Yesterday I was feeling pretty grumpy and beseiged.  Overwhelmed by how far behind I am tucking vines on the vineyard where we live.  In the hot of the summer days, I can only stay out there four hours and then beat a retreat to the shady indoors, watching helplessly as the vines fall all over the place in wild disarray.   They are happy enough, its just that we can’t get a tractor between the untucked rows.  Added to this was one of the  melodramas–whoever put the word melo in front of drama?  nothing mellow about this–with teenage daughter number 4.  At this stage in my life I have pretty well worn down my gatekeeping desires, and yet when she strays far off path, I have to put on my armour, grab my sword and wade into the fray.  It is wearying, frustrating, not good for my heart or health and way, way off my pursuit of pleasure!

Ah, the pursuit of pleasure.  I left everything.  Stormy teenager, sprawling vines, articles that needed to be written, supper to be prepared and did the emergency call.  “Can you get me in for a pedicure?”   I spent an hour of pleasure, eyes closed, vibrating chair, good magazines, girl talk, and beautiful red toes.  I love my red toes.

Now when my daughter walks into the room and I feel the invitation to anger and battle, I just look down at my toes and wiggle them a bit.  Waves of pleasure give me the strength to be standing in here.  I am now a Warrioress with painted toes.  Sheer pleasure.