A good story can be told so many ways.
My grandmother’s English father would have down played it to the nth degree. “We saw a bit of the bears on that trip.”
My grandfather’s German father would have played it all the way up and if he’d already had a nip, or two, or more, might have said, “The bears were raging all around us. I didn’t know which way to turn.”
I will simply say I saw more bears on my road trip through California than I ever want to see “running freely through the camp” again. I saw them from my Tahoe condo. I heard them from my tent in Yosemite. I watched them on walks in the back country. A three hundred fifty pound mama bear with three cubs is much cuter in the movies, in my humble opinion.
On one hand I was told, “they don’t like noise, turn and walk back exactly the way you came,” and on the other I heard, “join hands to make yourselves look larger, then make lots of noise, but do NOT run. If you feel the need to run, throw the bear your backpack first.” Then they told me what to do if the bear attacks and I wondered how much of that I would remember as its fetid breath breathed down on me and its large claws explored this walking curiosity called woman. It all seemed to conflict. The truth is, bears are animals. Unpredictable and wild just as you might expect if you are reasonably intelligent.
Now I live in the Smokey Mountains and we still have those cute not so little black bears. Not as good at breaking into cars as those in Yosemite, they have still been known to climb twenty feet up on to patio decks to play with the bird seed. Bears are like large nosey children who come equipped with sharp teeth and long claws that can open car doors as easily as I do a can of soup. Except that these children don’t necessarily mind and there is no way this mama is going to spank that big furry behind.
Fascinating? Cool? Yes! Teddy bears? Absolutely not!
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Simple Things
I remember when I played the first piano in my home. My grandmother gave us her piano when she and my grandfather divorced. I didn’t understand divorce, but I understood the sound of this magical instrument that now took up an entire end of our living room.
I remember the song I made up. Of course it turned out that the tune, “Turkish March,” was written years before by a guy called Beethoven and he wrote a lot more of it than I did, but it was what finally prompted my mother to sign me up for piano lessons.
That was the beginning of the longest and most empathetic relationship I have ever had. Not that those first lessons were wonderful. I still remember all the tears because my fingers, specifically my ring finger, did not go down the way it was supposed to. In fact I can still play that first song, “Off I Go To Music Land.” (And with both hands too!)
Typical of my life, I got things backwards. My first lessons were on a Steinway baby grand, then I had to move to an upright player piano and finally to my Wurlitzer who hates this southern humidity. But the most important thing is that I can play. Nothing soothes me more, nor fills me faster than my own fingers making that music filling the air around me. It is like a sacred bubble where life can slide from sad, or sorry, or anything else, to peaceful and content, and sometimes even ecstatic.
And it is that interaction that I love, not just good music. I know many people who are excellent musicians, much better than I am, or ever will be. I could listen to them for hours on end, but eventually I need to feel it myself, be part of it, to really reap the benefits.
A few years ago I had the chance to spend Christmas with a wonderful musician. She was really a concert level pianist and her piano was beautiful. The week I was there she played very seldom and I cherished each and every note she graced us with. Still, I dreamed of being able to sit down and play that piano myself. I ached to hear my music played by me. I wanted so badly to sit there in that sunny little room wrapped in my own private world, but I could not ask, nor could I have played with her there. I was just way too awed by her to do that.
That is both the bane and the blessing of knowing great people. They remind me how simple I really am.
I remember the song I made up. Of course it turned out that the tune, “Turkish March,” was written years before by a guy called Beethoven and he wrote a lot more of it than I did, but it was what finally prompted my mother to sign me up for piano lessons.
That was the beginning of the longest and most empathetic relationship I have ever had. Not that those first lessons were wonderful. I still remember all the tears because my fingers, specifically my ring finger, did not go down the way it was supposed to. In fact I can still play that first song, “Off I Go To Music Land.” (And with both hands too!)
Typical of my life, I got things backwards. My first lessons were on a Steinway baby grand, then I had to move to an upright player piano and finally to my Wurlitzer who hates this southern humidity. But the most important thing is that I can play. Nothing soothes me more, nor fills me faster than my own fingers making that music filling the air around me. It is like a sacred bubble where life can slide from sad, or sorry, or anything else, to peaceful and content, and sometimes even ecstatic.
And it is that interaction that I love, not just good music. I know many people who are excellent musicians, much better than I am, or ever will be. I could listen to them for hours on end, but eventually I need to feel it myself, be part of it, to really reap the benefits.
A few years ago I had the chance to spend Christmas with a wonderful musician. She was really a concert level pianist and her piano was beautiful. The week I was there she played very seldom and I cherished each and every note she graced us with. Still, I dreamed of being able to sit down and play that piano myself. I ached to hear my music played by me. I wanted so badly to sit there in that sunny little room wrapped in my own private world, but I could not ask, nor could I have played with her there. I was just way too awed by her to do that.
That is both the bane and the blessing of knowing great people. They remind me how simple I really am.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
My Mother
My mother died twenty three years ago. I am older now than she was when she died, yet I have been dreaming about her every night lately.
I loved my mother. She was there for me in every way she knew how to be, but I was that child she never knew quite what to do with. Of course I am the oldest child, so maybe that has something to do with it.
I always wanted desperately to be good, to be “perfect,” but my body and soul just have a disposition all their own. Sometimes even I was appalled at the things I said to her. I seemed to be able control myself at school and other places but Mom seemed to bring out that defiant side I couldn’t control. And believe me, there were often instantaneous and painful consequences.
Still, I dream of her now. I guess I will never out grow the need for her love. There was always comfort in the knowledge that she was there for me. Coupled along with the truth that as soon as she came to help all hell would break loose, because we thought and functioned like two people who grew up in opposite alien worlds.
When I was interviewed last month, it was pointed out to me that maybe my mother taught me all those things I didn’t want to be. That sounds very negative, but it really isn’t, because I know it is true in so many ways. I was just born with a different philosophy on life than my mother. The fact that she could be there for me might have taught me a tolerance I would not have had otherwise.
Ours was a strange, often painful, tug of war, but the strangest thing of all is how much we loved each other and I miss her.
I loved my mother. She was there for me in every way she knew how to be, but I was that child she never knew quite what to do with. Of course I am the oldest child, so maybe that has something to do with it.
I always wanted desperately to be good, to be “perfect,” but my body and soul just have a disposition all their own. Sometimes even I was appalled at the things I said to her. I seemed to be able control myself at school and other places but Mom seemed to bring out that defiant side I couldn’t control. And believe me, there were often instantaneous and painful consequences.
Still, I dream of her now. I guess I will never out grow the need for her love. There was always comfort in the knowledge that she was there for me. Coupled along with the truth that as soon as she came to help all hell would break loose, because we thought and functioned like two people who grew up in opposite alien worlds.
When I was interviewed last month, it was pointed out to me that maybe my mother taught me all those things I didn’t want to be. That sounds very negative, but it really isn’t, because I know it is true in so many ways. I was just born with a different philosophy on life than my mother. The fact that she could be there for me might have taught me a tolerance I would not have had otherwise.
Ours was a strange, often painful, tug of war, but the strangest thing of all is how much we loved each other and I miss her.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Genius Knock-Offs
In an age where young computer geniuses are lauded for their ability to do amazing things we have also created a line of cheap imitators. People who are neither brilliant, nor amazing. They are simply thieves.
They pay to get into a site on the internet and then download all the member perks and give them away on sites dedicated to this sort of thing. Then they sit back and gloat because they have tricked the system.
What system? Fair trade? Small businesses trying to offer a quality product at a fair price? How smart do you have to be to spend your own money on something and then give it away so you force the small business man out of business? Some even go so far as to say they stole the best from the best. Do they care that now, thanks to them, the best no longer exists?
Big corporations have been doing this for years. Only they turn it into more money for themselves, they certainly do not give it away.
The line forms to the rear, knock-offs of all sorts step up. Join the sleazy snake oil salesmen who are your predecessors. Fortunately for their families most of them are nameless, but you! You have the distinction of having your name out there on the internet for generations to come!
They pay to get into a site on the internet and then download all the member perks and give them away on sites dedicated to this sort of thing. Then they sit back and gloat because they have tricked the system.
What system? Fair trade? Small businesses trying to offer a quality product at a fair price? How smart do you have to be to spend your own money on something and then give it away so you force the small business man out of business? Some even go so far as to say they stole the best from the best. Do they care that now, thanks to them, the best no longer exists?
Big corporations have been doing this for years. Only they turn it into more money for themselves, they certainly do not give it away.
The line forms to the rear, knock-offs of all sorts step up. Join the sleazy snake oil salesmen who are your predecessors. Fortunately for their families most of them are nameless, but you! You have the distinction of having your name out there on the internet for generations to come!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Look For The Magic
Life is all about the mundane, but I need more. More than cooking, cleaning, and other repetitive stuff that is never really finished. I don’t just want my pie, I want it with an interesting crust and extra sweet filling.
Without that I wither. It’s the reason I have always tried out the odd little things like dream groups and drumming. It’s also the reason my children grew up without a lot of television and vacations without any outside influences. I wanted them to develop their own sense of creativity minus all the hype that is blown out of media machines twenty four hours a day. I wanted them to be thinkers and doers, not just watchers.
That being said, now that they are grown, they use these technical things to express themselves and I think that is great. It is the word, using, that is important to me. Active participation requires more than button pushing.
Imagination! It fills all sorts of gaps from writing and serving people to being an attorney in court. Thinking creatively opens lots of doors. I want the big doors and the small ones. I want doors that require eating biscuits that say, “eat me” as well as ones that require figuring out the puzzles that unlock them.
I want a world where the best and the worst come together and the best always wins in some way. That takes creativity. I try to stay current with today’s gizmos in order to keep my mind pliable, but I don’t discount my old friend, day dreaming. She still serves me well when I look for the magic.
Without that I wither. It’s the reason I have always tried out the odd little things like dream groups and drumming. It’s also the reason my children grew up without a lot of television and vacations without any outside influences. I wanted them to develop their own sense of creativity minus all the hype that is blown out of media machines twenty four hours a day. I wanted them to be thinkers and doers, not just watchers.
That being said, now that they are grown, they use these technical things to express themselves and I think that is great. It is the word, using, that is important to me. Active participation requires more than button pushing.
Imagination! It fills all sorts of gaps from writing and serving people to being an attorney in court. Thinking creatively opens lots of doors. I want the big doors and the small ones. I want doors that require eating biscuits that say, “eat me” as well as ones that require figuring out the puzzles that unlock them.
I want a world where the best and the worst come together and the best always wins in some way. That takes creativity. I try to stay current with today’s gizmos in order to keep my mind pliable, but I don’t discount my old friend, day dreaming. She still serves me well when I look for the magic.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Angels In The Studio
Angels dance among us and most of us never even notice. I’m not saying these are wing bearing, halo wearing angels who swoop down from heaven shimmering in the light. I’m talking about those angels who walk on two feet, go to the dentist and work hard for the things they divvy up among those they watch out for.
Where there is hunger, they provide food. Where there is injury, they make sure medicine and doctors become available. They hand out hard earned money to those whose lives would be even harder without it and they offer it in the best of ways. Freely given, it comes with the opportunity to retain self-respect by working off the debt when the time is better.
They do not forsake those who stray, nor do they forget those who cannot seem to learn things the easy way. They are not push-overs, but they are always there with an open heart and arms stretched wide.
Angels who walk this earth unafraid, willing to stand in the back ground and be what they need to be in the name of love.
These angels are disguised as people many would prefer not to notice, doing work some find repugnant, but they are the most angelic people I know. Quietly doing all those things many Christians claim to do, but, in reality do not.
Every time I see them at work I am lost in the love and awe of their selflessness.
Where there is hunger, they provide food. Where there is injury, they make sure medicine and doctors become available. They hand out hard earned money to those whose lives would be even harder without it and they offer it in the best of ways. Freely given, it comes with the opportunity to retain self-respect by working off the debt when the time is better.
They do not forsake those who stray, nor do they forget those who cannot seem to learn things the easy way. They are not push-overs, but they are always there with an open heart and arms stretched wide.
Angels who walk this earth unafraid, willing to stand in the back ground and be what they need to be in the name of love.
These angels are disguised as people many would prefer not to notice, doing work some find repugnant, but they are the most angelic people I know. Quietly doing all those things many Christians claim to do, but, in reality do not.
Every time I see them at work I am lost in the love and awe of their selflessness.
Monday, August 24, 2009
The Moment
The thirsty man dreams only of water, the exhausted one of sleep. Patience is relative. The youngster finds hours long and days forever, but I have lived a long time.
And in that time, there was a moment.
In that moment, I looked into eyes filled with honesty and sweetness and truth. Eyes that taught me the power of the old gods, the reason people believed in Aphrodite and Isis and Adonis.
In that moment, I experienced the voice of eternity speaking to me in human form. A voice so gentle and soft, so old and wise that it belied the face bringing it to me.
In that moment, I found myself in the arms of an angel so extraordinary that I will never be bereft of love again.
I dream of a moment and it fills an eternity, because in that moment I drank deeper and dreamed sweeter than most people do in a lifetime. In that moment I saw myself reflected back as I had never seen myself before and my life was forever changed.
And in that time, there was a moment.
In that moment, I looked into eyes filled with honesty and sweetness and truth. Eyes that taught me the power of the old gods, the reason people believed in Aphrodite and Isis and Adonis.
In that moment, I experienced the voice of eternity speaking to me in human form. A voice so gentle and soft, so old and wise that it belied the face bringing it to me.
In that moment, I found myself in the arms of an angel so extraordinary that I will never be bereft of love again.
I dream of a moment and it fills an eternity, because in that moment I drank deeper and dreamed sweeter than most people do in a lifetime. In that moment I saw myself reflected back as I had never seen myself before and my life was forever changed.
I’m Wiser Now
Once or twice a week, Lennon and I get into our respective arm chairs, hook our seat belts and zoom into warp speed as we head for parts unknown. I understand that kind of thing. I like to pretend.
One of the reasons I write so much is that I like creating my own little worlds where everything goes the way I want it to go. I think most creative people are that way. My heroes usually resemble people I am fond of, but the bad guys are generally totally fictitious. The bad guys in my life don’t have faces anymore.
I have room for you to be you. If you need space, or I don’t fit into your life comfortably, I can understand that. I care enough to let you be who you need to be. Sometimes it hurts a little, but I do understand. I’m wiser now than I used to be.
Still, if I discover you are a kindred spirit, I am in heaven! Everyone needs someone they can talk about anything with, especially things other people might not want to talk about. Those are often the most interesting things of all!
I don’t have any trouble talking to strangers. I ask a couple of questions and let them take the lead, but it hardly ever leads to the places I am most interested in. I am interested enough to listen to anyone for a while, but if it turns out we are kindred spirits? You fascinate me.
Details? A story is only as good as its details. The music, the colors, the warp and woof and the fabric that it turns into, they become the ties that bind. Its when you write the story in my head that I know I’m definitely in the right place.
Let’s pretend we are best friends. I like to pretend.
One of the reasons I write so much is that I like creating my own little worlds where everything goes the way I want it to go. I think most creative people are that way. My heroes usually resemble people I am fond of, but the bad guys are generally totally fictitious. The bad guys in my life don’t have faces anymore.
I have room for you to be you. If you need space, or I don’t fit into your life comfortably, I can understand that. I care enough to let you be who you need to be. Sometimes it hurts a little, but I do understand. I’m wiser now than I used to be.
Still, if I discover you are a kindred spirit, I am in heaven! Everyone needs someone they can talk about anything with, especially things other people might not want to talk about. Those are often the most interesting things of all!
I don’t have any trouble talking to strangers. I ask a couple of questions and let them take the lead, but it hardly ever leads to the places I am most interested in. I am interested enough to listen to anyone for a while, but if it turns out we are kindred spirits? You fascinate me.
Details? A story is only as good as its details. The music, the colors, the warp and woof and the fabric that it turns into, they become the ties that bind. Its when you write the story in my head that I know I’m definitely in the right place.
Let’s pretend we are best friends. I like to pretend.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
You
You are loved. Know that.
Of course knowing and understanding are not the same thing, so you need to understand!
Parents, siblings, grandparents, these are the people we expect unconditional love from. Expectations, though, can be the road to disappointment. Sometimes the very people who should love us unconditionally cannot do it.
That is not your fault. You have to be you and if that means finding other people who can love you, then you do it.
Let those people who see the beauty of you above and beyond their own expectations, hold you close, because they are the ones who are your mirror. Look into the eyes of your lover. That is the real you. Look into the eyes of those who offer you their hearts and homes, their thoughts and love. They see the real you.
You are more than someone’s daughter, or son. You are you. A beautiful child of the universe living and working the best way you know how and that is indescribably sweet and good and as it should be.
Don’t be so hard on yourself. You are allowed to feel tired, or grouchy, sick, or even a little self centered sometimes. Just don’t think those things define you. They simply mean you are human. Humans are very lovable.
I will always love you simply because you are you.
Of course knowing and understanding are not the same thing, so you need to understand!
Parents, siblings, grandparents, these are the people we expect unconditional love from. Expectations, though, can be the road to disappointment. Sometimes the very people who should love us unconditionally cannot do it.
That is not your fault. You have to be you and if that means finding other people who can love you, then you do it.
Let those people who see the beauty of you above and beyond their own expectations, hold you close, because they are the ones who are your mirror. Look into the eyes of your lover. That is the real you. Look into the eyes of those who offer you their hearts and homes, their thoughts and love. They see the real you.
You are more than someone’s daughter, or son. You are you. A beautiful child of the universe living and working the best way you know how and that is indescribably sweet and good and as it should be.
Don’t be so hard on yourself. You are allowed to feel tired, or grouchy, sick, or even a little self centered sometimes. Just don’t think those things define you. They simply mean you are human. Humans are very lovable.
I will always love you simply because you are you.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Transported
Thank you all for your prayers, kind words, helpful suggestions, unique thoughts and other strange and wonderful communications this morning!
I am feeling better, but that could have something to do with the glue fumes I slept in last night. In spite of all the fans, it was still pretty bad in the bedroom until very early this morning. At first it gave me a headache, so I tried the couch, but the pull out couch in the second bedroom is surrounded by mold and the living room couch has a recliner that makes it very uncomfortable to sleep on. Eden has been invaded!
My poor son spent all day removing ancient pipes from my ceiling while Lennon and I “helped” him. We made three trips to a local home center, which in our area means a twenty five mile drive each way. Lennon entertained us by wearing all the pvc pipe he could get his hands on and once we thought he had his tiny arm stuck in a very curved piece, so I took him over and let him stand in the showers while his Daddy looked for what else he needed. We discovered the showers were really transporters, so we ended up in outer space, fighting aliens and moon walking without any gravity.
Hours of scooping goo out of the pipes later, my son still had not managed to replace the old pipes to his satisfaction, so today he starts again. Once we have that done we will move onto the second bedroom and carpeting situation.
In the meantime, my nausea seems to be gone along with most of the pain, so I am back to normal, more or less. (“A little bit less than more.” )
I am feeling better, but that could have something to do with the glue fumes I slept in last night. In spite of all the fans, it was still pretty bad in the bedroom until very early this morning. At first it gave me a headache, so I tried the couch, but the pull out couch in the second bedroom is surrounded by mold and the living room couch has a recliner that makes it very uncomfortable to sleep on. Eden has been invaded!
My poor son spent all day removing ancient pipes from my ceiling while Lennon and I “helped” him. We made three trips to a local home center, which in our area means a twenty five mile drive each way. Lennon entertained us by wearing all the pvc pipe he could get his hands on and once we thought he had his tiny arm stuck in a very curved piece, so I took him over and let him stand in the showers while his Daddy looked for what else he needed. We discovered the showers were really transporters, so we ended up in outer space, fighting aliens and moon walking without any gravity.
Hours of scooping goo out of the pipes later, my son still had not managed to replace the old pipes to his satisfaction, so today he starts again. Once we have that done we will move onto the second bedroom and carpeting situation.
In the meantime, my nausea seems to be gone along with most of the pain, so I am back to normal, more or less. (“A little bit less than more.” )
Friday, August 21, 2009
Why Not?
After everything else that has happened since last Friday, this might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Not that anyone cares about that damn camel, but I am genuinely _ _ _ _ _ _. (Amazing how many bad words fit into that space, Just consider that I have thought of most of them!)
Today I hobbled back to my bedroom intending to take off my earrings and crash when Lennon went home. Instead, I found my jewelry box covered in water, my small antique dresser water soaked and spotted, one of my bookcases with all my music, except for what happened to be on the piano, wet. Many of my books with soaked corners and damp covers. Some things ruined. Water still dripping from the ceiling and off the window!
I have two other bookcases in the living room, filled mostly with photo albums, manuscripts and my best books, so it could have been much worse. I will admit that.
I went to hang music in the back bedroom/storage area and discovered that all of my good Italian hand bags are covered in layers of mold and ruined. Most of the stuffed animals, including some I made are ruined. My smoking stand filled with thirty years of negatives is covered in mold. I haven’t had the courage to open it and see if the cedar protected the negatives yet. Evidently this room had a leak around the outside wall that soaked the carpet and raised the humidity to tropical standards. I will try to scrub the antiques and salvage them, but cloth and leather things appear to be ruined.
I am worried about my piano, so tomorrow I do that really hard thing that comes when you rent from family. I insist my son remove all bedroom carpeting now!
I want to scream, “Why me?” But I’m afraid God might scream back, “Why not?”
I really need to find my sense of humor very quickly, because right now I am feeling like just going to bed and crying.
Today I hobbled back to my bedroom intending to take off my earrings and crash when Lennon went home. Instead, I found my jewelry box covered in water, my small antique dresser water soaked and spotted, one of my bookcases with all my music, except for what happened to be on the piano, wet. Many of my books with soaked corners and damp covers. Some things ruined. Water still dripping from the ceiling and off the window!
I have two other bookcases in the living room, filled mostly with photo albums, manuscripts and my best books, so it could have been much worse. I will admit that.
I went to hang music in the back bedroom/storage area and discovered that all of my good Italian hand bags are covered in layers of mold and ruined. Most of the stuffed animals, including some I made are ruined. My smoking stand filled with thirty years of negatives is covered in mold. I haven’t had the courage to open it and see if the cedar protected the negatives yet. Evidently this room had a leak around the outside wall that soaked the carpet and raised the humidity to tropical standards. I will try to scrub the antiques and salvage them, but cloth and leather things appear to be ruined.
I am worried about my piano, so tomorrow I do that really hard thing that comes when you rent from family. I insist my son remove all bedroom carpeting now!
I want to scream, “Why me?” But I’m afraid God might scream back, “Why not?”
I really need to find my sense of humor very quickly, because right now I am feeling like just going to bed and crying.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The Armory
I couldn’t decide what to write about tonight, there are so many thoughts rolling around in my head. So many things that seem not quite right, or unfair, or out right wrong. I finally realized that I am simply looking for axes to grind and there is no shortage of them right now, here, in my own little armory.
Whet that stone and get to work! Nothing like a good reason to sharpen my words and tear into some atrocity! I am angry! Self righteous, fuming, ready to right the world’s wrongs!
Except that this is just a cover story, a way of hiding that fact that what I’m really angriest about is not feeling good. It’s the old, I stubbed my toe, let’s kick the dog syndrome. Nothing is really resolved and the toe goes right on hurting.
So, since I can’t do anything more about my body, perhaps it would be wiser to dip a little deeper into my psyche and pull out something a bit more soothing for my soul.
Instead of ranting and raving, I’ll tell you about the park today where three little boys and a not so little girl of about eight stood looking at Lennon and his Daddy with sad eyes and yearning faces. Desperate for the attention Lennon was getting, they clustered around watching until Lennon’s Daddy gathered them all up and made trains that chugged down the slides and climbed up the jungle gyms.
For an hour or so, all these children had a father figure who called them by name and made sure they got their place in the fun while their weary looking care takers sat around the edges watching them laughing and running with earnest joy to be the engine, or caboose, or even the ones in the middle. It really only mattered that they were included, the rest took care of itself.
Five children and a man who made no distinctions about whose child they were. A moment in time when we all had a taste of the way it should be. These are the things I want to write about. These make me feel a little better than armories filled with sharpened axes and scathing words.
Whet that stone and get to work! Nothing like a good reason to sharpen my words and tear into some atrocity! I am angry! Self righteous, fuming, ready to right the world’s wrongs!
Except that this is just a cover story, a way of hiding that fact that what I’m really angriest about is not feeling good. It’s the old, I stubbed my toe, let’s kick the dog syndrome. Nothing is really resolved and the toe goes right on hurting.
So, since I can’t do anything more about my body, perhaps it would be wiser to dip a little deeper into my psyche and pull out something a bit more soothing for my soul.
Instead of ranting and raving, I’ll tell you about the park today where three little boys and a not so little girl of about eight stood looking at Lennon and his Daddy with sad eyes and yearning faces. Desperate for the attention Lennon was getting, they clustered around watching until Lennon’s Daddy gathered them all up and made trains that chugged down the slides and climbed up the jungle gyms.
For an hour or so, all these children had a father figure who called them by name and made sure they got their place in the fun while their weary looking care takers sat around the edges watching them laughing and running with earnest joy to be the engine, or caboose, or even the ones in the middle. It really only mattered that they were included, the rest took care of itself.
Five children and a man who made no distinctions about whose child they were. A moment in time when we all had a taste of the way it should be. These are the things I want to write about. These make me feel a little better than armories filled with sharpened axes and scathing words.
Get Real
I am content with my life right now. There are things I would change if I could, but I don’t need to change them. I have come to terms with who I am, where and how I live and how I will probably die. Now, having said this, I will add that I don’t spend too much time sitting around dwelling on any of these particular things.
Where I am in this moment is so different than I ever thought it would be. Up until a few years ago, I saw myself as a well educated, wealthy woman, living the American Dream in most ways. Now I could be one paycheck away from homelessness. I have no insurance, a ten year old car, and live in a house with no air conditioning, no furnace and a forty year old piano! Sounds bleak doesn’t it?
It’s not. I also have a violin, two flutes, a dog, and a computer! Seriously, I have discovered that peace of mind is much more important than all the rest. Much of my life now co-exists with my son’s family. I rent my house from them, which benefits all of us. I live in the mountains of a state that has cool nights all summer long, low humidity and winters that are doable with a sort of space heater. Perks include seeing my grandson nearly everyday and knowing we are all here for each other if the need arises.
I am more tied down than I have been in many years and that was hard for me in the beginning, but it makes sense at this point in my life so I am getting used to it. I am a very social loner! The adventures I once sought have changed and the adventures I have now come to me whether I want them or not.
Life moves on. My trials and tribulations are very grass-roots right now. My computer makes things possible for me that former generations did not have access to. I find that now I have less, I have more of a need to give and this giving satisfies me in ways having money never did.
I always liked the story of the Velveteen Rabbit, but I didn’t really get it until recently. I’m pretty real now.
Where I am in this moment is so different than I ever thought it would be. Up until a few years ago, I saw myself as a well educated, wealthy woman, living the American Dream in most ways. Now I could be one paycheck away from homelessness. I have no insurance, a ten year old car, and live in a house with no air conditioning, no furnace and a forty year old piano! Sounds bleak doesn’t it?
It’s not. I also have a violin, two flutes, a dog, and a computer! Seriously, I have discovered that peace of mind is much more important than all the rest. Much of my life now co-exists with my son’s family. I rent my house from them, which benefits all of us. I live in the mountains of a state that has cool nights all summer long, low humidity and winters that are doable with a sort of space heater. Perks include seeing my grandson nearly everyday and knowing we are all here for each other if the need arises.
I am more tied down than I have been in many years and that was hard for me in the beginning, but it makes sense at this point in my life so I am getting used to it. I am a very social loner! The adventures I once sought have changed and the adventures I have now come to me whether I want them or not.
Life moves on. My trials and tribulations are very grass-roots right now. My computer makes things possible for me that former generations did not have access to. I find that now I have less, I have more of a need to give and this giving satisfies me in ways having money never did.
I always liked the story of the Velveteen Rabbit, but I didn’t really get it until recently. I’m pretty real now.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Radiance
The past few days I have been flooded with loving emails.
Photos of my great nephew whose sturdy body and laughing eyes fill me with memories of his grandpa, my brother. Alexander at four months is already nineteen pounds of extraordinary joy.
Photos of my Muse, whose cerulean blue eyes and sweet smile come leaping across the miles, along with a note that he heard my birthday message only minutes after I sent it, fill me with delight.
Words sent from my daughter-of-the-heart tell me how she is still overcome with awe by the musical ability of her husband, my son, the public defender, even after ten years together. She tells me they bought a used piano and “He just sits down and makes up songs or plays one by ear that is on the radio. It’s insane. But very fun at breakfast.”
Pictures and names of other beguiling newborns whose lives brighten mine and the obvious love that two people I admire very much have for each other, all come together to brighten my world, filling it with a radiance that is hard to describe.
None of these are unexpected. One of my son’s degrees is as a classical performer and he was a gifted musician from the start. My brother’s children led to expectations of gorgeous grandchildren. My Muse is an extraordinary young man in every respect and to see unbridled joy radiating from him is not really unusual. Honest to god, real Lovers are beyond beautiful in any setting.
Still, to have all of these descend upon me in such a short time is a gift that leaves me reeling. I am surrounded by the radiance of love in its purest and sweetest forms and I am grateful.
Photos of my great nephew whose sturdy body and laughing eyes fill me with memories of his grandpa, my brother. Alexander at four months is already nineteen pounds of extraordinary joy.
Photos of my Muse, whose cerulean blue eyes and sweet smile come leaping across the miles, along with a note that he heard my birthday message only minutes after I sent it, fill me with delight.
Words sent from my daughter-of-the-heart tell me how she is still overcome with awe by the musical ability of her husband, my son, the public defender, even after ten years together. She tells me they bought a used piano and “He just sits down and makes up songs or plays one by ear that is on the radio. It’s insane. But very fun at breakfast.”
Pictures and names of other beguiling newborns whose lives brighten mine and the obvious love that two people I admire very much have for each other, all come together to brighten my world, filling it with a radiance that is hard to describe.
None of these are unexpected. One of my son’s degrees is as a classical performer and he was a gifted musician from the start. My brother’s children led to expectations of gorgeous grandchildren. My Muse is an extraordinary young man in every respect and to see unbridled joy radiating from him is not really unusual. Honest to god, real Lovers are beyond beautiful in any setting.
Still, to have all of these descend upon me in such a short time is a gift that leaves me reeling. I am surrounded by the radiance of love in its purest and sweetest forms and I am grateful.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Grown-Ups
It’s hard to help people who don’t listen and it’s hard to listen if you don’t believe what you hear.
Experience is often the best teacher, but so many children are not allowed to experience the whole thing, that years go by without them ever learning the consequences. That’s a shame, because it is so much easier to live without your allowance at age ten than without a job at age thirty. Denying a person the opportunity to grow really does spoil the child. In fact, it can ruin their life.
We need more grown-ups in this world. People who can step back and look at the entire situation with honest eyes and in the best interests of the “child” in front of them. People who can offer a helping hand without enabling and crippling this person they really do love. People who see through the shams that become part of the game.
The kid says I promise to do better. The parent figure says okay, if you expect me to continue helping you, you must do that, or I will not do this anymore. And they replay this scenario so many times that the loop means nothing to either of them. Neither one really believes that growth is honestly possible. Eventually both are lost in despair.
The trick is to notice when someone perseveres and it does start to work, because then the game changes and the help really does help and is appreciated and growth begins right then and there. Things start to make sense and the world becomes a little more understandable.
Experience begins to bear out the truth and everyone comes out ahead. In fact, this is about the time a whole new set of grown-ups can emerge, ones who are ready, willing and able, to listen and learn how to love their own kids.
God Bless the grown-ups in this world.
Experience is often the best teacher, but so many children are not allowed to experience the whole thing, that years go by without them ever learning the consequences. That’s a shame, because it is so much easier to live without your allowance at age ten than without a job at age thirty. Denying a person the opportunity to grow really does spoil the child. In fact, it can ruin their life.
We need more grown-ups in this world. People who can step back and look at the entire situation with honest eyes and in the best interests of the “child” in front of them. People who can offer a helping hand without enabling and crippling this person they really do love. People who see through the shams that become part of the game.
The kid says I promise to do better. The parent figure says okay, if you expect me to continue helping you, you must do that, or I will not do this anymore. And they replay this scenario so many times that the loop means nothing to either of them. Neither one really believes that growth is honestly possible. Eventually both are lost in despair.
The trick is to notice when someone perseveres and it does start to work, because then the game changes and the help really does help and is appreciated and growth begins right then and there. Things start to make sense and the world becomes a little more understandable.
Experience begins to bear out the truth and everyone comes out ahead. In fact, this is about the time a whole new set of grown-ups can emerge, ones who are ready, willing and able, to listen and learn how to love their own kids.
God Bless the grown-ups in this world.
Birthdays
I sit under my small awning and watch the rain blow in from the mountains. Cascading past my eyes with a passion only the earth can produce, it wraps me up in its freshness and carries me away; helping me to simply accept what is.
Rain reminds me of that circle of life, of which I am only a small part, and it reminds me of the blessing August 16th. has brought through the years. My great Aunt Lela was born on this day nearly 120 years ago! She passed away long ago, but I will never forget her.
My beautiful Tiffany was born on this day merely 14 years ago and she is such a beautiful blessing in my life. Little red haired Tiffany with all her sweetness is growing up so quickly. That tiny two pound four ounce baby is now a lovely teenager!
I think of my Muse whose birthday is also today, a soul so sweet and strong that he flows into my imagination and back out in stories and even a book. I have no gift for him today, but when that book is published you can be sure I will share its bounty. Knowing this gives me the impetus to keep pushing it forward.
Real people in a real world, whose lives touch mine, like the rain, in ways both big and small. People who often have no idea of the way they light my way, or carry me through simply because they are. I only hope I can do that in some small way for another being here, or there. I suspect it is what life is all about.
Happy Birthday, I am sending you lots of love and wishing you the very best in the year to come.
Rain reminds me of that circle of life, of which I am only a small part, and it reminds me of the blessing August 16th. has brought through the years. My great Aunt Lela was born on this day nearly 120 years ago! She passed away long ago, but I will never forget her.
My beautiful Tiffany was born on this day merely 14 years ago and she is such a beautiful blessing in my life. Little red haired Tiffany with all her sweetness is growing up so quickly. That tiny two pound four ounce baby is now a lovely teenager!
I think of my Muse whose birthday is also today, a soul so sweet and strong that he flows into my imagination and back out in stories and even a book. I have no gift for him today, but when that book is published you can be sure I will share its bounty. Knowing this gives me the impetus to keep pushing it forward.
Real people in a real world, whose lives touch mine, like the rain, in ways both big and small. People who often have no idea of the way they light my way, or carry me through simply because they are. I only hope I can do that in some small way for another being here, or there. I suspect it is what life is all about.
Happy Birthday, I am sending you lots of love and wishing you the very best in the year to come.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Tradition!
Traditional. How often do I hear this word used to defend something that may not be in the best interests of many people? It is as if calling it “traditional” makes everything okay; as if saying it has always been this way, justifies it.
People who use this defense are often trying to push controversial facts over to their side, but I doubt if most of them would really want all the old traditions that we have already disposed of, back.
Take church and state, our country began on the premise that these two should be separate. Now I hear all sorts of people trying to explain why this is not quite so, or how this really was meant to lean a different way. And I say beware.
Look at countries where the church runs the state. Americans who don’t believe we could suffer the same atrocities are not really thinking this thing through. First of all, whose moral theologies should take precedence? Don’t believe your church, or religion would be any different in the long run. Power is intoxicating. It draws the fanatical and it corrupts.
There is too much room for conniving on a grand scale. Let’s keep the conniving and bigotry and hate confined, as much as we can, to the places who feel they are best qualified to spew them out and deal with them. Let the state step in if there is a clash between the bodies inside, or outside of these places, but don't allow the state to become the perpetrator.
If you believe God is talking to you personally and sending you out on missions of hate, take care. Remember God even sent an angel to talk to Mary and she was carrying his son. The souls can wing it on their own. After all, they belong to God and I suspect he can deal with them quite efficiently if he so desires. If you don't believe this, take it up with him, or your church, or your family, but don't try to legislate it. Remember too Jesus' words, "Give to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's." I doubt he just meant gold coins. I don't really want to argue theology, it's not my specialty, but it isn't the government's either and it shouldn't be. It can't be without violating some of our basic rights.
Tradition? Tradition shows that people do not always think rationally, especially when it comes to power, politics and religion.
People who use this defense are often trying to push controversial facts over to their side, but I doubt if most of them would really want all the old traditions that we have already disposed of, back.
Take church and state, our country began on the premise that these two should be separate. Now I hear all sorts of people trying to explain why this is not quite so, or how this really was meant to lean a different way. And I say beware.
Look at countries where the church runs the state. Americans who don’t believe we could suffer the same atrocities are not really thinking this thing through. First of all, whose moral theologies should take precedence? Don’t believe your church, or religion would be any different in the long run. Power is intoxicating. It draws the fanatical and it corrupts.
There is too much room for conniving on a grand scale. Let’s keep the conniving and bigotry and hate confined, as much as we can, to the places who feel they are best qualified to spew them out and deal with them. Let the state step in if there is a clash between the bodies inside, or outside of these places, but don't allow the state to become the perpetrator.
If you believe God is talking to you personally and sending you out on missions of hate, take care. Remember God even sent an angel to talk to Mary and she was carrying his son. The souls can wing it on their own. After all, they belong to God and I suspect he can deal with them quite efficiently if he so desires. If you don't believe this, take it up with him, or your church, or your family, but don't try to legislate it. Remember too Jesus' words, "Give to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's." I doubt he just meant gold coins. I don't really want to argue theology, it's not my specialty, but it isn't the government's either and it shouldn't be. It can't be without violating some of our basic rights.
Tradition? Tradition shows that people do not always think rationally, especially when it comes to power, politics and religion.
Nightmares
Life gets in the way of writing. Yet, without it, what would I write about? One minute I’m on cloud nine. The next, I’m clinging to cloud nine as I tumble through a sea of nightmares.
I suppose these are the things that make me appreciate clouds more than ever. Otherwise I might start to take them for granted. I doubt it, but I might.
It’s hard to imagine taking something for granted that comes in so many shapes and sizes. Bringing me smiling faces and entertainment as well as allowing so much light to filter down into my world.
So, today my thots are a bit late, but that’s because I was shipwrecked in this body for a while and had to wait for the storms to settle before I had the energy to write.
I suppose these are the things that make me appreciate clouds more than ever. Otherwise I might start to take them for granted. I doubt it, but I might.
It’s hard to imagine taking something for granted that comes in so many shapes and sizes. Bringing me smiling faces and entertainment as well as allowing so much light to filter down into my world.
So, today my thots are a bit late, but that’s because I was shipwrecked in this body for a while and had to wait for the storms to settle before I had the energy to write.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Dreams Do Come True
It isn’t often that someone can take something I only dreamed of and make it come true, but once in a blue moon it does happen!
It is the ultimate act of kindness. Even more it shows an empathy with me so rare in my world that I am almost overwhelmed.
Nothing is more magnificent than experiencing true joy, except maybe being able to share it absolutely freely with a kindred spirit.
And so tonight I am smiling ear to ear, bubbling over and so full of bliss that tears just keep reappearing without any warning at all.
As they say, these words are just fingers pointing to the moon, there really are no words available to adequately tell you how I am feeling in this moment, but it is wonderful!
It is the ultimate act of kindness. Even more it shows an empathy with me so rare in my world that I am almost overwhelmed.
Nothing is more magnificent than experiencing true joy, except maybe being able to share it absolutely freely with a kindred spirit.
And so tonight I am smiling ear to ear, bubbling over and so full of bliss that tears just keep reappearing without any warning at all.
As they say, these words are just fingers pointing to the moon, there really are no words available to adequately tell you how I am feeling in this moment, but it is wonderful!
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
For You
Don’t take it personally.
How else do I take it?
My life is personal. The people who touch it are important to me. Without them, it would be a different life altogether, so when they are hurting, or in trouble, I care.
I cannot give them all the things they need. In fact, I can barely take care of my own needs sometimes, so I do the best I can and try to make up for it by being as honest as I know how when I talk to them, or write to them, or touch their lives in some way.
I don’t want to embarrass you and if telling you how grateful I am for the things you give me does that, I’m sorry.
Just not sorry enough to stop, because I know I would be sorrier in the long run if I did not.
How else do I take it?
My life is personal. The people who touch it are important to me. Without them, it would be a different life altogether, so when they are hurting, or in trouble, I care.
I cannot give them all the things they need. In fact, I can barely take care of my own needs sometimes, so I do the best I can and try to make up for it by being as honest as I know how when I talk to them, or write to them, or touch their lives in some way.
I don’t want to embarrass you and if telling you how grateful I am for the things you give me does that, I’m sorry.
Just not sorry enough to stop, because I know I would be sorrier in the long run if I did not.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Pollywogs And Caterpillars
Things change, it’s the nature of life. With a little luck it goes like the butterflies and frogs, metamorphosing from caterpillars and pollywogs to winged creatures or sturdy little amphibians, both with more choices than their progeny.
But, I tell you, dropping those tails and spinning cocoons is not easy. It takes a lot of perseverance to become a frog and a lot of courage to believe you will wake up a butterfly. Who in their right mind thinks they can change that much?
There really is not much choice. In Popeye’s immortal words, “I yam what I yam.” The only choice I really have is in how I make these transitions. Some people go kicking and screaming from one stage to another. Others rush so quickly they miss the finer points of all of them.
I prefer to just take my time and enjoy the moments along the way. Not that all of them are enjoyable. Quite the contrary, some things are more difficult as time goes by. Dropping that tail and climbing out of the pond into adulthood was not easy. It took me a long time, way longer than many people I know, but eventually even I had to put my feet down and hop off into the real world.
Then when my own children came along, an entirely new set of challenges reared their heads. For one thing, it seemed like I was eternally exhausted for a long while. I used to dream of getting a good night’s sleep! That, too, passed. All things, it seems, do pass.
Too quickly I sometimes think when I look back.
I fought spinning that cocoon with every ounce of strength I had. I knew who I was and what I wanted and it had nothing to do with silence and light and peace. I was life and energy and love!
But eventually the Silence claimed me as the child of light I am and I was right. I am life and energy and love, but they are so much richer and more soul satisfying now that I am learning to glide along on these newfound wings.
I know that some day my wings will grow weary and I will feel the need for more light, but right now I am just savoring this beautiful moment as I flutter along near the shimmering brilliance of you.
But, I tell you, dropping those tails and spinning cocoons is not easy. It takes a lot of perseverance to become a frog and a lot of courage to believe you will wake up a butterfly. Who in their right mind thinks they can change that much?
There really is not much choice. In Popeye’s immortal words, “I yam what I yam.” The only choice I really have is in how I make these transitions. Some people go kicking and screaming from one stage to another. Others rush so quickly they miss the finer points of all of them.
I prefer to just take my time and enjoy the moments along the way. Not that all of them are enjoyable. Quite the contrary, some things are more difficult as time goes by. Dropping that tail and climbing out of the pond into adulthood was not easy. It took me a long time, way longer than many people I know, but eventually even I had to put my feet down and hop off into the real world.
Then when my own children came along, an entirely new set of challenges reared their heads. For one thing, it seemed like I was eternally exhausted for a long while. I used to dream of getting a good night’s sleep! That, too, passed. All things, it seems, do pass.
Too quickly I sometimes think when I look back.
I fought spinning that cocoon with every ounce of strength I had. I knew who I was and what I wanted and it had nothing to do with silence and light and peace. I was life and energy and love!
But eventually the Silence claimed me as the child of light I am and I was right. I am life and energy and love, but they are so much richer and more soul satisfying now that I am learning to glide along on these newfound wings.
I know that some day my wings will grow weary and I will feel the need for more light, but right now I am just savoring this beautiful moment as I flutter along near the shimmering brilliance of you.
My Time
My Time
Lennon just spent several months full of frenetic energy. Climbing, jumping, leaping, moving hard and fast, over, under, and around, whatever came his way.
Now we seem to be starting a new mode. Drawing, creating, experimenting. Last week we froze his small cars in an ice cube tray. Just freezing them and getting the water over them was a really big thing for a three year old. Waiting for them to freeze using a timer set on twenty minute intervals was an eternity. Melting them and watching them float and bob and slide around, another whole experience.
Yesterday he was drawing people who had pinky fingers and thumbs, muscles, and blood inside their bodies and sky all around them. Today we made paper airplanes and did test flights all over the house! I thought he would like the little ones, but he wanted them bigger and heavier, until they got so heavy one of them mostly flew in tight little circles as it fluttered down. He actually seemed to be learning from our failures as he instructed me in how to fold the next one!
Life. It goes on. These are the memories Lennon will carry of his grandmother, so different from the ones I have of mine. Of course we all spend a lot of time with him. He reads and adds and subtracts as naturally as he talks and runs and jumps. Life is just one big experience and we never know what will come up next. I try to be as open as he is, but without denying him the lessons he needs to be a good human being.
Today he wanted to do something and I said no. He asked again several times and in several rather creative ways. I was impressed, but not swayed. Finally, the whine appeared along with demands. My first thought was squash this! My second was to work through it with him, showing him how fits don’t really work and how silly they really are. By the time we got to taking turns throwing the best fits, he was in hysterics, laughing.
Time consuming, but hey, I have time.
Lennon just spent several months full of frenetic energy. Climbing, jumping, leaping, moving hard and fast, over, under, and around, whatever came his way.
Now we seem to be starting a new mode. Drawing, creating, experimenting. Last week we froze his small cars in an ice cube tray. Just freezing them and getting the water over them was a really big thing for a three year old. Waiting for them to freeze using a timer set on twenty minute intervals was an eternity. Melting them and watching them float and bob and slide around, another whole experience.
Yesterday he was drawing people who had pinky fingers and thumbs, muscles, and blood inside their bodies and sky all around them. Today we made paper airplanes and did test flights all over the house! I thought he would like the little ones, but he wanted them bigger and heavier, until they got so heavy one of them mostly flew in tight little circles as it fluttered down. He actually seemed to be learning from our failures as he instructed me in how to fold the next one!
Life. It goes on. These are the memories Lennon will carry of his grandmother, so different from the ones I have of mine. Of course we all spend a lot of time with him. He reads and adds and subtracts as naturally as he talks and runs and jumps. Life is just one big experience and we never know what will come up next. I try to be as open as he is, but without denying him the lessons he needs to be a good human being.
Today he wanted to do something and I said no. He asked again several times and in several rather creative ways. I was impressed, but not swayed. Finally, the whine appeared along with demands. My first thought was squash this! My second was to work through it with him, showing him how fits don’t really work and how silly they really are. By the time we got to taking turns throwing the best fits, he was in hysterics, laughing.
Time consuming, but hey, I have time.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Space
Sometimes my heart is too full to write.
There are things that cannot be written. Thots that cannot be described. Secrets that should not be shared, because to do so removes their magic.
Last night I wrote a thot that was like moonlight on a cold and misty night. Pale and thin compared to the thick rich feelings that were stirring around inside me.
I still cannot find the right words, but the feelings are here and they are sweeter and stronger than ever.
So now I give you the space and the silence to imagine your own thots.
Feel the comfort of your own arms as they wrap around you. Set your thoughts free, allow them to roam wherever they wish. Feed them and nurture them, open the gate and follow them wherever they may go.
There are things that cannot be written. Thots that cannot be described. Secrets that should not be shared, because to do so removes their magic.
Last night I wrote a thot that was like moonlight on a cold and misty night. Pale and thin compared to the thick rich feelings that were stirring around inside me.
I still cannot find the right words, but the feelings are here and they are sweeter and stronger than ever.
So now I give you the space and the silence to imagine your own thots.
Feel the comfort of your own arms as they wrap around you. Set your thoughts free, allow them to roam wherever they wish. Feed them and nurture them, open the gate and follow them wherever they may go.
Sweet Sensitivity
Deep within the forest, high up in a tree, lived a bird who sang from midnight to dawn. This tiny bird believed the tree was the only creature on earth who could love her, because it had no eyes to see with, so she never left it.
Many people loved the songs that came from the tree’s branches and many of them tried to lure the little bird down with handfuls of seed and cupfuls of nectar, but she would not come. She was so afraid that they would not like her songs if they could see her faded feathers and ruffled wings that she preferred to live alone along the ends of the topmost branches. Even when the other birds went to drink from the lily pond below, this one would simply sip the dew from the leaves and keep herself safely hidden in the arms of her lovely tree.
One night a new stranger walked under the tree and happened to hear the little bird singing. After that he came every day in the dark wee hours of the morning and listened to her songs. Soon the bird was so enamored with his presence that she began to venture just a little bit closer, but she never came close enough for him to see her.
Until the day she heard the most beautiful songs she had ever heard and forgot that she was afraid and old and faded. Hopping from branch to branch she finally found herself looking at another little bird with faded feathers and ruffled wings. She was not horrified at all. In fact, she fell in love with the little creature and the beautiful song it was singing.
Sitting under the shade of her tree for the very first time, the little bird was amazed when the stranger slowly closed his eyes, hiding what had only been her reflection. Then he reached out with one finger and turned off the recording of her song.
Smiling gently, he set her free.
Many people loved the songs that came from the tree’s branches and many of them tried to lure the little bird down with handfuls of seed and cupfuls of nectar, but she would not come. She was so afraid that they would not like her songs if they could see her faded feathers and ruffled wings that she preferred to live alone along the ends of the topmost branches. Even when the other birds went to drink from the lily pond below, this one would simply sip the dew from the leaves and keep herself safely hidden in the arms of her lovely tree.
One night a new stranger walked under the tree and happened to hear the little bird singing. After that he came every day in the dark wee hours of the morning and listened to her songs. Soon the bird was so enamored with his presence that she began to venture just a little bit closer, but she never came close enough for him to see her.
Until the day she heard the most beautiful songs she had ever heard and forgot that she was afraid and old and faded. Hopping from branch to branch she finally found herself looking at another little bird with faded feathers and ruffled wings. She was not horrified at all. In fact, she fell in love with the little creature and the beautiful song it was singing.
Sitting under the shade of her tree for the very first time, the little bird was amazed when the stranger slowly closed his eyes, hiding what had only been her reflection. Then he reached out with one finger and turned off the recording of her song.
Smiling gently, he set her free.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
I Do Try
After all these years on this earth there are things I know about myself. It feels funny to say them, because I was taught modesty to the extreme. In fact, I may have been taught a little too extreme. I remember my mother telling me that if I thought I was pretty, I was not. Don’t even ponder a statement like that, it is confusing at its best.
I think I have a good grasp on who I am. On my best side I am soft hearted and deeply loving. On my worst side I can be very nosey, very tenacious and overly sensitive. I try to function somewhere in between these realities.
There are people in this world who take soft hearted and deeply loving and really put it to work. These are my heroes. I strive to be more like them when I can, but they are extraordinary people.
There are also people who are much more accepting of who they are than I am and they are my teachers. I have this sort of niggling feeling that hovers around the edges of my being. It says I’m better at talking than doing, better at wishing than doing, more of a writer than doer. It is right, but I do try to do the rest to the best of my ability.
One more thing I know about myself is that the people who touch my life are extremely important to me and I count each and everyone of them as a blessing I will never take for granted.
I think I have a good grasp on who I am. On my best side I am soft hearted and deeply loving. On my worst side I can be very nosey, very tenacious and overly sensitive. I try to function somewhere in between these realities.
There are people in this world who take soft hearted and deeply loving and really put it to work. These are my heroes. I strive to be more like them when I can, but they are extraordinary people.
There are also people who are much more accepting of who they are than I am and they are my teachers. I have this sort of niggling feeling that hovers around the edges of my being. It says I’m better at talking than doing, better at wishing than doing, more of a writer than doer. It is right, but I do try to do the rest to the best of my ability.
One more thing I know about myself is that the people who touch my life are extremely important to me and I count each and everyone of them as a blessing I will never take for granted.
Living Loving
I look at my hands. Long hands, longer than many men’s, thin hands, with long nails and fine bones. Turning them over I see the pale pink and white skin against the strong muscles and tendons of a piano player. A sharp contrast to the backs which are tanned and worn from years of too much sun and dish washing and diaper changing.
These hands have played the piano, sewed costumes for plays, painted pictures for friends and typed word after word upon my computer. They have held my children’s faces and wiped away their tears, planted gardens and plucked flowers from their stems.
These hands have served me well and I am excited to see them on Lennon. He already shows a dexterity that holds the promise for many interesting things to come. He draws picture after picture of the family and they are amazing for one so young. He sings with great gusto and shows he has a good ear. Will he play the piano, or paint great pictures? Am I going to live vicariously through this small person who holds my heart so close in his little hands?
I think I will only revel in his beauty and fall in love again and again as I watch his hands grow into those of a man whose heart will be great and whose hands will do the honest work of living and loving the best way he knows how. How could I possibly want more than that?
These hands have played the piano, sewed costumes for plays, painted pictures for friends and typed word after word upon my computer. They have held my children’s faces and wiped away their tears, planted gardens and plucked flowers from their stems.
These hands have served me well and I am excited to see them on Lennon. He already shows a dexterity that holds the promise for many interesting things to come. He draws picture after picture of the family and they are amazing for one so young. He sings with great gusto and shows he has a good ear. Will he play the piano, or paint great pictures? Am I going to live vicariously through this small person who holds my heart so close in his little hands?
I think I will only revel in his beauty and fall in love again and again as I watch his hands grow into those of a man whose heart will be great and whose hands will do the honest work of living and loving the best way he knows how. How could I possibly want more than that?
Thursday, August 6, 2009
August Babies
Happy Thanksgiving! Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukah!
Hang on to your hats! It is a wild and hairy trip that carries us humans into the winter solstice and towards the new year. Celebrations abound. Food and drink appear in copious quantities. Fires begin to roar in toasty shades of orange and red and yellow and people start lighting candles, or, in today’s world, spread tiny little lights all over the place, on trees and houses, tables and windows.
Winter is coming! The revelry is interspersed with spiritual undertones, a sort of primal wonder that the world, once so bright and sunny and warm, is now shedding her outer layers and displaying only the bare bones of her existence.
In the midst of all this outpouring of joy and noise, a few souls pull inward. Snuggling deep under the blankets of soft and cozy beds, or splayed out upon the rug before a wild and roaring fire, they celebrate the coming of those cold, dark days, with creation!
Lighting fires deep within, they breathe life and love into each other, weaving new souls that will incubate in this warmth throughout the winter and spring and long hot days of summer, emerging as the late July and August babies just being born!
Happy Birthday little ones, we welcome you into the world. Wishing you a lifetime of being loved, an eternity of being adored, a way of walking that is forever guided by the light and love that made you in the first place!
Come join the other August babies, the Tiffanies and Lelas, the Joels and Lennons who grace this world with souls that don’t just shine, they shimmer!
Hang on to your hats! It is a wild and hairy trip that carries us humans into the winter solstice and towards the new year. Celebrations abound. Food and drink appear in copious quantities. Fires begin to roar in toasty shades of orange and red and yellow and people start lighting candles, or, in today’s world, spread tiny little lights all over the place, on trees and houses, tables and windows.
Winter is coming! The revelry is interspersed with spiritual undertones, a sort of primal wonder that the world, once so bright and sunny and warm, is now shedding her outer layers and displaying only the bare bones of her existence.
In the midst of all this outpouring of joy and noise, a few souls pull inward. Snuggling deep under the blankets of soft and cozy beds, or splayed out upon the rug before a wild and roaring fire, they celebrate the coming of those cold, dark days, with creation!
Lighting fires deep within, they breathe life and love into each other, weaving new souls that will incubate in this warmth throughout the winter and spring and long hot days of summer, emerging as the late July and August babies just being born!
Happy Birthday little ones, we welcome you into the world. Wishing you a lifetime of being loved, an eternity of being adored, a way of walking that is forever guided by the light and love that made you in the first place!
Come join the other August babies, the Tiffanies and Lelas, the Joels and Lennons who grace this world with souls that don’t just shine, they shimmer!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Listen With Your Heart
Imagine a very small girl listening to a song and being entranced by the music. She has no understanding of the movie it comes from. She only hears the words, feels the tune sinking into her being and in that instant it becomes a part of her forever.
Music is an important part of this child’s life, but not this kind of music. She will spend years playing the piano without ever playing it. She will hear it playing in her head again and again on nearly every milestone in her life and sometimes in between. Yet she will never find all the words, nor the music when she wants it, because she does not remember its name, or perhaps she never knew it.
Later, as her own baby grows inside her, she searches for this song whenever she has the chance, asking over and over again and getting only shrugging shoulders, or strange looks from people who think she is just pregnant and overly emotional. No one else ever seems to have heard it, or found it as unforgettable.
Even later, as she helps a friend who is dying of cancer, she thinks of this song, but by now knows to keep it to herself. Still it runs through her head and speaks to her in ways no other song ever has.
And tonight as she contemplates the beauty of a new life just now entering this world, it fills her head and heart once more. Only tonight, as she is taking a shower, she realizes she might find it on the internet.
Just in time it seems. And though the movie means little to her, the song is a lifetime of dreaming and loving and being connected by the words and tune of Dimtri Tiomkin.
This is a link, if you are interested. (I would listen to it without looking at the pictures. Hear it the way that little girl did so many years ago.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOVFbsHDgd0
Music is an important part of this child’s life, but not this kind of music. She will spend years playing the piano without ever playing it. She will hear it playing in her head again and again on nearly every milestone in her life and sometimes in between. Yet she will never find all the words, nor the music when she wants it, because she does not remember its name, or perhaps she never knew it.
Later, as her own baby grows inside her, she searches for this song whenever she has the chance, asking over and over again and getting only shrugging shoulders, or strange looks from people who think she is just pregnant and overly emotional. No one else ever seems to have heard it, or found it as unforgettable.
Even later, as she helps a friend who is dying of cancer, she thinks of this song, but by now knows to keep it to herself. Still it runs through her head and speaks to her in ways no other song ever has.
And tonight as she contemplates the beauty of a new life just now entering this world, it fills her head and heart once more. Only tonight, as she is taking a shower, she realizes she might find it on the internet.
Just in time it seems. And though the movie means little to her, the song is a lifetime of dreaming and loving and being connected by the words and tune of Dimtri Tiomkin.
This is a link, if you are interested. (I would listen to it without looking at the pictures. Hear it the way that little girl did so many years ago.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOVFbsHDgd0
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Love and Light
In the darkness of the unknown I have learned to wait. Emptying my mind of the endless possibilities, allowing them no chance to rise up and enter the reality whose sanctity I am trying to protect, I light a candle and focus on the light.
Here, in the silence, I pour my heart out into that flickering flame, feeding it with love and visions of emptiness waiting to be filled. Brushing all shadows gently away with the whisper of a breath, I open myself.
Eventually the visions come, of light and love and life and this is where I rest. Floating gently in the womb of creation, allowing myself to neither ask, nor refrain from asking, that which my heart desires. Knowing that if the power to make it happen exists, so does the power to reach into my heart and know what it is.
My only words? Thy will is my will. Asking more would be too terrifying. Wanting more inconceivable, and yet, the tiny flickers of fear break through now and again and my tears wash them away. Tears born from the love that fills me in this beautiful light.
Tonight there can be only love and light.
Here, in the silence, I pour my heart out into that flickering flame, feeding it with love and visions of emptiness waiting to be filled. Brushing all shadows gently away with the whisper of a breath, I open myself.
Eventually the visions come, of light and love and life and this is where I rest. Floating gently in the womb of creation, allowing myself to neither ask, nor refrain from asking, that which my heart desires. Knowing that if the power to make it happen exists, so does the power to reach into my heart and know what it is.
My only words? Thy will is my will. Asking more would be too terrifying. Wanting more inconceivable, and yet, the tiny flickers of fear break through now and again and my tears wash them away. Tears born from the love that fills me in this beautiful light.
Tonight there can be only love and light.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Invisible
Blindly following the rules was expected of me when I was a child.
Growing up there was a rule for almost everything. My freshman year in college I still had to wear skirts to class unless it was ten below zero. White was not worn after September 21st, gloves and hats were still pretty much the rule in churches. Girls living in the dormitories had hours, guys did not. A year later most of these unbreachable rules were gone the way of the horse drawn milk truck.
On a grander scale, rules were still the guide lines that showed the world where you stood. Wealthier people had rules that required money and time that poorer folks had no access to and therefore could not possibly participate in. Poorer folks had their own layers of rules delineating other levels of superiority over each other and even those “above” them.
Rules kept everyone in their place and they were strictly enforced lest you forget them. Punishments ranged from being grounded, or physically punished to going to jail, depending on whose rule you broke, where you were, and who you were. The only thing really consistent was that the wealthiest and most powerful had more leeway than the rest.
Today the lack of rules is pretty much the rule, but underneath that apparently benign façade are still some real zingers. People thumb their noses at common courtesy and simple good manners, pretending there are very few rules at all, but the frightening truth is that the mistreatment and misuse of each other has become an art form that is almost acceptable as long as you aren’t caught and exposed.
There are still good compassionate people and good hard working people and even well intentioned people -- it is just harder to tell the difference between them and their counterparts who slither around in between poisoning the wells and locking the doors quietly behind them. Air brushing the blatant cruelty of common policies and producing honey coated news shows, make those bodies outside the locked doors invisible to many people.
It’s time to start handing out the 3-D glasses and making sure people put them on, because when the bodies get high enough, those doors are not going to open for anyone anymore.
Growing up there was a rule for almost everything. My freshman year in college I still had to wear skirts to class unless it was ten below zero. White was not worn after September 21st, gloves and hats were still pretty much the rule in churches. Girls living in the dormitories had hours, guys did not. A year later most of these unbreachable rules were gone the way of the horse drawn milk truck.
On a grander scale, rules were still the guide lines that showed the world where you stood. Wealthier people had rules that required money and time that poorer folks had no access to and therefore could not possibly participate in. Poorer folks had their own layers of rules delineating other levels of superiority over each other and even those “above” them.
Rules kept everyone in their place and they were strictly enforced lest you forget them. Punishments ranged from being grounded, or physically punished to going to jail, depending on whose rule you broke, where you were, and who you were. The only thing really consistent was that the wealthiest and most powerful had more leeway than the rest.
Today the lack of rules is pretty much the rule, but underneath that apparently benign façade are still some real zingers. People thumb their noses at common courtesy and simple good manners, pretending there are very few rules at all, but the frightening truth is that the mistreatment and misuse of each other has become an art form that is almost acceptable as long as you aren’t caught and exposed.
There are still good compassionate people and good hard working people and even well intentioned people -- it is just harder to tell the difference between them and their counterparts who slither around in between poisoning the wells and locking the doors quietly behind them. Air brushing the blatant cruelty of common policies and producing honey coated news shows, make those bodies outside the locked doors invisible to many people.
It’s time to start handing out the 3-D glasses and making sure people put them on, because when the bodies get high enough, those doors are not going to open for anyone anymore.
The Reflection
I remember my only full term pregnancy. Nothing went the way they said it would.
To start out, I already had two children at home, so I was a busy mama. My husband was less than ecstatic about another child. It meant we were going to exceed the national average of 2.5 children and have to sell our car and house and replace both if we expected this child to live and travel with us.
The pregnancy itself was pretty uneventful which was a blessing. I went from size Barbie to size blue whale in a few short months, then woke up the morning of my husband’s firm’s long planned conversion and informed him that my water had broken. I did not record what he said for posterity. It is better off forgotten.
We arrived at the hospital and I was fully dilated in less than thirty minutes! Unfortunately, this baby required more room than that for his personal comfort and huge head. No amount of coaxing and stretching could change his mind.
After hours in that so called final ten minutes of the birthing process, during which I watched my husband consume several gallons of chicken soup while on the phone with the people from work, and during which I tried to describe where my potato peeler was to my father who was home cooking dinner for the other children, and during which my doctor ran up and down the halls singing and calling out to the five of us giving birth on his day off, my son was born!
The nurse said she expected my doctor to shoot out and hit the opposite wall of the delivery room when the blessed event climaxed, because he had both feet up against the delivery table while he pulled on the forceps and sweated like a man doing a triathlon. I did not know this until afterwards. All I knew was he was blocking my view in the mirror!
A big beautiful eight pound boy! No blue eyed baby here, he had black eyes and enough hair to call in a stylist for his first picture, but we were ecstatic. I did record what his father said here. “Oh my God,” over and over again as he ran between me and the warming tray.
I also remember looking into those deep dark eyes and wondering if they still held the reflection of God in them.
To start out, I already had two children at home, so I was a busy mama. My husband was less than ecstatic about another child. It meant we were going to exceed the national average of 2.5 children and have to sell our car and house and replace both if we expected this child to live and travel with us.
The pregnancy itself was pretty uneventful which was a blessing. I went from size Barbie to size blue whale in a few short months, then woke up the morning of my husband’s firm’s long planned conversion and informed him that my water had broken. I did not record what he said for posterity. It is better off forgotten.
We arrived at the hospital and I was fully dilated in less than thirty minutes! Unfortunately, this baby required more room than that for his personal comfort and huge head. No amount of coaxing and stretching could change his mind.
After hours in that so called final ten minutes of the birthing process, during which I watched my husband consume several gallons of chicken soup while on the phone with the people from work, and during which I tried to describe where my potato peeler was to my father who was home cooking dinner for the other children, and during which my doctor ran up and down the halls singing and calling out to the five of us giving birth on his day off, my son was born!
The nurse said she expected my doctor to shoot out and hit the opposite wall of the delivery room when the blessed event climaxed, because he had both feet up against the delivery table while he pulled on the forceps and sweated like a man doing a triathlon. I did not know this until afterwards. All I knew was he was blocking my view in the mirror!
A big beautiful eight pound boy! No blue eyed baby here, he had black eyes and enough hair to call in a stylist for his first picture, but we were ecstatic. I did record what his father said here. “Oh my God,” over and over again as he ran between me and the warming tray.
I also remember looking into those deep dark eyes and wondering if they still held the reflection of God in them.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Good To The Bone
Lennon is one of the most beautiful people I know.
Eager to please, good natured, ready to try almost anything, willing to do whatever it takes to get a job done and do it right, he is unfailingly patient and calm in the face of frustration and his ingenuity can be amazing. I have seen him face unbelievable odds for someone his age and I have never heard him complain, even when he is so tired he can barely put one foot in front of the other.
Joyful and sweet beyond belief, he can be almost comical in his passion for things, pounding his fist on the table, stomping that foot emphatically to make his point.
He sees beyond the world’s façades with an innocence and straight forwardness that must be experienced to be understood. As young as he is, he already has a sense of who he is.
I think he is simply good to the bone.
Knowing he will someday, pass all this on to his son, inspires me beyond belief. To me he is the sun and the moon and the stars, all rolled up into one.
I just love him.
Eager to please, good natured, ready to try almost anything, willing to do whatever it takes to get a job done and do it right, he is unfailingly patient and calm in the face of frustration and his ingenuity can be amazing. I have seen him face unbelievable odds for someone his age and I have never heard him complain, even when he is so tired he can barely put one foot in front of the other.
Joyful and sweet beyond belief, he can be almost comical in his passion for things, pounding his fist on the table, stomping that foot emphatically to make his point.
He sees beyond the world’s façades with an innocence and straight forwardness that must be experienced to be understood. As young as he is, he already has a sense of who he is.
I think he is simply good to the bone.
Knowing he will someday, pass all this on to his son, inspires me beyond belief. To me he is the sun and the moon and the stars, all rolled up into one.
I just love him.
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