Gypsy's tale

Young girl drawn by colors bright,
Transfixed by magic in fire light.
Harken! Drums call feet to stir.
In the dark, the dancers blur.

Gypsy, dance for me.

Older now, her heart is torn,
Drum beats move the men to war.
Thunderous cries drive love to ride,
Across the land, to live or die.

Banners snap along the field,
Brave young souls with sword and shield.
Glint of metal as coins once bright,
By the fires, on hips wrapped tight.

Gypsy, dance for me.

She hears the cries, feels the pain
Of foes and kinsmen newly slain.
Heart pounds out a panicked pace,
Whirling, spinning colors race.

Fires burn, but not for them,
Glowing on ships for fallen men.
Drums in the dark to lead them home,
Pulsing beat through blood and bone.

Gypsy, dance for me.

From inner pain comes new life,
Hailed by dancing fire bright.
What was lost, she now reclaims,
In a daughter of the flames.

Gathered round, the women keep,
by the fire, while men folk sleep.
Feet to earth and hands to sky,
Magic in a young one's eyes.

Gypsy, dance for me.

Barefoot in the kitchen

"Don't run around in your stocking feet!"

That was a constant criticism from my mother growing up. I hated wearing shoes. Particularly inside. 

Granted part of the reason for the command was due to my less than stellar cleanliness habits in regards to my room. Watching me cross the room barefoot would cause my father to cringe. When asked why he'd respond he wouldn't walk into my room without steel toed boots, let alone no shoes at all.

I don't know what all the fuss was about — a few sharp edged toys, a carpet coated in staples, and plethora of tacks, needles and sundry other pointy bits of mass destruction. What's the big deal?

Now that I've reached adulthood and home ownership, I am no longer bound by my footwear. I can wander wherever I like in just my socks or entirely barefoot. 

A couple weeks ago, I was baking up a storm when a package arrived from a dear friend. Opening it I found kitchen based treasures in honor of our new home. My husband started grinning — mischievously. 

When asked what he was thinking, he replied "looks like someone thinks you should be barefoot in the kitchen."

My instant reaction was mock indignation and to smack him for his wiseassery. He dodged and laughed saying "Hun, no, wait, look at your feet."

I paused and looked down. Barefoot. I looked over at the oven timer and my husband nodded at me. "We're still working on the pregnant part," he added, eyes twinkling.

Now my husband is about as far from a male chauvinist as a guy can get — he's a sweet hopeless romantic, who now and again likes to get a rise out of me just because he can. And I had unwittingly played into an archaic archetype.

Sometimes I think my husband wishes I'd wear shoes to protect myself from the collateral damage that is my catastrophic klutziness. But all I'm doing is playing with boiling water, knives, heavy objects and a gas stove — what's the worst that could happen? 

The journey

Today's theme is happiness.  About five years ago, I went through a deep depression. 
I tried a lot of things to get out of it, chocolate therapy, St. John's Wart, seeking support from friends and family — nothing seemed to work.
I lived alone, and I felt alone. 
This feeling lasted for a solid year before I stubbled upon a solution — if I want to be happy, I first have to decide, in no uncertain terms, that I am going to be happy. 

It was my New Year's resolution — I was sick of being depressed, so I was going to stop being depressed. 
I joined a belly dance class, signed up for eharmony, and started actively seeking social interaction.
Soon — through some miracle it seemed — I was happy. And six months later, I happened upon an old friend who later became my husband.


At the start of my happiness revolution, I came across this quote, which is still on my fridge to this day. I give a lot of credit for my turnaround to this excerpt:

"For a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin — real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life. This perspective has helped me to see there is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. So treasure every moment you have and remember that time waits for no one.

Happiness is a journey, not a destination." -Father Alfred D Souza.