Scattered thoughts

scat·ter  (sktr)

v. scat·teredscat·ter·ingscat·ters

   1. To cause to separate and go in different directions.
   2. To distribute loosely by or as if by sprinkling; strew: scattering confetti from the upper windows.
   3. Physics To deflect (radiation or particles).

   1. To separate and go in different directions; disperse.
   2. To occur or fall at widely spaced intervals.

   1. The act of scattering or the condition of being scattered.
   2. Something scattered.


I’m getting a little scared of Facebook.

This is what streamed down my page this morning:

Get Your Frida Kahlo Visa® Prepaid Card Today


It’s true that I adore Frida. But a debit card in her memory?

What sort of mixed-up, thought-by, twisted-around combination of woman does Facebook think I am?

Of course I clicked on the link. Then I Googled Frida Kahlo debit card and I learned about “Fair, Fashionable and Fun online banking solutions”.

Just don’t go there. Thank me later.

It is Friday and I feel compelled to write that it is beautiful outside. Really, really lovely. The sun is bright and sincere. It’s going to stay for a while.

I’m ok with the rain, but I greet the sun with my arms stretched out wide in the mornings.

The other day the sky looked like this:


The boys watched as the colors faded into grey… so much wonder in their youth.

Where does the rainbow go? Is it real?

What is at the end of the rainbow? How do the colors make a pattern?

How does the sun not melt the rain? How does rain go into the earth and then transform into flowers?

How indeed.

I hope my boys never stop asking questions.

A few weeks ago our garden looked like this.

early garden

Now it looks something like this.


And this.

sugar snaps

The best part, however, are these tiny sunflowers. My mother planted the seeds in early May.

tiny teensy sunflowers

As we move into the month of June, my thoughts are scattered and it requires effort to focus for longer than a few hours at a time on any one thing. I am being pulled back into memory. I am searching for peace. I am running, running, running, running 2 and 3 and 4 miles at a stretch, making those runs longer as the months go by. I’m registered for four races this summer ranging from 6.2 to 13.1 miles.

I check on the garden every day. One strawberry is ripe today. The broccoli leaves are huge, but no crowns appeared this year. I sauteed the leaves and everyone tasted them, deciding kale and spinach are better. I have an idea that is swirling, rainbow-like, it arches toward the paper and becomes words. It must not fade before I sleep. I am pitching an essay on wellness to a fairly well known national magazine… wish me anything but luck. I’ve never been lucky.

Wish me…




Grow something, readers. It will help you heal. It may make you wonder.

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