Good-bye:

Sugars
Coffee
Lovely poached eggs
Butter
Legumes
Chocolate
Peanut butter
Licorice
Soy
Shell fish
Nuts seeds dried fruit
Tomato seeds
Ibuprofen
Booze

HELLO:

Red wine full of tannins
Plain yogurt
Kefir (nice to meet you)
Tropical fruits
Garlic and onions
Ginger
Olive oil
Mustard
Cottage cheese
Beef
Cabbage and brussel sprouts (ew)

...and everything in between.

Dementors.

I going to outsmart this anxiety disorder. I will slay it a little at
a time until it is that whimpering, quivering, half-dead, Voldemort
thing under the train station bench.
I am smarter than it. It's just my brain. My brain is ridiculous.
Riddikulus!
And the dementors will go along with it.

Spilling Open

Sabrina Ward Harrison is an artist/journal keeper.
A number of years ago, Annika borrowed a couple of Sabrina Ward
Harrison books from the library. I poured over the colourful pages and
scratchings of longings and lists of cute things and writings of
Italy. I loved it.
I decided a couple of weeks ago buy her first book, because I had been
thinking about it. But they are hard to find, so I ordered it from the
nice book place in Qualicum.
I re-read all those words that resonated so much with me. I hoped for
the spark of recognition.
Instead, I was kind of bored. Annoyed that the words, so full of
potential, got lost in the layers of paint and chalk and scraps.
I wondered what happened, what went wrong? Where was my Sabrina Ward Harrison?
Then i realized that she wrote it when she was twenty one.
It makes sense.
I am just not there.
Thank heavens.
I wondered what she's doing now.
It all looks the same.
I am not saying this because I feel superior to this woman. I think
she is making truthful art, and making money at it.
I recognise this all with gratefulness.
I am so glad that I don't feel that fevered urge to define things.
It is a world of answers. The questions no longer bother me. And my
thighs are ok too.

Value 2.

(Concerning my last post)
...
Rather, it is my job and my responsibility to see your value. Your worth.
You are also, the strong young tree.
If I do not see it, that is my blindness.

(Unless you really are an asshole, and if that's the case, I will
probably still find you funny...or handsome.)

Value.

It is not my job, or my responsibility to convince anyone of my value. My worth.
I know who I am.
I am connected so deep, my roots go to the water.
I am the strong young tree.
If people cannot see it, I worry that I am doing something wrong, or
that I am unliked.
But that's just garden variety self doubt. My waivering spirit.
Humaness. Knowing also, my foibles.
My worth doesn't need to be found, or sought.
It's all right here.
A fairly steady hand, a creative mind, a loving heart. A sense of fun,
a sparkly blouse. Gap toothed, a little bald, small shoulders. Boobs,
legs and lips.
I seek the God of pink skies and mountains and pinhole photography. I
will jump in a lake with you. I will eat a feast with you, and we can
recline our chairs and talk late about anything.
I will laugh with you, and cry too.
My value is in these small big things, and in a thousand more.
Yours too.
When we meet in these places, our souls catch fire (a little).
I kindle you, you kindle me.
We make stew over the fire, and we add sprigs of rosemary, and red wine.

Seams

I was delighted to see that my great grandmother did not finish all
the seams on my grandmother's wedding dress.

I hate finishing seams.

Pilgrim

William Pligrim was an English coachman who married a German countess.
It was a long time ago.
It must have been a good story.
Was there a scandal? Was it love?
I am not so sure if it was love because he later in life married his girls off to be any man's wife.
I would like to know this particular story because they were my great (times a million) grandparents on my father's mother's side.
All I know about any story is whatever my grandmother cared to footnote at the bottom of the geneology pages.
And that my grandmother met my grandfather while she was serving punch at a wedding. That story, I know for sure was Love.
I like the idea of descending from a man called Pilgrim.
It kind of affirms my restless spirit.