I am full on fried chicken and rice fried with aubergine and cherry tomatoes.
I am sitting on a hip that’s out of balance.
I am alone in the house, except for Yoshi the cat, because my son is at his Dad’s tonight.
I am writing by hand again, sending letters to friends and postcards to strangers.
I am finding out what friendship really means.
I’m discovering more than I’d like to, about what isn’t enough. But it means I’m learning to recognise what is.
I am learning to play the ukulele.
I’ve just learned that I’ve been spelling ukulele wrong.
I am starting yet another project. (It's ok, this one is only for a fortnight).
I am being frightened by a small child I used to know.
I am trying to be kind.
I am trying to live with the following suggestions:
- stay open, no matter what
- always cultivate a joyful mind
- no blame, be kind, love everything
(I think they all sort of mean the same thing)
I like stripey socks.
I am 40, but I still find farts amusing.
I am meeting several of my online friends next week, our first time seeing each other face-to-face.
I have stretch marks around my belly button. They are in the shape of a flame. But I refuse to call them tiger stripes. I don’t need anyone to look at them and see tiger stripes. I know what they are. My skin's memory of the weight of my son. My life's greatest privilege. They are what they are. Even when I wiggle my wobbly belly and they look like a flickering fire.
My son is my biggest supporter. And he calls marshmallows smarshmallows. His Dad taught him that.
I may not jump out of airplanes but I take risks, all the time. I may seem quiet, but my heart roars. (Yeah, writing that made me cringe a little. But I'm also trying to make friends with the things that make me uncomfortable.)
Come roar with me.
This post was written as part of The Scintilla Project, which I first read about in Elizabeth's Marie's fantabulously beautiful post.