The eyes are a window....

I’m feeling very frustrated right now. 

I’ve been sick all day with some sort of virus which makes everything come out like water (sorry to be so gross). To add insult to injury, my left eye has been red since Saturday for no apparent reason.

Or so I thought.

I went to the doctor on Saturday, just the usual monthly tune-up. My doctor is a naturopath. She can usually tell when I'm getting a cold days before I start sneezing. On this bright, early Saturday morning, other than my eye, I'm feeling good.  

"Your joints are achy, lately, aren't they?"

I smile. "You're right, as usual. So, since we're on the topic, what's wrong with my eye?"

"Liver," she says quickly.

"Okay," I say, wanting to know more. "What has the liver and the eye have in common? I'm eating better, watching the sugar."

“True, but as you work things out, other things come up. You're fighting a battle, aren't you?"

"I guess. Writing has been difficult lately."

Then she says something that sticks with me. Your eyes are the window of your soul."

"Hmm," I say, saying nothing more. Life has been a battle for the last three years. Marital difficulties. Work difficulties. Physical difficulties. 

It's been a journey.

The battle has been always there, though lately, it's been easier. Maybe it's having a different perspective, knowing that I can't change a whole lot. Things at work have been better. This summer has been an especially wonderful one. The children I've been working with are a joy and a pleasure. We've shared many days at the playground, reading stories, playing at the splash park. They even understand when I can’t sit on the floor at the end of the day because my joints hurt so much from bending all day. 

But the battle I fight these days is with my writing. I've always loved to write since I was a kid. I always kind of imagined myself as a teacher (which I am) and a writer. To that end, I began working on a novel. I’ve been working on the same novel for almost three years. 

It’s not done yet.

A few months ago, I started a blog, called "A work in progress." 

I don’t think anyone has read it yet.

And yet, I sit here, writing a blog that no one reads, wondering why I do this. It should be easy, writing a book or a blog. Snooki from the Jersey Shore did it, though why anyone would buy a book written by someone with a mile-high bee hive is beyond me. Or that Luann from the Real Housewives wrote an etiquette book, though why anyone would want to read an etiquette book by someone who calls everyone "darling" and talks down to the whole world mystifies me. 

Nope. Not downloading either one of these books to my Kindle anytime soon. 

So again, I ask the question. Why do I write.

Because I love it. There is something about putting your thoughts down on paper or telling a story that is so satisfying. 

It's part of me, the something I want to share with the world.

So, while Luann and Snooki are off doing their new "thang," I'll still be writing. My battle will be finishing my first novel in the next six months. My goal is to be published. My dream? To write full time, to tell stories of real people that battle and win...

Until next time.

Weeds

I've been doing a lot of gardening lately.

It's not unusual. The garden was one of the reasons we bought this house. Gardens require care and nurturing. Part of that care is pulling up weeds.

Pulling up weeds can be a therapeutic exercise. When you've had a lousy day (or week), it gets your mind off your troubles. If you're really imaginative, you can think about that person who is rubbing you the wrong way and well, I don't have to tell you.

If you've already concluded that I've been pulling up my share of weeds lately, you're right. It got me to thinking about life.

I recently had the opportunity to take a break from my adventures in gardening to get together with approximately ten other women in our synagogue. It was called "Tea and Tefillah," a word that I think means fellowship. A little bagel, a little schmooze, a little prayer and then you're on your merry way, ready to face the world.

Only it was hardly like that.

Sometimes, we pre-judge people. Admit it. I do. I'm always walking into places, thinking how other people are prettier or envying the fact that their hair doesn't curl up when it's humid outside. I can tell you  that when I walked into my friend Madeline's house, I only knew two people.

And then I got scared.

Back to my garden for a second.

In the last four weeks, the only work I've done in my garden is pulling weeds. When we moved in, I looked over the garden. The previous owner didn't bother with taking care of it this spring. She was selling the house and probably thought why bother. If I was in her shoes, I might have done the same thing (though I wouldn't have. I value people's opinion too high sometimes, but that's another blog). So what awaited me were weeds of various shapes and sizes. Most of them were small, easy to remove. However; there was one that stuck out. A tall, prickly pear that was as tall as I was (I'm about 5'10) with purple flowers all over it. It looked pretty, sitting amongst the Queen Anne's lace and the delicate white daisies I loved.

But as pretty as it was, it had to come out, root and all.

I was thinking about all of this as I was sitting with these women, listening to their stories, thinking about how much time we truly waste judging each other. Or, better yet, trying to hide all our imperfections. We may look like we have it made, but get a little bit closer and oops, well, our secret is out.

Any gardener, whether new or experienced, will tell you with every assurance that you need to get the weed out by the root. If you don't, it will come back with a vengeance.

It's like that with the different issues we deal with in our lives. There's the offense that we thought we forgave years ago or the anger that we have toward someone close to us. Almost everyone knows someone close to them that is dealing with addiction. There are emotional attachments and husbands that don't seem to understand or love us the way we want to be loved and cherished. There are parents that deal with children that have special needs. We all think that we have nothing in common.

But we do.

We all have something. We can choose to ignore it and go through life angry, bitter and resentful. Or we can be honest with ourselves and deal with it. It sometimes comes with pain and tears and anger, but when it's done, we're better for it.

It's what, as some wise person once said, makes us stronger.