone?  Manifesting….. Manifesting.

I have friends going through hard times right now.  I’m beginning to think all those snakes in the road, those Transition portents, weren’t just for me.  I am reminded, once again, that indeed “it isn’t all about me.” I forget that a lot.  But may I remind you, in the guise of Devil’s Advocate, and bringer of Truth, (or some version of it), that sometimes it just has to be.  All about me or all about you, in the names of Survival, Self-Worth, and a few other Necessaries thrown in.  Sometimes we just have to take care of ourselves, because sometimes it is just up – to – us.  Period.  Sometimes we have to take care of ourselves to be any good to anyone else, no matter how selfish that sounds.

One interesting offshoot of the “taking care of self” behavior is that: the better I feel about myself – the “happier” I am, or more content, whatever, (happy is a rather nebulous affair to me sometimes, like “drunk”), the more I feel a satisfaction with taking care, or better put, offering Service – being of service – to someone or something….and of course I mean that in a good way.  “Taking CARE of someone,” for all the wrong reasons, does a disservice to all parties involved.  Any of us who submit to being “taken care of” in a default mode of living are sullying the system.  Sort of like those who play the welfare system – giving it a bad name – and ruining the very avenue of help that the truly needy truly need.  Since when is it such a crime to “need,” and being Needy has turned into a negative, nasty, ratty old coat to have to wear.  And any of us who “need” to take care of someone to feel that we have worth, when we are indeed the needy ones – well, those with more credibility than I write books about such things, so I suppose I needn’t preach from the soapbox on that.  But I think you get my drift.

So I am selfishly engaged these days in taking care of me, thank you very much.  I am puttering around the house, pulling weeds, tending to my plants, swimming in the lake, and plowing into the photography in order to leave my fans gasping for breath at the next art show.  Well, I suppose being awestruck would suffice.  I’m becoming more serious with this art thing all the time, still, after all these years.  There are so many veins I haven’t even tapped yet, and all it takes, (all, mind you), is time and commitment.  Yeah, the other C word – the one that makes certain elements of the populace choke in response.  I so honor Commitment – it is a golden word for me, worthy of high honor.  And so I commit to myself, and the Queen Mum, for she deserves it, too, and we’ll see what I make of this next chapter.  And I commit to my art, and to Friendship, and always to Love.

I’m still watching Cast Away in bits and pieces since it’s been on an HBO run lately, and it always inspires me.  I fancy myself the red-headed artist in the pick-up truck at the end, (man, do I want an old truck), committed to herself, and her dog, I must imagine, (though he should be riding inside the cab rather than in the bed), having picked up her life and stayed true to her art, while the philandering husband’s name has been removed from the gate and her life.  And look what the tide has brought in for both her and our hero who survived against all odds – several hearts having been broken in the process.  I know, another chick movie moment, but I can’t help myself when it comes to chick movies.  There are, (or can be, if it’s not too sappy and disgusting), a lot of truths and good messages delivered within them.  Sometimes it’s just Hope.  And that whole movie is about Hope, and then a few other things……

Having no adventures scheduled for a goodly while, I must adventure within my yard and my imagination, and see what bubbles up.  I must continue the writing of Queenie Does the River, before the memories of the river ride slip away from me.  (I know you’re just dying to hear about the Groover.)  I continue on my quest to live in Joy and righteous Hope, (not the fantasy masquerading as hope), and see what the tide brings in next.  And I will continue to revisit the chick movies whenever they’re offered, mining them for pearls or a good laugh…..or a good cry, which sometimes happens, too.

It’s summer.  And I’m home.  And here I am.  And now what’s next?  Except NOW.


One Response to “Living in the Now, and Chick Movies (again)”

  1. Thank you Queenie..for your wit, grit and spit!….glad that you are keeping it in the now and me in the know. Love you! Please keep it coming.

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