Brick by Brick: Rebuilding the Broken

 Please don't tell me I am the only one who misplaces things.  I must admit, organization isn't my strong suit. I have a Dr.Jekyll/ Mr. Hyde ( or hide? ) approach to filing things away. The intentions are fine, but distractions are sometimes louder and - "One sheep, two sheep, I'm beginning to lose sleep!" Or however that song goes....Ok, time for the monster to go back under the bed where he belongs.    I make lists to accomplish daily goals. I fight against this gremlin every day. Some days I win. Every once in a while, though, he gets the upper hand.  But sometimes, the game takes a surprise twist. For instance, I need to wear finger-less gloves almost year round to keep my hands from going blue, (thanks, Reynaud's), and they need to be compression gloves to ease the crippling Psoriatic pain in the joints. So, I must have a pair available in the vehicles, by my bed, in the living room, and the kitchen. Great! Got it! Until I wear the living room gloves to b

When the path is too hard to find on your own, you need someone to lead you through the haze. (I started writing this post over two years ago.) The fog was so thick, I could feel it slithering up my spine. The once silent beast had made it's way into my senses, no hope for recovery this time. The high-functioning anxiety had turned ugly. Even my loved ones had never seen this side of me before. My entire life, I was accustomed to hiding the darkness within. Like an ill-gotten prize to hoard in the filthy corners of my being. There is no definite explanation why a child is tormented so, with thoughts and feeble attempts of self-harm. To carry those characteristics to adulthood is a heavy burden none should bear. Everyone's story is different, yet many are the same. Some of our stories may end well, others are rocky and difficult beyond our own strength. Those are the stories that give us courage and fortitude to fight harder than ever before.  When it becomes too dark to see,

I have a confession to make. I am obsessed with rocks. Always have been fascinated by the simplicity and understated beauty of a rock. It has no moving parts, it doesn't light up, or make any noise, or any of those enticing things that catch your attention. Yet they are a testament to the beginning of time. Steadfast and true .       Many years ago, when my husband's great grandfather lived here, there were so many boulders on the land that they used them for building foundations and walls. How they accomplished such a feat is beyond my comprehension.The rock fence that was once across the back of the property is buried deep underground now. They are not going anywhere. Except for a couple that were uncovered when we were having some work done. Those three rocks have been sitting in the meadow for several years, until we finally had enough horsepower to drag those enormous rocks to their destination - our front yard. The amount of power it took to move them was more than any