The flashback plaguing me this morning is from preadolescence. I was running down a suburban street with a handful of dandelion puffs raised in the air, taking joy in the stream of seeds flowing from the stems into the air behind me. An unknown man, sweaty from the labor of creating his perfect carpet, placed himself in front of me and chewed me out for the weed seeds that were flowing from my stream onto his immaculate lawn. He was terrifying. I cannot talk to suburban landscapers without his visage and the terror of his tirade over-taking me.

Hubs just chewed me out over the two strips of hay field I thought we had agreed to nurture into bee food (wildflowers.) I thought. This morning I stand accused of making decisions that rock the status quo of honest men making honest livings. I am depriving the hay farmer of bales he could sell in the future. I am depriving my father-in-law of the agricultural tax exemption which helps him managing the staggering taxes on his vacation home. I think. I admit that I cannot understand much when I am in the throes of a flashback.

Hubs stalked off to quiet his anger. I have been reading my meditation readers and am now here, attempting to enunciate my confusion. Reaching into my psycho tool box to calm my surge of ...

This would be a typical scenario by which my experiments are typically derailed. I am resisting the urge to begin packing up in preparation for the declaration that the great bee experiment is over and I need to get back to my gilded cage. I am very confused. My flight instincts are raging.

Prayers welcome.