Her Thoughts

She mulled over her thoughts on the porch.

A sparrow alighted on the lawn. Her eyes followed its movement. If only food and shelter were all she had to think of. Life was always so complicated. She reached for her mug of green tea. The gentle aroma levitated just beneath her nose. Its calming affect took hold of her senses. Just for a moment she was lost within it.

A pencil rolled to the floor with a clink.

Writing had always helped her in the past. It had always brought insight and satisfaction to her situation, no matter what it was. Her page was blank. Faded blue lines riveted on the white page bore a likeness to the stain on her life. It wasn't wrong: at least by society's standard. Her friends still thought of her highly, but that's what friends do today. Still, there it was that nagging feeling. Something is wrong.

Strong winds blew across the front porch.

She fingered the green pillow beside her, traced the green cushions. She loved sitting here. Her favorite seat amongst the whole house was an old black bench adorned in green cushions and pillows. Beside her, her seedlings popped beneath the soil, small tributes to life. Green cushions, green pillows, green tea, green seedlings. She loved the color green. She had put it together. It was her forte. She loved to decorate houses, rearrange everything . Oftentimes she would be teased about every new set up that she made. It occurred at least once every month if not more.

A sparrow returned to its nest unsuccessful in its hunt.

In fact, the only thing she could not rearrange was her life. She wanted something more. The fullness of life seemed to be just out of reach. Yet it remained unmoved. Was she afraid? Was she afraid to leave her present state? Or was it that she was afraid to arrive in a new state? She reflected on her past. She had the chance so many times. Yet every time, she passed by; a failure.

The wind rustled with the page in her hand.

Write? Write what? Write of failures and regrets? Write a memory of what could have been or will be? How unlike her to be mulling her thoughts in self pity and depression. The page remained blank. Perhaps it will for another week or so. The dishes need cleaning. Her husband will be home for lunch soon.

The screen door snapped behind her.

The Finer Things in Life.

We want the finer things in life. An elegant dress, the fancy restaurant, polished manners, the perfect date. There's nothing wrong with it. It is wonderful in fact. I spent this evening in a coffee shop. As I sipped my ice coffee and enjoyed myself for once this week, I picked up a a copy of Life: The classic collaboration. A compendium of photographs from the entirety of the company's existence were found between the leaves of pages. The best photos and photographers who had caught life at it's hardest, simplest and most beautiful moments. I lingered on the black and white photos from the mid 1940's Pictures of famous actresses between scenes; artists, unsuspected in the lures of life; and the poverty stricken scenes from a war ravaged country.

The mid 1900's would be the perfect place to live. I imagined myself in flouncy dresses and coifs, in an old ford on the way to be beach, or adorned with floor length elegance and tight up-does, enjoying a glass of chardonnay. What could have been! It would be wonderful: dance clubs and Jazz music, and propriety and manners! All of which I find lacking the the technology age I find myself in. Gladly would I change this laptop for a round of musical chairs and friends.

I imagine the elegance and simplicity of an age now only written about in books and wish I was there. I'll say goodbye to all 4 jobs and embrace the simple life of housewife, or maybe have one modeling job. Things were simple, and they seemed exactly as they were.

Glamour and elegance, simplistic and proper but turning the page brought a dark side, every era, every country faces. The ravages of war, poverty the slums. Sadly I mourned inside myself, page after page. Before me laid pictures of the poor, their lack of basic necessity. Even murder and death scenes all immortalized in a black and white photo. The occupants wore tear stained faces, the signs of depression and the utter lack of hope. They were at the bottom of life.

Some found joy, the relished in what they did have, and you could see it in their faces; The way they lit up for the camera. The 106 year confederate soldier was captured in the thralls of laughter a girl playing mother to her doll. The era was no different than my own. The emotions are the same. The problems are the same.

I admire that despite not having the finer things in life. People have found a way to hope, to live and to love, because that is what we are. It is a glorious creator to have made a most resilient people. I might fancy the look, but I rejoice in that everyday the Lord shows what this life is really about.

Garden breakfast sandwich

I love extremely simple things! And, contrary to my childhood, vegetables!!

Garden breakfast sandwich

2 English muffins

Slice cheese (optional)

sausage patty (optional)

4 eggs

1/4 c bell peppers

3 tblsp green onion

dash salt and pepper

1. Dice vegetables

2. Scramble eggs in bowl w/ wire whisk or fork

3. Pour in vegetables

4. Add salt and pepper

5. Scramble mixture over medium high heat; set aside

6. Cook sausage patty according to package instructions

7. Toast English muffin slices

Assemble ingredients in sandwich form and in 5 minutes you have a great breakfast!!

(disclaimer: Once finished the dish looks delic! But does not look like the picture above! My husband and I ate our sandwiches before I thought to take a picture, it was good!!)

Have a great day!