Expecting Too Much

. Well. I guess it’s the truth

I go about my day

and I go about my life

Expecting too much

when I should have learned

 good and well by now

that I shouldn’t expect

all that much

I should not expect

my mind to be read

or the lights to always shine

just right

it’s probably way too much

to expect anyone

to read between the lines

catch the little nuances

tiny details

that show how well

one is known and loved

I shouldn’t expect

to receive back

what I always give

although it sure would

be nice

Maybe,just maybe

I really do expect

way too much

like work to be done

treasures to be found

an Americano to be handed to me

with a wink and a smile

of understanding

I expect flowers to bloom

as soon as I plant ’em

and the boots to fit

I expect sugar on toast

a hug and a kiss

Sweet talking

belly laughing

and grace to be extended

my way

I expect dates to be remembered

Things to be done

and promises to be made

I expect to be asked

to dance

to have a drink

to come on over

dive in and savor

 an invitation

I expect to miss out

struggle to understand

read lips

best as I can

I expect to find my way

carve out some space

turn the trash from another

into a treasure of my own

I expect to find beauty

where the ashes used to be

and I sure do see

what others expect from me

I expect way too much

and it’s just the way I am



👣💗Jeanna’ Mead

4 32 p.m. 4-7-18.

http://www.Jeannasoul.com

Margaritas And Music

Here I am, sitting in a chair

A woman is putting color in my hair

just like Mema always did

I’m carrying on the tradition

ain’t no gray gonna give me away

I already had my coffee

dipped a cookie in the cup
 listened this morning

to all the greats

those deep. rugged voices of the men she loved so much

Got me a little Conway, Tom T and Marty

“Elvira” by those Oak Ridge Boys

I’m going to do a little shopping

buy something bright and sparkly

I won’t know until I see it

and it calls me by my name

Then when I’m good and ready

all dolled up and looking pretty

I’m going to sit at a table

with others that knew and loved

 her just as much as me

drink a frozen cmargarita

eat a bunch of sopapillas

covered in honey

tell a few good stories

flirt up a storm with the waiter

sweet talk to everyone

just exactly like my Mema

would want me to do

celebrating her birthday

just like she would do

carrying on traditions

like I was raised to do

.
Jeanna’ Mead

12 04 p.m. 1-25-17

http://www.jeannasoul.com

Happy Birthday, Mema

I love your bones!❤❤

Lyrics and Tears

I always ask my clients what music they would like to listen to during their sessions.

Often they don’t have any preference, so I’ll play a Spotify soundtrack based on my previous week’s choices.

Since I can’t hear the music unless it’s really loud- much too loud for the relaxation of my clients- I rely on the lyrics app to show me that the music is indeed playing and filling the space with beautiful rhythm and words.

Sometimes I find myself dancing, my  bare feet picking up the vibrations from the wood floor and the speaker and sometimes I’ll catch the words and almost gasp as the beauty and relevance hits home.

I’ll memorize the name of the song, holding it in my heart until the session is finished and then, I’ll send the link to those that I just know would love to hear that song..or perhaps they need to hear it.

One such song was “Known and Loved” https://open.spotify.com/track/1NLCMB3DAPXos7OYvNzrTf

I needed to hear this song…actually needed to read the lyrics over and over.

“Feels like you have lost yourself again

Sit in silence with a friend

when you are fully known and loved”

That is why my patio is so important to me. It’s where I go to sit in silence and to write and to read but it’s also where those that know me best, come to find me.

It’s where I get to fully know and be known and to give and receive love in deeper ways than I ever imagined from so many  fabulously flawed, perfectly imperfect people but it’s also where I come to know myself to see myself as fully loved and known by the Creator, just the way I am-also perfectly imperfect and fabulously flawed just like my friends and clients are.

A client wrote a review on Google a couple of days ago that captured the essence of what I hope people feel. 

“An amazing environment …warm and sincere welcome…leave your stresses..healing touch…looking forward to coming back”

i read this with tears in my eyes,a smile on my face and an ache in my heart that comes from feeling fully known and loved.

My intention is always to create such a space where people can sit in silence and be heard, where they can talk and listen, where they feel touch not only physically but spiritually,as well and where they feel as if I’m more than just their massage therapist but I’m also someone that truly cares and hopes that each person lives s life in which they are fully known and loved.

I’ll keep playing the music,reading the lyrics through blurry, teary eyes and welcoming the chances to  know and love.
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You can leave a review, too…Goo.gl/D1UUhQ
and let others know what it’s like getting a massage with lyrics and tears.

October Dances

As September collapses into October each and every year, I find myself at that familiar ragged edge once again.

This is the month I began saying “goodbye” to the woman that raised me, loved me,claimed me and shaped me.  It’s a month full of “last” and of too many “first” and I dance along the edges between the need for solitude,the desire for company. It’s a time when I long to be asked to dance and when I want to dance all by myself. 

My Mema, Lord, have mercy, was the most charming, creative, headstrong, fearless, loving woman that ever danced this earth. 

And I say “dance” instead of “walked” because that’s exactly hl what she did.

Our garage door was left wide open and Marty Robbins, Tammy Wynette, George Jones, Dolly Parton would keep us company while we worked in the garden, planting onions, beans,tomatoes and peppers or just sitting out in the driveway talking.

At any moment, she might catch my eye, wipe the dirt off her hands and grab my hand while saying , “Come on, let’s dance.”  We would do a little two stepping in the grass and she would be singing the words so I could read her lips.

Her blue eyes would twinkle and she would say, ” Oh, I just love this man’s voice….he could put his boots under my bed anyday”

That was just a figure of speech for her. Truth be told, the only man who ever left his boots under her bed was the man she loved till the day she died. 

Daddy and Mema could cut a rug better than Fred and Ginger. I remember being star struck watching them on the dance floor when I was 5 years old. Mema in a long, flowing chiffon gown and Daddy in his trademark black suit were the only couple on the floor and they swirled and turned and moved as if they were one and the ballroom was a stage. 

As the song ended, people burst into applause and Daddy took Mema back to her seat, and smiled at me.  I felt as if I was the luckiest little girl in the world- I was the daughter of people that could dance like that! 

Mema used to tell me stories about how her momma- a stricter God-fearing woman- didn’t approve of dancing so Mema and her sister would sneak off into town and watch the couples dancing then come home and practice in front of the mirror with each other until they got the moves down pat. 

That disapproval didn’t make much difference to her and maybe that’s what fueled her passion so much. There was this strong streak inside her that just didn’t “give a hoot” what anyone else thought.

Even me. 

There were times when I was a teenager trying to fit in and be “normal” when Mema grabbing my hand and dancing in the aisle of Minyards just embarrassed me to pieces.  I would pull back and whisper, “Mema, people are WATCHING!” and, those eyes would twinkle again and she would laugh and say, “Well, then come on, Jeanna’, let’s give them something to watch!”

“Something to watch” was exactly what she was. She could shake and shimmy, turn and twirl, keeping perfect rhythm to the beat all the while carrying on the exact emotional gestures that best suited the song.

This was true no matter what she was wearing or where she was,  and our home was her favorite dance hall.

There were 3 switches on the light plate by the front door of the house we lived in. The first switch was the porch light,the second turned on the foyer light but the third switch was magic.

When that third switch was lifted up. down would come one of the many LP’s stacked high on the stereo and, by the time, you’ve taken a few steps. the rich voice of Freddy Fender,Nat King Cole, Kenny Rogers, Ray Price or Barbara Mandrell would fill the house, loud and clear.

  Sometime it would be gospel, or Big Band or holiday music but most of the time, it was country-western.

And there she would be, barefoot and in a gown, standing in the kitchen, putting a pot of stew on for dinner while frying bacon for breakfast as the biscuits baked and she’ll be singing along -because she knew all the words by heart-tapping her spatula and dancing as she went as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe that’s why it’s only natural for me to find myself dancing up to meet a client, or twirling around during a session unbeknownst to the person laying facedown on my table. 

.Maybe that’s one reason that I don’t feel like I truly know someone until I’ve danced with them. 

Maybe that’s why I dance in the aisles with my little Riven and watch her shake and shimmy as her eyes twinkle with that same mischievous delight. 

Maybe that’s why October is the most bittersweet months of all and why I find myself hiding away, seeking some peace and quiet so that I can hear my Mema’s words again.

“Don’t give a hoot.”

“Let them watch.”

“I just love this.”

“Come on and dance.”

Maybe that’s what life is all about….not giving a hoot about what anyone else thinks, letting others watch as you do whatever you love to do and. saying ‘I love this’ every chance you get.
After all, someday you will be way up yonder in glory and Mema just might grab you by the hand,with a twinkle in her eyes and say, “I just love this song..come on….let’s dance!”

For you, my beloved Mema..

i love you with both hands and I’ll dance…..every single chance I get.

4 37 p.m. 10-9-17

Jeanna’ Mead

Time

A client inspired this poem.