Rise up like the DAY


I often say “every day is a good day to have a good day”. 

It’s a choice. Even the worst circumstances can yield a good day. 

You just have to decide to rise. Rise up every day, just like the day rises. 

Rise up like the day. Sing your song. Lay your head down in peace. And rise again. 

Thank you, Andra Day, for this beautiful helpmate to sing my song. 


Rise Up

You’re broken down and tired

Of living life on a merry-go-round

And you can’t find the fighter

But I see it in you so we gonna walk it out

And move mountains

We gonna walk it out

And move mountains

And I’ll rise up

I’ll rise like the day

I’ll rise up

I’ll rise unafraid

I’ll rise up

And I’ll do it a thousand times again

And I’ll rise up

High like the waves

I’ll rise up

In spite of the ache

I’ll rise up

And I’ll do it a thousands times again

For you [x4]

When the silence isn’t quiet

And it feels like it’s getting hard to breathe

And I know you feel like dying

But I promise we’ll take the world to it’s feet

And move mountains

We gonna walk it out

And move mountains

And I’ll rise up

I’ll rise like the day

I’ll rise up

I’ll rise unafraid

I’ll rise up

Thorns. Nope. Over IT

It’s here! 

The day I liberate myself. No apologies. 

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet… yada yada. 

Well, guess what. A rose by any other name would pierce just as fiercely. How about that? 

I’m over it. I’ve been fighting the thorns long enough. I’ve come in from the garden thorn-scratched and pierced for the last time. 

I do not like rose flowers enough to tolerate their thorns. Period. 

And I’m ok with that. 
No more negotiations, accommodating, denying, defending, acquiescence, thicker gloves, longer pruning sheers, protective rubber boots, high maintenance, longer sleeves, ducking or dodging harsh branches. 

I’m saying “no” to the extra scratches that welt up when I try to clip the sharp tips of thorns as I make an arrangement of sticks that draw blood, just to showcase their flower. 

The rose flower is no longer worth it.

I’m not sure it ever was. 

It will be a good and self-honoring day to pull those roses right out by the root and toss them right out. Spit. Spot. Good riddance. No more thorns. Over it. 

I’m moving forward with joy and planting peonies. My favorite. Lush, gorgeous, healthy, low maintenance, high yield, gushy and gorgeous peonies. Strong and sturdy yet soft stalks with fanciful frond tops that open to their beautiful layers of soft petal blooms. 

Peonies spread their love by coming back stronger, broader, more lush every year. Blooms yielding open only when garden insect friends find nourishment from them. A symbiotic give and take for healthy growth. 

I love that. 


Every DAY


This is the view from here. 

It probably looks like a wild mess to you.  

I love it. No apologies. It’s all my favorite things, just turned upside down, that’s all. 

Our poor big dog, Woodrow, is in the middle of the floor, tired from throwing up the taco shells I tossed to our sweet backyard birds. Sorry, Woods! Glad he did that outside! 

The kitchen desk/cabinet is being replaced with a beautiful cabinet to house our favorite kitchen gadgets. I’ll paint it this weekend. Not today. 

The dining table is out of place to accommodate the construction, and is full of merchandise orders in various stages of shipping. All I see is a business being blessed. 

The baby is awake and “helping” me, and playing cars. Why? Because I dropped a stainless steel tumbler in the kitchen floor in the middle of nap time. He’s a sound sleeper but nobody could have slept through that bouncing metal clamor. We’ll pick up the toys later. Not now. We have a race track to race! 

And me… My cowlicks are in rare form. I’ll try a hair wrap, when I get a minute, to tame the madness. Small price to pay for a sweet night of sleep in a Jenga of arms and legs with my beloved husband. I’m in a comfy cute t-shirt instead of business attire because I mostly work from home. The toddler is much happier when I am active and doesn’t care one hoot if I have on heels. I’ll dress the part tomorrow, to make deliveries. Not today. 

What a blessed mess. 

I’m grateful. Every day. 

let it BURN

Maturity. Last straw maturity.

No longer running onto a flaming bridge someone else chose to burn. 

Go on and throw that match, my friend. 

I’ll watch our bridge catch fire and and then walk away, continually praying for you. 

That’s dignity. That’s grace. That’s all.  



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