Bees in My Bonnet

Why is my Dining Room Pink? Pink is the colour of little girls and confident men Hues to catch evening's glowing warmth Reflecting hope of hours to feast In table fellowship with family and friends. "No one paints a dining room pink" Not so...I do. A child's imagination never dies A woman harbours a little girl "Come Gather At Our Table" Announces the archway Inviting and welcoming all  To sit in the pink surroundings To turn from the four walls to the faces before us Tonight I will open my home _ My pink dining room Complete with gold-glitter 60's flooring (Soon to be no more)... And I will live a fairy-tale dream A haven of warmth will shelter the guests Tea warm and steamy Banana Bread to comfort And Pink to be just a little bit different.

So, yesterday I posted about the kind of interactions I sometimes have regarding the state of affairs, especially regarding clutter in our home. (If you missed part 1,  click  Here ) It didn't end there. Like I said, I do need a Lot of help and thankfully Jena came to my rescue. Not only did she write the funny response - but she was as much a friend in deed (out deeds, depending), to meet me in my need. Today I am reminded though that Sam also came to my rescue, as it was a relative of his, he felt the need to also respond. As I look back at that, I am again so very thankful for the loving man God dropped in my lap (well, more like, in my house, but that's a long story you can read about  Here ). Here is how he addressed this situation (this is long, but I put it here with only minor edits that may be too personal, because I think his words are worth sharing with a broader audience - we are surely not the only couple to struggle with household order!): Dear --...

In case anyone is in doubt, I'll just put this out there: I need a LOT of help. I am not type A or even type B. By the time you get to X, Y or Z...I'm in there somewhere. I've always been scatter-brained - I still have some of my report cards which repeatedly pointed out my daydreaming habits. So, I'm sure you will be surprised to find out that I struggle with a thing called Chronic Disorganization. Combine that with a thing called A.D.D., (I like to think of that as Alternately Designed Diva), and a few other acronyms and labels that are especially helpful in addressing my various issues, and you get ME. That is my preface to the rest of what I'm about to put here. I'm posting this partly because it is so entertaining...but also because I am exceedingly grateful for the delightful person who wrote the response - who helped me out in my distress some time ago. Not only did she help me address a potentially riddled-with-relational-mines interaction, with hilar...

The Laugh-ers of heaven They are the laugh-ers Who populate the halls of heaven I only can picture in my Grief-tainted Remembrance Their laughter: Heads thrown back Eyes leaking tears of Hilarity Joke-cracking Wild, unrestrained Overflow I feel the echoing joyful blast - Peals of delight Crash into memory Like waves erasing lines on Sandy shores Smoothing churned up grooves and hastily constructed Palaces complete with Moats and barrier walls To be alive To breathe is to Laugh And I hear them from afar These laugh-ers of heaven: Dad, Kimberly, Ben - so many "I'm alive, more alive than you know or feel. My laughter only grows, It bellows Unleashes Resounds. Life is breath Breath is laughter" Whispers float disrupting Ponderings Sorrows Losses Sadness hangs heavy But the laugh-ers of heaven have the last word... Or the last laugh

True love is a sandwich The sacrifice of time Yearning for one more moment: Sleep, warm catharsis I'm pulled by love to the kitchen. Maybe chips, sweets, crackers - Caloric fillers to top them up? True love slices the tomato - Ripe, juicy - just enough squish to layer Textures of delight in crevices - Slices mixed-grain sustenance Freshly dense, yeasty With extra wheat-germ And just a touch of molasses. The Grand Sandwich Dotted, smeared, draped in White and yellow glue Unites distinguished parts Into a cohesive whole: The love is forming. "It's always good with fresh dill Sprinkled on top." A ceremonious christening Must sanctify The gardener in me Cultivates and collects seeds Which, not unlike me, Require burial and yielding, If only by force of wetness And darkening Must die to their old, tiny, lifeless and Dry life, To begin a new one. A breaking, hidden in deep earth, Mystically imparts life Their leaf will adorn my lov...