What does ‘clean’ mean to you? What does ‘clean’ look like, to you?

sink-full-dirty-dishes.jpgThere are so many different ideas around the definition of clean. According to the dictionary, ‘free from dirt, marks, or stains’, means that it is clean. Factors contributing to  the perceptions of cleanliness: ethnicity, physical environment, parental tendencies, personality type, and I’m sure there are more.

For me, clean means to be able to make lunch on the counter, without having to wipe away crumbs from another meal, or move dirty dishes to create a space. Being able to use at least one side of the sink, at any time of the day, without removing contents, is a pet peeve of mine. This is a very general statement, but one that I follow to be respectful of others; if you make a mess, clean it up. This is simple, common sense!

I am no where near being a neat freak, or a germaphobe, or anything else that resembles it. Again, it’s simple to me. If I share a space with someone else, then I make sure I tidy up my stuff within a reasonable amount of time, so it doesn’t infringe on the other person’s space. Why should they have anything to do with MY MESS? They shouldn’t.

Do unto others as you would have done unto you, or something like that. I think that’s fair.

The general all around house cleaning, should be shared between the occupants. A no-brainer. If you share expenses, share good movie-watching, share cooking, share moments with a glass of wine, do your own laundry, then, help clean the house. If everyone pitches in, then no one is left with much to do. There is more time for the fun stuff.

It was challenging as a mother, one son was a neat freak, but only in HIS room; the other son was the complete opposite, and not only in his room. I made an effort, in several creative ways, to establish some sort of neutral ground. Unsuccessful would be a good word. The one, whom was the neat freak, is now the creator of disasters, and the other one, much improved. I would never have known that it would turn out this way.

I think it comes down to being mindful, slowing down enough to notice the mess, slowing down enough to notice  the others in the room. The mind may be creative, with a messy craft room, but the mind cannot be peaceful if the rest of the house is the same. There must be some space for ‘space’. A place for your mind to breath, to expand, to de-clutter. Feel joyful, when you walk into the bathroom that you just cleaned, and you notice how it sparkles. Lie down on the carpet that you just vacuumed, and smile when you get up and have no dog hair sticking to you. It’s the little things that usually go unnoticed, that make the biggest and most profound changes in your life.

This will come back to the topic of cleanliness, but I thought it prudent to mention. Being in a relationship is always, I believe, a work in progress. Communication is key, and contribution sits right next to it. Without discussing who will do laundry, then you will never know who should be doing it. Without discussing boundaries, you will cross over each others, and unknowingly create strife. A willingness to participate in all aspects of the relationship, without grumbling, or eye rolling, shows your partner that you care.

I will say again, I am not perfect, nor do I expect others to be. Just be respectful.

Would love to hear your thoughts on cleanliness. This could be an opportunity for you to rant!




tiny flowers snowy intuitionDear Intuition,

It is with some concern that I write to you today. I’ve been worried, you have not shown yourself in a while. There have been some difficult choices, burdensome decisions, that I have had to make, of my own accord. I could have used you, I needed you.

I know I’ve not always believed in you, cast you aside many times, thinking I was in control, had some control. Those were foolish thoughts, and I know that now. We are so good together, and I feel safe when you are with me, when I open myself up to you, follow your instruction. You have never failed me, although I might have given you that impression, a time or two. I’m sorry. I am weak, scattered, struggling, when I’m not in your presence. You have the strength and character, to pull me through anything, despite the sometimes overwhelming, adversity.

Thank you for your reliability and protection. Please find it within you to return to me. My faith in you is much stronger now, and I will never let you down again.

Yours truly,

The Host

As always comments are welcomed and encouraged!

Writing 101

Bad Man Comes

Day’s end, and I watch through my bedroom window, the darkness swallow the last bit of light. No moon tonight. Too many clouds. I imagine the stars, trying with all their might, to push through the gray. They are unsuccessful. It’s too quiet; no birds, no frogs, nothing. Then the first drops of rain tap at my window, pushed sideways from an unexpected blast of wind. The storm begins.

stormy weather dark cloudsI lay in my bed, warm and comfortable, in between all the feathers. Normally, I would be watching, but I’m unable to stop myself drifting in and out, before I drift for the last time tonight. I’m exhausted, from a row of sleepless nights. My brain working overtime, checking the door and window locks, the alarm, not giving in to sleep. The length of time between nightmares is lessening, as it always does.

I miss having someone sharing my bed, sharing my sleepless nights, sharing my nightmares, my premonitions. I never know when it will start. I’ve had to move three times in seven years, and I can assume, I will be on the move again soon. That is why I’m alone. My mom and I don’t speak. I have a half brother, who travels constantly, so I never know where he is. I had, a fiancee. My life is a horror show, and who wants to share in that. The police are no help, they can’t find him, catch him, kill him. So it’s up to me.

The wind has picked up, alternately singing and hollering. Rain pummels the window with every squall. The curtains gently swing away from the wall and back again, as the air forces its way through any crack. Menacing clouds sway back and forth in time with the wind. The sky lights up, as the lightening sets about her dance.

I am unaware of the show, as my consciousness has finally let go, drifting deeper and deeper.

Bad man comes,

So feet must move,

And move and move,

So not to lose,

This life that breathes,

Inside my veins,

Ebbing, flowing,

As the rains,

That block my view,

Of future light,

Pinpoint, nearly out of sight.

© Gerri Leathley 2014


Writing 101: Day Four         Part One. Would love to know what you think. Please leave a comment, good or bad, or whatever you heart desires. I can take it!

I Chose This

abstract colour patternsA brilliant intelligence, with a psychotic focus. Anna, has successfully set up John, to take the blame for murder. No detail was ignored. She is gone now. They think she is dead. John murdered her. A postcard arrived, addressed to John, with roses, her touch.

This job can suck the life out of you. We are given up to fifteen years, then we must find something else to do, if we haven’t been chewed up and spit out. I’m new to this, two years, four months, two days, five hours, ten minutes, and counting. It has taken me only two years, to feel exhausted, like I’m wasting away, from the inside, out. I don’t know how John lasted ten. He is strong, able to separate, his from theirs, until now.

Sometimes my memories are jumbled, the details from someone else’s life, weaving their way inside my brain, infusing me with their sickness. Once colourful, now fading. Since John went to prison, I’ve taken a short leave, to regain some strength, to identify with my memories, to untangle the mess. I’m seven days in, and my mind is clearer. The windows have been wiped, but, streaks are left from the grimy fingers, of those tortured souls. A glimpse inside their memories, a rotting story unfolding before me. I can back out any time, put a stop to it, snap out of it, but, it’s my job.

My title is; Memory Detective. I’m here to help people learn from their memories; which are real, and which are not. I learn the true story behind the sickness. Some get better, with a deeper understanding of how, and why; where their behaviour stems from. Some get worse. Some have brilliant intelligence, like Anna.

I’m not afraid, I suppose, of what could happen, like with John. I’m afraid of losing my memories altogether. With nothing from my past, how do I move forward? How will I learn from my mistakes? How will I retain any happiness? How will I know what is real? For now, my focus, to wash those windows until they are no longer visible. Nothing in between.

I hang on to any memory that surfaces, keeping a journal, so they don’t get lost. Paragraphs, sentences, or just words, whatever shows up. The ones I’m after now, are long past, covered in a sweet haze. I write down only what I remember, not recreating to satisfy my thirst, for the whole story. The good, and the bad. They are all the makings, of me.

Feel free to leave a comment; good, bad, or ugly. Share if you like, I’m up for it!


Recalling dreams more regularly, would be delightful. I’m sure it is true that, by writing my thoughts down upon waking, would help to solidify the dream, and make it easier the next time, to remember. Years ago, I gave that a try…(I used the wordTRY,because I gave up soon after starting).

Some of my dreams have been repetitive, lasting a while, and then never to be dreamt of again. Done with that one, glad to be moving on. Other dreams have included…spirits?; seemingly more tangible. These are the most gripping and haunting. The dreams vary, but, the ‘spirit’ is a constant, albeit out of place, and leaves me confused. “What are you doing in this dream?” “You don’t belong.” I’ll admit to being slightly disturbed by and yet, enchanted with all of this.


Sadly, they never end with a beautiful sunset.

So, are dreams the work of our imagination, or just instinctive? Are our brains filing away all the stuff of the day, leaving us to interpret the mess while we sleep? I’ve taken a shine to the idea that dreams are considered doors to a spiritual dimension, that provide insight, guidance, and protection. You could also expand your awareness of yourself by learning to interpret your dreams. Dreaming allows us to relieve stress…what if you have a nightmare? Your brain is receiving communication from your unconscious, and can give you insight about your present state of mind. “Sigmund Freud’s theory of dreams suggested that dreams were a representation of unconscious desires, thoughts and motivations.” You can find more on this page: Top Dream Theories. I certainly hope that is not the case with every dream. Whatever the case may be, believe what makes you feel the best.

Slow to fully wake one morning, the words, ‘bad man comes, so feet must move’, kept repeating in my thoughts. Once I clued in to this, I got up, and wrote it down. The rest of the poem literally streamed from my mind onto the page. My thoughts are; I did not write this poem. Who did? What is the message here? I have read that some of us are at our most creative in the morning, and that could very well be the cause of this, but, I like to think it’s something more. This happened only once. Here is the poem.

Bad man comes, so feet must move

And move and move, so not to lose

This life that breathes inside my veins

Ebbing, flowing, as the rains

That block my view of future light

Pinpoint, nearly out of sight.

What is this supposed to mean if it comes from my unconscious desires, thoughts, and motivations? Not sure I desire that. What happened in my day that caused my brain to organize the filing in that order? Does anyone have any insight? Let’s have some fun!