The Fence Post Story

"Up and at 'em."

I guess it was always my dad's job to wake us up in the mornings for school. He liked to clap and turn on the lights, turn the radio way up and say "Up and at 'em!!" I don't think I've ever woken up with that kind of enthusiasm. Not once. Don't get me wrong, I love mornings. QUIET mornings... I even told Chrislyn, my roommate, that sometimes I don't even talk until around 10:30am, and not to take it personally. We laughed. We always do. So I was up at 6am today. It's only Thursday and I've taught 7 classes already this week. I'm on a yoga high. And when that happens, you simply float around. Sleep is fun but not always necessary. I was writing in my journal this morning, something about how beautiful it feels to spend time with my parents these days, and with my new baby niece, Brooke Jean. It seems that lately my heart breaks at least 3 times a day over the slightest things. Like I said, I'm a big fan of crying. And it has been interesting to watch the shift in what my triggers are. Lately it's the beautiful things that are triggering tears... like the light in my mom's eyes, my niece's long fingers, and the stories my dad tells me about his childhood (he was always barefoot, so his feet were permanently black). If there's a crack coming up to the surface, I let it come, fill it with some tears, and watch it drift away. It is strengthening my will to step out of the way of my own healing process.

So while I'm writing in my journal, I grab my I-Phone because Libby, my sister, texts me at all hours of the day and night. Rules simply do not apply. She was here when I came in to the world, so I adapted years ago. And she's the funniest person on the planet, so that makes it easier. So here's the text: it's a photo of a man who was in the grocery store with her last night. She said he was the only one at HEB besides her at 10:30pm. He was an old man, and looked really sweet. I'm sure she felt some cosmic connection to him. So much so, that she probably took something out of his basket when he wasn't looking.

Since I was lost in a sea of late night HEB shoppers, I decided to open up the Icon I have that I'm just starting to use, called "Notes" so that I could start a grocery list and plan a date with HEB on my own.... bananas, honey, loose green tea, RICE MILK... and on that thought, something else popped into my head, and it was this, which I think is the beginning of another story, so I thought I'd share it here and that way I've sent it out to the Universe and I can watch what it does.

From Jamie's I-Notes, "Fence Post" is born...
Somewhere in the midst of a hoarder who loves strawberry sodas and cigarettes, an artisan who was last seen standing on his roof of steel beams over rammed earth blocks, a photographer who feels most at home behind the lens, and a brother who tracks wild pigs, I found my heart again. She was hanging on a fence post watching for hawks. How she got there is another story. I gently lifted her up and wrapped her in my scarf and carefully placed her in my dad's truck next to me. She mentioned her desire list to me again as we drove through the hill country.... "I still want salty air, warm studio floors, open windows, a garden, children close by or a baby of my own, music, laughter, and the smell of freshly cooked meals always lingering in the kitchen. I want a man who sees ME, and not just YOU. I want to continue to make the decisions on what you wear and who we really connect with. Stop doing Yoga obsessively and find some quiet space again for us to chat. I miss our talks about dreams, mermaids, God, and the need for winter blankets and candles."
"I know," I said. "I'm sorry I left you on the fence post. I haven't forgotten our plans. I just got distracted again by the noise in the chicken coop. I'll keep you close, and we can stay up late and have hot tea and read and you can show me some more of your magical dreams."
She looked up at me with a deep sense of relief. She was tired of watching for hawks...
*****

I like my drift. I like watching where it goes...