Blee Dream It Create It

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Blee Dream It Create It We lose ourselves in the things we love. We find ourselves there too. Sharing inspiration and life creatively through Gardening! Writing! Painting! Journaling!

I have developed a unique painting style -- it is painted furniture yet in a style unique to me....no piece is alike - no color the same --the furniture has character! Don't expect it to perfectly smooth or without a few marks -- but do expect to be created with love and hard work -- giving it that style of it's own.. .What started as a hobby I loved has expanded into sharing with others who love old created new... who love reusing objects in a form of art...who love creating new pieces from parts of old...it truly is a form of saving nature...and those who know me know my love of nature. Please NOTE -- I travel to Jacksonville, Florida and Springfield, Missouri often -- if you see something you like -- we can work out delivery -- eventually I hope to have a place to sell in both locations as well as the Quad Cities

Boundaries…My thoughts feel no boundaries today. They float from one idea to another, like snowflakes filling the air wi...
10/16/2026

Boundaries…

My thoughts feel no boundaries today. They float from one idea to another, like snowflakes filling the air with white, then landing in a drift.

Drift… the image gives me pause. I realize that snowflakes, too, encounter a boundary.

Or do they?

Eventually melting into the earth, quenching thirst, aiding in nature’s growth. They spread. They nourish.

What I first saw as a boundary was simply a transition in nature’s beautiful cycle.

Are boundaries in our own lives the same?

Do we choose to build a solid wall or a fence with openings for growth?

My thoughts drift back to my sweet home in Illinois. That home with bountiful gardens surrounding it. Its boundaries were the property lines between neighbors.

The gardens flourished beyond anything I could have imagined. And though the city created those lines, the flowers were shared with anyone who visited or touched my life.

The boundaries were marked, but they never withheld beauty or giving.

Dad and I would take breaks from working in the gardens, sitting beneath the carport drinking tea. Sometimes I hurried him along, busy with life as I was. But I sat with him, too. And how grateful I am for those moments.

Many others sat beneath that carport, too. Stories were shared, both happy and sad.

No boundaries. No time limits. Only sharing.

And now, this chapter of life unfolds after many drifts, many experiences melting into my soul.

Boundaries still. Different. Complicated…

Yet giving from the garden… giving from the heart continues.

The garden grows and multiplies.

There is no longer a corner lot that opens to the world. Yet an openness within my soul remains.

The boundaries I live within today cannot keep me from finding fellow gardeners, sharing from my garden, or giving from my heart.

Boundaries do exist, but beauty can extend beyond them.

Even when we feel restricted, something within us can still reach through that open fence.

The snow melts into the earth. The tree rises above, its roots strong beneath, reaching outward.

The cycle of nature. The cycle of life. The cycle of you.

Even within boundaries, we can still be.

For me… I will continue to find overwhelming joy in sharing my plants and passing along what has been given to me.

That is a beautiful part of my own personal cycle.

Do what you love. If only to dream a bit. Because dreams can become reality.

10/11/2026
Vision BoardsMy latest endeavor!Loved creating these. But what I loved even more was looking up at them first thing this...
10/11/2026

Vision Boards

My latest endeavor!

Loved creating these. But what I loved even more was looking up at them first thing this morning.

As the sound of news blared from another room, a feeling of hope filled me. My vision boards reminded me of the possibilities still waiting to unfold.

A vision board is a collection of images, words, and quotes brought together to reflect our dreams, goals, inspirations, and the things we hope to create or experience.

Mine remind me—

To choose quiet, for in the stillness, I can simply be all that is me.

Finding peace in the simplest discoveries, I fill my soul with creative beauty.

The archway is open. Possibilities are endless. Neither age nor circumstance need stand in the way.

I honor where I have been, find beauty where I am, and remain open to where life may lead.

I share these hoping you will be inspired to create your own. For an adventure, for dreams, for goals, for peace. Or perhaps for a little unexpected joy.

The magazine I’ve pictured was filled with these beautiful images and so many more! A wonderful place to begin.

Do what you love. If only to dream a bit. Because dreams can become reality. ❤️

10/09/2026

There is a word in this book that changes everything. It is four letters long, and it took me three readings to understand what Steinbeck was doing with it.

The word is timshel. It appears in a conversation between Adam Trask's Chinese servant, Lee, and the two men who have become his only family. Lee has been studying Hebrew with a group of elderly scholars in San Francisco, trying to understand a single verse from Genesis. God speaks to Cain after he has killed his brother. In the King James Bible, the line reads: "Thou shalt rule over him." In the American Standard Version: "Do thou rule over him."

Both translations are commands. Both leave Cain no choice. And Lee says neither is correct. The Hebrew word is timshel, and it means something else entirely.

Thou mayest .

Not shalt. Not do. Mayest. God is not commanding Cain to master his sin. He is telling him that he can. The choice is his. The door is open. What he does with it is up to him .

I sat with that distinction for a long time. Because it is the difference between a life lived under a sentence and a life lived under a possibility. And East of Eden is, at its core, a novel about that difference—about whether the patterns we inherit are chains or invitations.

Steinbeck called this book "the first book."

Not his first book. The first book. As if everything else he had written was rehearsal, and this was the performance. He wrote it for his young sons, Thom and John, who were six and four when he started. He wanted to describe the Salinas Valley for them, the sights, the sounds, the smells of the place he grew up. But what he gave them was larger than a valley. He gave them a mythology of their own family, braided with the oldest story in the Western world .

The novel follows two families. The Trasks, who arrive in California with money and secrets, and the Hamiltons, Steinbeck's own ancestors, who arrive with nothing and build a life anyway. Samuel Hamilton—the Irishman, the blacksmith, the inventor, the man who can find water anywhere and talk about philosophy with anyone, is Steinbeck's grandfather, rendered so lovingly that you can feel the author's hand trembling on the page .

And the Trasks: Adam, who marries a woman named Cathy Ames and brings her to the valley, believing he has found the garden he was meant to tend. Cathy, who is not a woman but a force, a "malformed soul," Steinbeck calls her, something that looks human but operates by different rules entirely . And their sons, Cal and Aron, who grow up in the shadow of a mother they were told was dead and a father who loves them in the wrong ways.

The story is the story of Cain and Abel, told twice.

First with Adam and his brother Charles, then with Adam's sons. In each generation, one brother is loved and one is not. In each generation, the unloved one burns with a jealousy that curdles into something darker. And in each generation, the question is the same: are you doomed to repeat what your father did? Is the pattern a prophecy or a warning?

Steinbeck answers with timshel. With mayest. With the radical, terrifying idea that the story you were born into does not have to be the story you die in .

But he doesn't make it easy. He doesn't pretend that knowing you have a choice is the same as making the right one. Cal knows. Cal understands, intellectually, that he is not fated to become his mother. And he still hurts the brother he loves. He still makes the choice that breaks his father's heart. Knowing and doing are different things. Steinbeck knew that. He was writing for his sons, after all, and he knew what it meant to love someone and fail them.

The thing that makes this book immortal:

Steinbeck writes about good and evil as if they are not opposites but neighbors. Cal is not a villain. Aron is not a saint. Cathy is not a monster, though she does monstrous things. They are people, shaped by forces they didn't choose, making choices they wish they hadn't, carrying the weight of both. The novel refuses to simplify. It refuses to give you someone to hate or someone to root for without complication.

And in the center of it all, there is Lee. The Chinese American servant who speaks in pidgin in public and quotes Marcus Aurelius in private. The man who chooses to stay, chooses to love these broken children, chooses to be the moral center of a family that doesn't know it needs one. Lee is the character the 1955 film left out entirely. The Netflix adaptation has brought him back, and that alone is reason enough to pay attention .

What I keep coming back to:

Steinbeck wrote this book because he wanted to understand his own family. He wanted to know what had been passed down, the good and the bad, and whether it could be changed. He didn't find an easy answer. He found timshel. He found that the door is always open, and that walking through it is a choice you have to make every day.

The novel ends with a blessing. Not a guarantee. Not a promise. A blessing that is also a question: Timshel. Thou mayest.

You may. But you have to choose.

BOOK: https://link.amazon/B0bbrts5V

This is exactly how I felt when I got off the phone from My daughter the other day!  ❤️.  Both cause the same effect but...
10/07/2026

This is exactly how I felt when I got off the phone from My daughter the other day! ❤️.
Both cause the same effect but this time it was Alysha! ❤️❤️❤️

“Not everything around me is mine to tend. But what I have carried with me still knows how to bloom.”Yesterday, as I wal...
10/07/2026

“Not everything around me is mine to tend. But what I have carried with me still knows how to bloom.”

Yesterday, as I walked past, she seemed to whisper, come closer.

And I did.

Each step removing heavy thoughts. My soul filling with the beauty of her blooms.

Bright. Clear. Distinct. Perfect.

My plumeria. She shares with me, and I in turn share with you. In an essay in The Blee Book. In little thoughts here on my blog. Her lessons are quiet. But strong.

From my Jax garden, to a pot in Missouri, and now back in Florida, she has grown with me.

She gives through cuttings. Through growth. Through blooms. And even through companionship.

In her simple—and often complex—cycles, she nudges me through my own transitions.

Somehow knowing when I need to remember.

Not every garden is ours to tend. But still, we can bloom.

Not every struggle is ours to carry. We can care deeply and still tend to ourselves.

Not every path is easy. Not every season gentle.

But every path leads somewhere.
And every season evolves.

And there will be blooms—bright and strong. Your own, or maybe another’s to share.

There will be blooms.

Do what you love. If only to dream a bit. Because dreams can become reality.

10/06/2026

Where do you get lost?

Lost on purpose.

I think everyone needs a place to distance from the “noise.” To regroup. To rest. To fill the mind with nothing or everything that is you.

Quietly filling your soul.

This past weekend I did just that. I got lost and quietly filled my soul.

Sometimes the garden calls. But this time, journaling.

The journal I chose to share is filled with quotes. Gathered like flowers, they unfold beautifully for my soul to revisit time and again.

My own little source of inspiration. My own little reminders of strength through storms, gratitude in life, and peace found in the simple moments.

I hope you have a place.

That place where getting lost restores your soul.

Do what you love. If only to dream a bit. Because dreams can become reality.

SimpleMoments Gratitude StrengthThroughStorms Peace CreativeSpirit DoWhatYouLove

10/06/2026

Where do you get lost?

Lost on purpose.

I think everyone needs a place to distance from the “noise.” To regroup. To rest. To fill the mind with nothing or everything that is you.

Quietly filling your soul.

This past weekend I did just that. I got lost and quietly filled my soul.

Sometimes the garden calls. But this time, journaling.

The journal I chose to share is filled with quotes. Gathered like flowers, they unfold beautifully for my soul to revisit time and again.

My own little source of inspiration. My own little reminders of strength through storms, gratitude in life, and peace found in the simple moments.

I hope you have a place.

That place where getting lost restores your soul.

Do what you love. If only to dream a bit. Because dreams can become reality.

10/04/2026
I never tire of this design.Bring in a new trend, and I will still be right here with this one. Worn wood. Old books. Ch...
10/03/2026

I never tire of this design.

Bring in a new trend, and I will still be right here with this one. Worn wood. Old books. Chipped paint. Pieces that have lived a little—and pieces that remind me of people I love.

A dried rose from a Mother’s Day bouquet, given with love from my daughter and her family. Another flower from my own mother. They never fail to remind me of love.

The little heart, handmade by a friend. She is my heart in so many ways. We share our gardening—and so much more.

Corbels. Oh, I could gather a hundred and still want more. They fascinate me. These came home from a shopping trip with my whimsical friend. We understand each other completely. Physical miles separate us, but somehow our hearts always touch.

And old books.

They are simply beautiful. And I have discovered that no matter how full a home becomes, there is always room for another book. New or old.

So many of the old ones hold the most wonderful illustrations.

My novel will too.

Wink. 😉

Maybe that is what I love most about a home.

A home can become your heart—if you let it.

Fill it with you.

On the days you need a hug, there it is in a memory.

On the days you need calm, there it is in the reminders.

The people you love.
The things you have gathered.
The stories tucked quietly into corners.

Home.

Sigh.

There really is no place like home. ❤️

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