I begin a new venture today, one that I hope will add some measure of good to this world. It is a very small way of reaching out, but it is all I know how to do. I barely have enough money to take care of myself, so contributing money to some good cause is out of the question. I cannot support a child in a third world country, nor can I send medicine to some tribe in Africa, but there is a part of me that is uncomfortable with that anyway.
For all the good that many organizations do, most also have an underlying agenda of some sort that may, or may not, be hidden behind their offerings. Corruption is one of the constants in our civilization. It starts out with the person who swipes an unneeded penny and goes straight to the top. It crosses the lines between money, religious and ethical views, and power, uniting them all at the basest level. It appears to be considered acceptable in as much as it is known to exist and no one knows how to honestly and effectively eliminate it.
I hate having such a cynical view, but it is here, lying just behind the surface of a person who wants us all to treat each other as if we really are one. I really do believe that whatever we do to the least among us affects us all. I also admit that doing what I do best gives me great joy. I reap far more benefits from it than I think I will ever produce by doing it, so there is a niggling amount of guilt here. Am I doing this for the benefit of humanity, or for myself? Which one predominates?
Honestly, I am afraid I am the ultimate beneficiary, but like I said, it is all I know how to do.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
"It is in giving, that we receive."
Children are the future of this world, but even more than that for me, they are the lifeline that has kept me in it.
My own children gave me a sense of belonging and being that nothing else ever has. They were the ultimate playmates, the ultimate reason to be. I could do things for them I never could have done otherwise. They taught me that I had the courage, the intelligence, and the strength to conquer my worst fears in order for them to understand that everything we need is always right inside of us.
They are the tiny light that flickers on even the darkest night, reminding me that when I am lost, I only need to look deeper, and perhaps deeper still. As long as I keep looking there is hope. And hope is the road map to my destiny.
On my worst days, teaching other people's children was an oasis in the middle of chaos. Stepping through the door into my classroom was like immersing myself in liquid sunshine. Transformed into a pied piper whose only purpose was to lead those in my care into a love of learning and understanding of themselves, I received far more than I ever gave.
Now, walking towards the twilight of my life it seems only natural that children should be the candles that light the way, but I have learned that children come in all ages and sizes and to think otherwise is a fallacy. A candle burns as brightly during it's last few minutes as it ever did and it still needs the same basic things.
My own children gave me a sense of belonging and being that nothing else ever has. They were the ultimate playmates, the ultimate reason to be. I could do things for them I never could have done otherwise. They taught me that I had the courage, the intelligence, and the strength to conquer my worst fears in order for them to understand that everything we need is always right inside of us.
They are the tiny light that flickers on even the darkest night, reminding me that when I am lost, I only need to look deeper, and perhaps deeper still. As long as I keep looking there is hope. And hope is the road map to my destiny.
On my worst days, teaching other people's children was an oasis in the middle of chaos. Stepping through the door into my classroom was like immersing myself in liquid sunshine. Transformed into a pied piper whose only purpose was to lead those in my care into a love of learning and understanding of themselves, I received far more than I ever gave.
Now, walking towards the twilight of my life it seems only natural that children should be the candles that light the way, but I have learned that children come in all ages and sizes and to think otherwise is a fallacy. A candle burns as brightly during it's last few minutes as it ever did and it still needs the same basic things.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Threadbare
When times are hard and the world feels threadbare, it is time to become hyper vigilant. Every thread is a miracle. Every patch necessary.
It doesn't matter where they come from, or how they are utilized.
I have time, so the hunt becomes the reason and the reason becomes the hunt. That is enough for now, because sometimes even that is not here. Imagine a world without a point, just a dull thumping masquerading as a heart, a dim sense that all is well. Deep depressions lying in wait, ready to catch the unwary toe. Echoes caught up in the foggy reverberations of valleys that once rang with laughter.
I keep looking in the mirror, manufacturing smiles in case I need them and I keep reaching out, giving what I can because it is my only hope of generating enough light to see by, but I am in desperate need of candles.
It doesn't matter where they come from, or how they are utilized.
I have time, so the hunt becomes the reason and the reason becomes the hunt. That is enough for now, because sometimes even that is not here. Imagine a world without a point, just a dull thumping masquerading as a heart, a dim sense that all is well. Deep depressions lying in wait, ready to catch the unwary toe. Echoes caught up in the foggy reverberations of valleys that once rang with laughter.
I keep looking in the mirror, manufacturing smiles in case I need them and I keep reaching out, giving what I can because it is my only hope of generating enough light to see by, but I am in desperate need of candles.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Mature Relationships
I like the idea of running my own business, from my own home, or perhaps living over the top of a family business like my great grandfather did in Webster Groves. The idea of being with the person I love full time and working together on something, or at least side by side appeals to me. It always has.
It appears this is not going to be something I ever really do, but I have a friend who has managed a pretty fair form of this. He sits on his patio, drinking a glass of wine working away while his other half sits not too far away working too. Both work very hard and they are not always at home, but they come as close to my idea of perfection as anyone I have ever seen.
Perhaps these are things that develop when people connect later in life and both of them are bright, innovative souls who are not afraid of hard work. After all, it takes a lot of initiative to be your own boss and be successful. It also takes two mature individuals who are willing to make a conscious effort at making a relationship work. Neither one can expect the other to simply fall in with their plans and both must already be in relatively healthy life styles, both mentally and physically. Relationships work best if the baggage is emptied prior to their beginning.
Right now, when my own life is so topsy-turvy, I cannot ever see myself being in such a wonderful place, but I can dream of it and watching how it appears to work for someone else brings me an enormous amount of pleasure.
It appears this is not going to be something I ever really do, but I have a friend who has managed a pretty fair form of this. He sits on his patio, drinking a glass of wine working away while his other half sits not too far away working too. Both work very hard and they are not always at home, but they come as close to my idea of perfection as anyone I have ever seen.
Perhaps these are things that develop when people connect later in life and both of them are bright, innovative souls who are not afraid of hard work. After all, it takes a lot of initiative to be your own boss and be successful. It also takes two mature individuals who are willing to make a conscious effort at making a relationship work. Neither one can expect the other to simply fall in with their plans and both must already be in relatively healthy life styles, both mentally and physically. Relationships work best if the baggage is emptied prior to their beginning.
Right now, when my own life is so topsy-turvy, I cannot ever see myself being in such a wonderful place, but I can dream of it and watching how it appears to work for someone else brings me an enormous amount of pleasure.
I Cannot Find The Silence
I cannot come up with one decent thing to write about -- across the board. I cannot focus on anything long enough to come up with enough coherent thoughts that interest even me, let alone anyone else.
I find myself running around during the day, shopping! I do need a few things and it is difficult to find them due to my pickiness and the need to be frugal, but I think it is more than that. Frenetic activity is usually a way to avoid thinking, or feeling, or some sort of internal work that needs to be done. I'm sure that is the case here.
My mind is crowded with useless thoughts, but letting them go seems to be impossible. I went to the park today and walked Chauncey, then I sat down under a huge walnut tree facing the pond. Four crows got into a tiff above me and knocked down a stick nearly an inch and a half thick and over a foot long. A single goose swam from one side to the other and a car filled with children parked across the street and got out to walk. I tried to read, but my mind kept wandering. I tried to let go of all my thoughts and sink into the space between my own breaths. Nothing worked. I am simply obsessing over nothing!
Chauncey sat stone still, facing the water and looking like the little lion dogs at Allerton House. If I were to look like my thoughts I would be a French Harlequin,or more pointedly Arlecchino, zig zagging around. Time is eternal. What feels like an hour, turns out to be ten minutes.
I am not sleeping. I keep forgetting to eat, thinking I will do it soon, or already did it. I am not myself, but I can hardly be anyone else.
I don't know what to do, so I just keep doing what I've always done, hoping that eventually it will work. I connect with people when I can, continue to try writing and make vain attempts to read.
I am so tired, I think I'll try to go to sleep, but to sleep really is to dream and my dreams are chaotic. In them I keep finding myself moving in somewhere only to discover I took too long and the boxes I sent ahead are filled with half dead birds and tiny puppies all curled up and cute, but impossible to keep track of. I wake up exhausted.
I cannot find the silence.
I find myself running around during the day, shopping! I do need a few things and it is difficult to find them due to my pickiness and the need to be frugal, but I think it is more than that. Frenetic activity is usually a way to avoid thinking, or feeling, or some sort of internal work that needs to be done. I'm sure that is the case here.
My mind is crowded with useless thoughts, but letting them go seems to be impossible. I went to the park today and walked Chauncey, then I sat down under a huge walnut tree facing the pond. Four crows got into a tiff above me and knocked down a stick nearly an inch and a half thick and over a foot long. A single goose swam from one side to the other and a car filled with children parked across the street and got out to walk. I tried to read, but my mind kept wandering. I tried to let go of all my thoughts and sink into the space between my own breaths. Nothing worked. I am simply obsessing over nothing!
Chauncey sat stone still, facing the water and looking like the little lion dogs at Allerton House. If I were to look like my thoughts I would be a French Harlequin,or more pointedly Arlecchino, zig zagging around. Time is eternal. What feels like an hour, turns out to be ten minutes.
I am not sleeping. I keep forgetting to eat, thinking I will do it soon, or already did it. I am not myself, but I can hardly be anyone else.
I don't know what to do, so I just keep doing what I've always done, hoping that eventually it will work. I connect with people when I can, continue to try writing and make vain attempts to read.
I am so tired, I think I'll try to go to sleep, but to sleep really is to dream and my dreams are chaotic. In them I keep finding myself moving in somewhere only to discover I took too long and the boxes I sent ahead are filled with half dead birds and tiny puppies all curled up and cute, but impossible to keep track of. I wake up exhausted.
I cannot find the silence.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Pick And Choose
Reality. There is a tendency for anyone who writes to play things up, or down. I can make the simplest of things sound more exciting, or romantic, or wonderful, just by using the right words. For example, a friend said their gardener came to mow the grass. How much more interesting that is than saying the lawn mower guys came. Of course the same thing is true in reverse. I could say, Bea's mother kept a scrapbook of every important event in her life. Or I could say, that Bea's mother carefully cut out every article delineating her firsts, first arrest, first time in jail, etc.
Kind or cruel, romantic or gritty, it all depends on the words. The funny thing is, that the way I perceive things has a lot to do with the words I use to think about them. There are so many moments in a day that choosing which ones to focus on is like going to an expensive deli with a pocket full of money. I can pick and choose from a vast array of little delicacies and then go sit down on the patio and indulge myself in whichever ones taste best after that first nibble. Leftovers go to Chauncey who is always delighted with anything. He will sit in my lap, bright eyes fixed on mine while I relate all my woes and then, like some four footed sin-eater, he wags his tail and bounds away.
And I am left with only the best parts -- if I choose for it to be that way. And why would I choose anything else? So today this is what I choose.
Warm summer breezes drifting through sun dappled leaf shadows. Children playing as children always have, on blankets under a tree, little girls sorting through stacks of naked dolls and their clothing interrupted only when the little boy who is laughing and throwing his Frisbee runs over to taunt them. My best friend and I sitting across from each other at the picnic table, sharing memories and stories as warm as the day.
And... embarrassed, like some teenager having to sort the family laundry for the first time, I try to figure out how to do my laundry at the hotel here. Somehow trudging down the hallways, past the Brooks Brothers suits and Ralph Lauren polo shirts with a basket full of unmentionables seems more than I can manage. Since I am a night owl by nature and most of these good folks must be up at the crack of dawn, I decide the best time to do it would be after ten pm. And, since I don't have a basket here, I shed all my clothes and load everything into a pillowcase. Now, faced with what to wear while washing nearly everything I brought, I don a pair of jeans, flip flops and a loose blouse. Nothing else at all and hurry down to the elevator, detergent in one hand, key and dirty clothes in the other. The elevator door opens and I remember that I need money. All those quarters I got from the desk earlier are sitting on the counter back in my room and I have to go back for them. Chauncey is ecstatic when I return. He always assumes I came just to see him, so I have to pick him up and make a fuss before leaving one more time with the obligatory, "I'll be back."
It turns out doing the laundry is pretty simple. The room is opened by my room key, the washers are large and clean and the dryers actually dried everything with one whopping two dollar donation. The concierge told me that it takes forty minutes to wash and forty five, to fifty to dry, so I didn't have to stay down there. Not bad at all. Two trips down the elevator and voila, clean clothes!
Onward and upward! Now I'm sitting here in warm, clean pajamas, air conditioner humming behind me, writing My Thots with Chauncey curled up beside me. In this moment I am totally content.
Kind or cruel, romantic or gritty, it all depends on the words. The funny thing is, that the way I perceive things has a lot to do with the words I use to think about them. There are so many moments in a day that choosing which ones to focus on is like going to an expensive deli with a pocket full of money. I can pick and choose from a vast array of little delicacies and then go sit down on the patio and indulge myself in whichever ones taste best after that first nibble. Leftovers go to Chauncey who is always delighted with anything. He will sit in my lap, bright eyes fixed on mine while I relate all my woes and then, like some four footed sin-eater, he wags his tail and bounds away.
And I am left with only the best parts -- if I choose for it to be that way. And why would I choose anything else? So today this is what I choose.
Warm summer breezes drifting through sun dappled leaf shadows. Children playing as children always have, on blankets under a tree, little girls sorting through stacks of naked dolls and their clothing interrupted only when the little boy who is laughing and throwing his Frisbee runs over to taunt them. My best friend and I sitting across from each other at the picnic table, sharing memories and stories as warm as the day.
And... embarrassed, like some teenager having to sort the family laundry for the first time, I try to figure out how to do my laundry at the hotel here. Somehow trudging down the hallways, past the Brooks Brothers suits and Ralph Lauren polo shirts with a basket full of unmentionables seems more than I can manage. Since I am a night owl by nature and most of these good folks must be up at the crack of dawn, I decide the best time to do it would be after ten pm. And, since I don't have a basket here, I shed all my clothes and load everything into a pillowcase. Now, faced with what to wear while washing nearly everything I brought, I don a pair of jeans, flip flops and a loose blouse. Nothing else at all and hurry down to the elevator, detergent in one hand, key and dirty clothes in the other. The elevator door opens and I remember that I need money. All those quarters I got from the desk earlier are sitting on the counter back in my room and I have to go back for them. Chauncey is ecstatic when I return. He always assumes I came just to see him, so I have to pick him up and make a fuss before leaving one more time with the obligatory, "I'll be back."
It turns out doing the laundry is pretty simple. The room is opened by my room key, the washers are large and clean and the dryers actually dried everything with one whopping two dollar donation. The concierge told me that it takes forty minutes to wash and forty five, to fifty to dry, so I didn't have to stay down there. Not bad at all. Two trips down the elevator and voila, clean clothes!
Onward and upward! Now I'm sitting here in warm, clean pajamas, air conditioner humming behind me, writing My Thots with Chauncey curled up beside me. In this moment I am totally content.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Just Right
"On the road again..."
Well, I haven't really been off the road much the past few months, but that may be coming to an end. Today I went over and put down a lease deposit and dog deposit on my apartment, which means I am really committed to doing this. Then I went out and bought two big, soft, red towels and a black toaster. I can bathe and make toast, life is good! Actually I can already do both here. These new things are for when I move into the apartment.
It was actually a little scary today. It's the first time I have had to find a place to live all by myself, meaning I don't know the person I'm renting from, nor will I be living next door, or down the street from anyone I know. I went over to the office and asked if I could look at the place one more time. Then I took the key and walked over there in about 500% humidity. The scent of the pine trees welcomed me and the guy mowing the grass smiled and waved. I tried walking up to the top floor and it was okay, but a long way up if I had to carry a lot of groceries, or maybe a piano! I tried going down in the basement, but I worry that there will be more creepy crawly things in a submerged apartment and I have had my fill of slugs, spiders and snakes. So then I went up to look at the second floor apartment and it was "just right."
Actually this one was perfect, but I think it is already promised to someone else. The girl in the office did say they'd get me a second floor one, though. I'll just assume that what I want, or something better, will be what I will get and I want the one by the pine trees. So I will be moving again, at least this one more time and it may be sooner rather than later.
My son-in-law and Motorcycle Mike have offered to help, so I have a truck and muscles. Well, I will probably have lots of muscle power, because I think my sister will be with Motorcycle Mike. The more, the merrier and I don't have much to move, basically a bed, a chair, and a desk, along with a few clothes.
In the meantime, I will keep walking Chauncey and accumulating the other things I will need to make this place a home. In the words of another friend, "Onward and upward!"
Well, I haven't really been off the road much the past few months, but that may be coming to an end. Today I went over and put down a lease deposit and dog deposit on my apartment, which means I am really committed to doing this. Then I went out and bought two big, soft, red towels and a black toaster. I can bathe and make toast, life is good! Actually I can already do both here. These new things are for when I move into the apartment.
It was actually a little scary today. It's the first time I have had to find a place to live all by myself, meaning I don't know the person I'm renting from, nor will I be living next door, or down the street from anyone I know. I went over to the office and asked if I could look at the place one more time. Then I took the key and walked over there in about 500% humidity. The scent of the pine trees welcomed me and the guy mowing the grass smiled and waved. I tried walking up to the top floor and it was okay, but a long way up if I had to carry a lot of groceries, or maybe a piano! I tried going down in the basement, but I worry that there will be more creepy crawly things in a submerged apartment and I have had my fill of slugs, spiders and snakes. So then I went up to look at the second floor apartment and it was "just right."
Actually this one was perfect, but I think it is already promised to someone else. The girl in the office did say they'd get me a second floor one, though. I'll just assume that what I want, or something better, will be what I will get and I want the one by the pine trees. So I will be moving again, at least this one more time and it may be sooner rather than later.
My son-in-law and Motorcycle Mike have offered to help, so I have a truck and muscles. Well, I will probably have lots of muscle power, because I think my sister will be with Motorcycle Mike. The more, the merrier and I don't have much to move, basically a bed, a chair, and a desk, along with a few clothes.
In the meantime, I will keep walking Chauncey and accumulating the other things I will need to make this place a home. In the words of another friend, "Onward and upward!"
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Reflections
I am floating in a sea of time with no rudder and no sail and no apparent way to speed things up. I'm pretty good in a crisis, okay with simple day to day survival, but limbo I am not particularly good with.
This is a lot different than Chuck Berry's, "riding along in my automobile.... with no particular place to go." That's freedom. This is like anti freedom.
For the first time in years I find myself unable to enjoy my own company. Too many things are up in the air, including where I will be this time next month, or maybe even next week. I am like one of those gyroscopes pivoting around the table top, still centered on my own axis, but rolling madly around a confined space.
It is a space defined by money and the lack of it, the vagaries of a woman running an apartment complex filled with people neither one of us can really control, and the desire to keep myself from falling off the edge.
I try to be excited about reinventing myself. Since I brought almost nothing with me, I need everything. That would be a little more fun if I had unlimited amounts of money, but I don't. So, I have been just looking, trying to see what appeals to me and if I ever really decide then I will have to decide how to procure that in the best way possible for my circumstances.
I've always leaned towards high quality, sort of old world traditional. Right now I'm leaning towards red! Dark Russian red, old world red. Beautiful deep dark ruby red. Red bedspread, which I already have waiting to bring up here when I go get my bed. Red towels, red and Tuscany gold dishes, red, red, red. I've always liked red, but it is a pretty intense color and furnishing a life with it might get old fast. Or it just might be warm and sweet and full of life.
But I also want basic, not too much stuff to clutter up this new life so I have plenty of room to grow. Homey, simple, intense, that's me from the inside out. I want to be careful that when I furnish this new life of mine, I am true to who I am and not to who I think someone else would want me to be. That's not easy for me, because I am a one person chameleon, prone to actually believing I am whoever I am with, or thinking of at the moment.
When I say, I am you, it can come perilously close to imprinting as if it were the first day, because for me everyday is the first day. Sometimes every minute is the first moment. If I did not continuously believe that life begins now and moves forward from this moment, I would become mired in depression. I cannot allow that to happen.
So I just keep looking at my reflection....and well, reflecting.
This is a lot different than Chuck Berry's, "riding along in my automobile.... with no particular place to go." That's freedom. This is like anti freedom.
For the first time in years I find myself unable to enjoy my own company. Too many things are up in the air, including where I will be this time next month, or maybe even next week. I am like one of those gyroscopes pivoting around the table top, still centered on my own axis, but rolling madly around a confined space.
It is a space defined by money and the lack of it, the vagaries of a woman running an apartment complex filled with people neither one of us can really control, and the desire to keep myself from falling off the edge.
I try to be excited about reinventing myself. Since I brought almost nothing with me, I need everything. That would be a little more fun if I had unlimited amounts of money, but I don't. So, I have been just looking, trying to see what appeals to me and if I ever really decide then I will have to decide how to procure that in the best way possible for my circumstances.
I've always leaned towards high quality, sort of old world traditional. Right now I'm leaning towards red! Dark Russian red, old world red. Beautiful deep dark ruby red. Red bedspread, which I already have waiting to bring up here when I go get my bed. Red towels, red and Tuscany gold dishes, red, red, red. I've always liked red, but it is a pretty intense color and furnishing a life with it might get old fast. Or it just might be warm and sweet and full of life.
But I also want basic, not too much stuff to clutter up this new life so I have plenty of room to grow. Homey, simple, intense, that's me from the inside out. I want to be careful that when I furnish this new life of mine, I am true to who I am and not to who I think someone else would want me to be. That's not easy for me, because I am a one person chameleon, prone to actually believing I am whoever I am with, or thinking of at the moment.
When I say, I am you, it can come perilously close to imprinting as if it were the first day, because for me everyday is the first day. Sometimes every minute is the first moment. If I did not continuously believe that life begins now and moves forward from this moment, I would become mired in depression. I cannot allow that to happen.
So I just keep looking at my reflection....and well, reflecting.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Everything You Want
“He’s everything you want. He’s everything you need.”
How many of us can sing along with these words and really mean it?
How often does one person experience such incredible love and beauty, such unparalleled sweetness?
Not many, I am guessing.
No poetry, no words, no music, or painting can ever truly capture the feelings that emanate from this. I have no way of expressing it and yet I must keep trying. I need to keep it close, to continue to hold in my heart, what I can never forget. I think I now understand why Monet kept painting his lily ponds in Giverny.
Perfection must be shared, but how is that done?
How many of us can sing along with these words and really mean it?
How often does one person experience such incredible love and beauty, such unparalleled sweetness?
Not many, I am guessing.
No poetry, no words, no music, or painting can ever truly capture the feelings that emanate from this. I have no way of expressing it and yet I must keep trying. I need to keep it close, to continue to hold in my heart, what I can never forget. I think I now understand why Monet kept painting his lily ponds in Giverny.
Perfection must be shared, but how is that done?
Monday, June 21, 2010
Something Primal And Pure
Stormy, the weather forecast for tonight and the rest of the week is for thunder storms. I need that.
I need thunder and lightning! I want to hear the rain lashing at my window, maybe even go outside and feel it against my skin. I need to feel the break in air pressure and a change in temperature.
I want the wind at my back. I want to feel my muscles straining against the power of nature....
Just for a while. I really need to feel the power of something primal and pure all around me.
I need thunder and lightning! I want to hear the rain lashing at my window, maybe even go outside and feel it against my skin. I need to feel the break in air pressure and a change in temperature.
I want the wind at my back. I want to feel my muscles straining against the power of nature....
Just for a while. I really need to feel the power of something primal and pure all around me.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
One Midnight In June
"Hey it's good to be back home again....."
I have lived here longer than I have lived anywhere else in my life. Coming here as a newlywed twenty one year old and leaving as a fifty two year old divorcee, I never thought to come back. Never intended to. Thought I never wanted to and in fact, did so by default one hot midnight in June.
Like the salmon swimming upstream to some half remembered place, I find myself drawn back by forces that are seemingly beyond my control -- still, I am the one doing the swimming. And I've come a long way to get here.
Most of the old familiar places have changed beyond recognition and many of those "dear hearts and special people" are gone away to what I hope are better places. I'm not here because of anyone, unless it is my daughter and granddaughters, but that feels more like a perk, a sweet surprise, as I get to know these beautiful young women who are my descendants.
I am simply here and until tonight as the growing pains eased up some, I wasn't sure if I even wanted to be. I thought I wanted adventure and experiences and I have had those, wonderful ones, even some great ones. Now I want something else and I think I may be on the verge of discovering it.
I feel a strange connection that I am not familiar with tonight. I recognize it as that yearning I remember from being a three year old in Champagne and a young adult in Kansas. I had it when I took my children to the Rocky mountains on vacation and again when I woke up and looked out upon the Smokey Mountains of North Carolina. It is the warmth that spread over me during my first sunrise in Yosemite and standing on a rocky mesa in Chaco Canyon. It is a yearning to become one with that warmth, to snuggle into my place in this world and salve the homesickness I seem to have been born with. I feel as if I am almost there tonight.
Why? I honestly don't know. I left here shortly after a dear friend put a gun in his mouth and ended his life, rocking my world and everyone else's who knew him. Today a young man did the same thing, ending a life that had just gotten underway, shaking my granddaughters to the core, and it occurred to me that I want to make a difference.
Unfettered by all the things that tied me to this world in the past, I am now free to do something. It doesn't have to be grand, or exotic. It simply has to be useful. I think I can do that here.
I have lived here longer than I have lived anywhere else in my life. Coming here as a newlywed twenty one year old and leaving as a fifty two year old divorcee, I never thought to come back. Never intended to. Thought I never wanted to and in fact, did so by default one hot midnight in June.
Like the salmon swimming upstream to some half remembered place, I find myself drawn back by forces that are seemingly beyond my control -- still, I am the one doing the swimming. And I've come a long way to get here.
Most of the old familiar places have changed beyond recognition and many of those "dear hearts and special people" are gone away to what I hope are better places. I'm not here because of anyone, unless it is my daughter and granddaughters, but that feels more like a perk, a sweet surprise, as I get to know these beautiful young women who are my descendants.
I am simply here and until tonight as the growing pains eased up some, I wasn't sure if I even wanted to be. I thought I wanted adventure and experiences and I have had those, wonderful ones, even some great ones. Now I want something else and I think I may be on the verge of discovering it.
I feel a strange connection that I am not familiar with tonight. I recognize it as that yearning I remember from being a three year old in Champagne and a young adult in Kansas. I had it when I took my children to the Rocky mountains on vacation and again when I woke up and looked out upon the Smokey Mountains of North Carolina. It is the warmth that spread over me during my first sunrise in Yosemite and standing on a rocky mesa in Chaco Canyon. It is a yearning to become one with that warmth, to snuggle into my place in this world and salve the homesickness I seem to have been born with. I feel as if I am almost there tonight.
Why? I honestly don't know. I left here shortly after a dear friend put a gun in his mouth and ended his life, rocking my world and everyone else's who knew him. Today a young man did the same thing, ending a life that had just gotten underway, shaking my granddaughters to the core, and it occurred to me that I want to make a difference.
Unfettered by all the things that tied me to this world in the past, I am now free to do something. It doesn't have to be grand, or exotic. It simply has to be useful. I think I can do that here.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
The Scent Of Pine Trees
All this moving around has stirred up the pot. Those little bits of uncertainty that lie on the bottom of my ego have floated up to the top and whenever I get a taste of them, my confidence falters. I've shared that with some people who know me quite well and they assure me that I am doing the right thing, especially the right things for me. I suppose that is all anyone can really do. The right thing for someone else might be totally different.
Some people have the luxury of having someone else do things for them, or go with them when they do uncomfortable things. I do not. It is my own fault, because I like things done a certain way and the best way I know to achieve that is to do them myself.
It's a toss up. I don't like to use the telephone and I don't like to do things in person, but trying to find an apartment by writing to people would be unconscionably ponderous. If I want to move into a more permanent apartment by the end of summer, I have to go out and talk to people, look at apartments, explain over and over what I am looking for and need.
That is difficult for me. My pride gets in the way because I have very limited resources right now. I'm looking at places I would not have even considered five years ago and wondering if I am going to be able to afford them. I'm willing to settle for less, considerably less, in order to have some much needed quality, so I've been looking at efficiencies and studios. The problem is that they don't seem to want dogs in these and I have a dog.
My dog is very important to me. He is the one creature in this world who likes me even when I snarl and growl. I need him, so living without him is not a possibility. I go door to door, asking about apartments, trying to explain what I want and need without sounding too picky, or too needy and trying to ask all the questions that are necessary while I am there and it seems to have paid off. I was approved for a cozy one bedroom apartment with a little kitchen across the end of the living room. It is solid, clean, and exactly what I need.
The only problem is that I won't know exactly which one they will offer me in August until that time comes and I know which one I want. I want the second floor one, overlooking the little park like backyard filled with giant evergreens. I want to be able to open my windows in the fall and have the scent of pine trees drift in through the windows. I don't mind the sound of children in the background, but I don't want their shadows marring the view while I am writing.
I have one more thing to do and then I will just have to trust in the universe and know that whatever happens will be fine. At that point, I will have done everything I know how to do to find us a good place to live. The next step will be allowing it to become our home.
Some people have the luxury of having someone else do things for them, or go with them when they do uncomfortable things. I do not. It is my own fault, because I like things done a certain way and the best way I know to achieve that is to do them myself.
It's a toss up. I don't like to use the telephone and I don't like to do things in person, but trying to find an apartment by writing to people would be unconscionably ponderous. If I want to move into a more permanent apartment by the end of summer, I have to go out and talk to people, look at apartments, explain over and over what I am looking for and need.
That is difficult for me. My pride gets in the way because I have very limited resources right now. I'm looking at places I would not have even considered five years ago and wondering if I am going to be able to afford them. I'm willing to settle for less, considerably less, in order to have some much needed quality, so I've been looking at efficiencies and studios. The problem is that they don't seem to want dogs in these and I have a dog.
My dog is very important to me. He is the one creature in this world who likes me even when I snarl and growl. I need him, so living without him is not a possibility. I go door to door, asking about apartments, trying to explain what I want and need without sounding too picky, or too needy and trying to ask all the questions that are necessary while I am there and it seems to have paid off. I was approved for a cozy one bedroom apartment with a little kitchen across the end of the living room. It is solid, clean, and exactly what I need.
The only problem is that I won't know exactly which one they will offer me in August until that time comes and I know which one I want. I want the second floor one, overlooking the little park like backyard filled with giant evergreens. I want to be able to open my windows in the fall and have the scent of pine trees drift in through the windows. I don't mind the sound of children in the background, but I don't want their shadows marring the view while I am writing.
I have one more thing to do and then I will just have to trust in the universe and know that whatever happens will be fine. At that point, I will have done everything I know how to do to find us a good place to live. The next step will be allowing it to become our home.
Friday, June 18, 2010
The Light In Me Recognizes The Light In You
I have always liked the aliens in Cocoon. Those gentle creatures of light fit my idea of what our inner essence would look like if I could see it. It is that part of each of us that I imagine reaching out and connecting before our brains even think of engaging.
Biologically it might emanate from my DNA to yours, triggering some little synapse that recognizes another member of the family automatically. Animals seem to sense some things. They appear to know when a creature is still young, puppies, babies, etc. And they seem to have a sense of who to stay away from before any outward signs of aggression appear to me. I think human beings have the same abilities. It's just that we have not nurtured ours, or even really accepted that they exist.
Younger people seem better at this than most of the elders I know. Apartment hunting, I have run across so many people and when our eyes connect, I sometimes feel this intense sense that we are kindred spirits in some way. I don't mean that we could live together, or anything so drastic, just that we kind of understand where the other one is coming from. It's a kind of basic respect for the life energy of the person I am looking at.
Then there are the others, those people I feel an intense attraction to, the really powerful kindred spirits, whose thoughts and actions are sometimes starkly familiar reflections of my own. Whether this is truly so, or only a yearning for it to be so, I would do almost anything for these people. There is an instinctual trust that comes naturally and a sort of deep love that says we are members of a real family. One united by things thicker than blood.
I can't explain this any better. It is more ephemeral than measurable, yet it is also so instinctual that I cannot deny it, unhindered by the illusion of time, distance, or any sort of space. The light in me recognizes the light in you and no matter how it is explained, the thoughts, meaning and feelings are the same.
Biologically it might emanate from my DNA to yours, triggering some little synapse that recognizes another member of the family automatically. Animals seem to sense some things. They appear to know when a creature is still young, puppies, babies, etc. And they seem to have a sense of who to stay away from before any outward signs of aggression appear to me. I think human beings have the same abilities. It's just that we have not nurtured ours, or even really accepted that they exist.
Younger people seem better at this than most of the elders I know. Apartment hunting, I have run across so many people and when our eyes connect, I sometimes feel this intense sense that we are kindred spirits in some way. I don't mean that we could live together, or anything so drastic, just that we kind of understand where the other one is coming from. It's a kind of basic respect for the life energy of the person I am looking at.
Then there are the others, those people I feel an intense attraction to, the really powerful kindred spirits, whose thoughts and actions are sometimes starkly familiar reflections of my own. Whether this is truly so, or only a yearning for it to be so, I would do almost anything for these people. There is an instinctual trust that comes naturally and a sort of deep love that says we are members of a real family. One united by things thicker than blood.
I can't explain this any better. It is more ephemeral than measurable, yet it is also so instinctual that I cannot deny it, unhindered by the illusion of time, distance, or any sort of space. The light in me recognizes the light in you and no matter how it is explained, the thoughts, meaning and feelings are the same.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Gussied Up Werewolves
How do I explain that there are no magic pills, or magic words that will make everything right? If there were, no one would need them, because we would have all already taken them. Nothing can substitute for plain old hard work whether it is on the body, or mind.
That being said, there is a lot to be said for believing. My old psychology teacher claimed that most of us can be healed by anything we believe in because most of what ails us is also in our heads.
We all grow up with enough misconceptions to keep us busy for years. If Mom said it, then it must be true, right? On the other hand, it is a good thing to take the antibiotics a doctor prescribes for diseases that show up under microscopes. In the mean time, if you want to rub onions on your wart and bury it under a full moon, go ahead. It might work and if it doesn't you're only out one onion and a little more wart-bonding time.
Just don't think that giving your boy friend pills will make him change from a werewolf to cupid. A gussied up, sheared werewolf, carrying a cute little bow and heart shaped arrow is even more dangerous than he was before. Now you think he has changed, so you are not prepared when that mouth full of teeth turn on you. Change takes time, lots of time.
Change also requires an honest oracle, someone who will not sacrifice our whole life to make us happy for a deluded moment. It takes a lot of courage to love someone enough to be honest with them and it takes a lot more to hear the truth and then go do something about it. It's probably the hardest thing either one will ever do and the rewards don't come right away.
But they do come and that is what is important. Life can be better, much much better! It's worth whatever it takes, so hitch up your jeans and take that first step. It's not as simple as popping pills, but it works a lot better.
That being said, there is a lot to be said for believing. My old psychology teacher claimed that most of us can be healed by anything we believe in because most of what ails us is also in our heads.
We all grow up with enough misconceptions to keep us busy for years. If Mom said it, then it must be true, right? On the other hand, it is a good thing to take the antibiotics a doctor prescribes for diseases that show up under microscopes. In the mean time, if you want to rub onions on your wart and bury it under a full moon, go ahead. It might work and if it doesn't you're only out one onion and a little more wart-bonding time.
Just don't think that giving your boy friend pills will make him change from a werewolf to cupid. A gussied up, sheared werewolf, carrying a cute little bow and heart shaped arrow is even more dangerous than he was before. Now you think he has changed, so you are not prepared when that mouth full of teeth turn on you. Change takes time, lots of time.
Change also requires an honest oracle, someone who will not sacrifice our whole life to make us happy for a deluded moment. It takes a lot of courage to love someone enough to be honest with them and it takes a lot more to hear the truth and then go do something about it. It's probably the hardest thing either one will ever do and the rewards don't come right away.
But they do come and that is what is important. Life can be better, much much better! It's worth whatever it takes, so hitch up your jeans and take that first step. It's not as simple as popping pills, but it works a lot better.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The Gypsy Reports In
Chauncey is getting to be a pro at adapting and keeping it cute. I was moving things into my new home and using the valet trolley. My little suitcase was lying down with my purse on top of it when Chauncey jumped up and sat on it. He rode in, in style, causing oohs and ahs all around.
I am getting to be a pro at making my computer work wherever I am, but I am wearying of all this change. I am ready to put down roots. This time I will be much more careful of what I do. Wanting something to be one way and having it actually being that way can be totally different things. Reality cannot be manufactured out of dreams, hopes, or writing. I suppose it is possible to weave a new reality using these things, but that requires adding a dash of cold hard facts to the mix.
For me, part of these facts are that I cannot live continuously amidst obstruction. People who neglect, or treat others cruelly, by choice, or through ignorance, or for any other reason wear me down. It is almost impossible for me to do less for other people than I would do for my own children and grand children. In my world, we are all one family and all deserve the same basic love and respect. Other people see exceptions to this that I cannot see and that causes friction.
Loving someone can mean making very hard decisions based on cold facts in their best interests. I am not capable of doing less. I have tried, which sort of shames me, but I cannot do it. It is part of who I am.
So, I guess I really do need to live alone in order to maintain my own peace of mind and that is okay. Especially here. I have friends to talk with and socialize with and I am quite content in my own company too. This place has been my home most of my adult life with a few forays out into other parts of the country and while I find our entire country miraculously beautiful, I guess maybe this is the place I do best.
I am getting to be a pro at making my computer work wherever I am, but I am wearying of all this change. I am ready to put down roots. This time I will be much more careful of what I do. Wanting something to be one way and having it actually being that way can be totally different things. Reality cannot be manufactured out of dreams, hopes, or writing. I suppose it is possible to weave a new reality using these things, but that requires adding a dash of cold hard facts to the mix.
For me, part of these facts are that I cannot live continuously amidst obstruction. People who neglect, or treat others cruelly, by choice, or through ignorance, or for any other reason wear me down. It is almost impossible for me to do less for other people than I would do for my own children and grand children. In my world, we are all one family and all deserve the same basic love and respect. Other people see exceptions to this that I cannot see and that causes friction.
Loving someone can mean making very hard decisions based on cold facts in their best interests. I am not capable of doing less. I have tried, which sort of shames me, but I cannot do it. It is part of who I am.
So, I guess I really do need to live alone in order to maintain my own peace of mind and that is okay. Especially here. I have friends to talk with and socialize with and I am quite content in my own company too. This place has been my home most of my adult life with a few forays out into other parts of the country and while I find our entire country miraculously beautiful, I guess maybe this is the place I do best.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Metaphoric Dragons And Damosels In Distress
My best friend of nearly forty years took me out for Chinese today. It is nice to think I might see her more often now. Her common sense and gentle calmness still surround me. I heard from other treasured people today too, each one bringing some special little bit of light into my world when I really needed it.
This world really is a good place. There are some bad people in it, but they are out numbered by the rest of us. Someone wrote that she is not as strong as I am, but what she doesn't understand is that I am not strong alone. It takes all of us good people to make the right things happen.
There are a lot of gray areas, but there are also some simple black and white issues that should not be set aside in order to placate the loud and pushy. Bullies rely on the good manners and tact of their victims and other decent people. And occasionally knights in shining armor (or Motorcycle Mike) still charge to the forefront placing themselves between metaphoric dragons and damsels in distress.
The fairy tales and myths of the past still carry a lot of truth. Courage is often simply the action of a very fightened person stepping up to bat. If he strikes out we dismiss him without a thought, or even boo, but if he hits a homerun we leap from our seats applauding. Such absolutes are seldom the norm. Real heroes win some, lose some, so the more heroes there are, the better our chances are of making this place a better world.
This world really is a good place. There are some bad people in it, but they are out numbered by the rest of us. Someone wrote that she is not as strong as I am, but what she doesn't understand is that I am not strong alone. It takes all of us good people to make the right things happen.
There are a lot of gray areas, but there are also some simple black and white issues that should not be set aside in order to placate the loud and pushy. Bullies rely on the good manners and tact of their victims and other decent people. And occasionally knights in shining armor (or Motorcycle Mike) still charge to the forefront placing themselves between metaphoric dragons and damsels in distress.
The fairy tales and myths of the past still carry a lot of truth. Courage is often simply the action of a very fightened person stepping up to bat. If he strikes out we dismiss him without a thought, or even boo, but if he hits a homerun we leap from our seats applauding. Such absolutes are seldom the norm. Real heroes win some, lose some, so the more heroes there are, the better our chances are of making this place a better world.
Monday, June 14, 2010
One Enormous Chair
Life is an adventure. What kind depends mostly on me. There are things that may be unavoidable, but there are a great many other things that depend more on me than anything else. I like to think that I use these in the best way possible for me.
I am one of those people who might not change things if something does not stir me sufficiently. Whether it is fear of the unknown, or something else, I have always been inclined not to mess with what works.
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I generally have a pretty clear idea of what does, or does not work for me and events seem to set their own pace. So now I am searching for a new home, a place where I feel comfortable twenty four seven. A place where my own values are not challenged regularly. A peaceful retreat I can call my own.
I am limited only by my own finances and desires. I have friends, or family from coast to coast so I am not limited by geography. I realize that I may want more in the future, but right now I am at that place from "My Fair Lady" where Eliza sings, "All I want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air, with one enormous chair, oh wouldn't it be loverly?"
I think it will be fun finding that.
I am one of those people who might not change things if something does not stir me sufficiently. Whether it is fear of the unknown, or something else, I have always been inclined not to mess with what works.
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I generally have a pretty clear idea of what does, or does not work for me and events seem to set their own pace. So now I am searching for a new home, a place where I feel comfortable twenty four seven. A place where my own values are not challenged regularly. A peaceful retreat I can call my own.
I am limited only by my own finances and desires. I have friends, or family from coast to coast so I am not limited by geography. I realize that I may want more in the future, but right now I am at that place from "My Fair Lady" where Eliza sings, "All I want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air, with one enormous chair, oh wouldn't it be loverly?"
I think it will be fun finding that.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Transplanted
The lotus stands silently, its roots immersed in the wet black mud of the pond. Its head always reaching for the light. Connected to the earth, it understands the hard cold reality of hanging on, of not being swept away by the currents, or pulled under into the dead fall that washes into the coves after storms.
It also understands the continual need to find the light, to open itself to the bright side of living and feed off that light until it is once more time to rest. Then, pulling back into itself it lies in silent repose, allowing whatever is, to settle and meld back into the great oneness that is inevitable. Back and forth it moves, from darkness to light and back to darkness, trying to maintain the balance that all living things need in order to flourish.
The cactus stand silently in their prickly overcoats and gaze blindly at the light around them. They raise their arms in supplication to a power that leaves them devoid of choices. To acknowledge the tiny bird gasping its last breath in the noon day heat would be unconscionable, because there is nothing in their repertoire that has prepared for them to deal with it. The darkness is cold here, the light torrid, movement almost unheard of. They simply exist by sucking up every last bit of moisture that comes their way and storing it deep inside themselves where nothing else can get it without virtually destroying them.
Transplanted to the pond, the cactus would drown.
Transplanted to the desert, the lotus would most likely wither away in the small resources available for it.
I'm not sure it is always possible to do that old bloom where you are planted thing
It also understands the continual need to find the light, to open itself to the bright side of living and feed off that light until it is once more time to rest. Then, pulling back into itself it lies in silent repose, allowing whatever is, to settle and meld back into the great oneness that is inevitable. Back and forth it moves, from darkness to light and back to darkness, trying to maintain the balance that all living things need in order to flourish.
The cactus stand silently in their prickly overcoats and gaze blindly at the light around them. They raise their arms in supplication to a power that leaves them devoid of choices. To acknowledge the tiny bird gasping its last breath in the noon day heat would be unconscionable, because there is nothing in their repertoire that has prepared for them to deal with it. The darkness is cold here, the light torrid, movement almost unheard of. They simply exist by sucking up every last bit of moisture that comes their way and storing it deep inside themselves where nothing else can get it without virtually destroying them.
Transplanted to the pond, the cactus would drown.
Transplanted to the desert, the lotus would most likely wither away in the small resources available for it.
I'm not sure it is always possible to do that old bloom where you are planted thing
The Point Is
I hate confrontation. I will go to great lengths not to be put in that mode, but sometimes there appears to be no choice.
Unfortunately, it is most likely to occur with people I know, or am related to, or friends with. Otherwise the situation would never come to the forefront.
I go to someone's house with someone else and am bombast-ed by flagrant abuse. I had heard stories before, but never truly understood the extent of this situation. It is traumatic enough that I actually find my hands flying up to hide my face at the humiliation and cruelty inflicted on another human being, but the person doing the inflicting apologizes for the victim's behavior. Obviously there is something wrong here.
My first inclination is such irate anger that I want to report this person immediately, but since there is no immediate danger and it has evidently been going on for a long time now, I take a few hours to think about it. I look the subject up on the internet and read it carefully. Deciding that perhaps the first and best solution is to rationally, and trying to be as nonthreatening as possible, confront the abuser and present them with my view of the situation. So I sent them an email tonight, with a link to the information I just read.
Now my heart is beating a hundred miles an hour and I can barely get my breath. I am simply panicking. I know I need to get myself under control for my own sake. I don't know what this person will do. Maybe it will solve the problem, maybe it won't and then where do I go? Maybe this person will come at me with all the bottled up anger and frustration I saw aimed at someone else today. I need to be careful, rational and keep my head.
The point is, I simply could not live with myself if I did nothing.
Unfortunately, it is most likely to occur with people I know, or am related to, or friends with. Otherwise the situation would never come to the forefront.
I go to someone's house with someone else and am bombast-ed by flagrant abuse. I had heard stories before, but never truly understood the extent of this situation. It is traumatic enough that I actually find my hands flying up to hide my face at the humiliation and cruelty inflicted on another human being, but the person doing the inflicting apologizes for the victim's behavior. Obviously there is something wrong here.
My first inclination is such irate anger that I want to report this person immediately, but since there is no immediate danger and it has evidently been going on for a long time now, I take a few hours to think about it. I look the subject up on the internet and read it carefully. Deciding that perhaps the first and best solution is to rationally, and trying to be as nonthreatening as possible, confront the abuser and present them with my view of the situation. So I sent them an email tonight, with a link to the information I just read.
Now my heart is beating a hundred miles an hour and I can barely get my breath. I am simply panicking. I know I need to get myself under control for my own sake. I don't know what this person will do. Maybe it will solve the problem, maybe it won't and then where do I go? Maybe this person will come at me with all the bottled up anger and frustration I saw aimed at someone else today. I need to be careful, rational and keep my head.
The point is, I simply could not live with myself if I did nothing.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Butt-Ugly
I have a new granddaughter! That's for anyone who hasn't already received five million photos and gushing emails about how beautiful she is.
And....I have learned something amazing, which is pretty amazing considering how many years I have been on this earth and been a wife, mother, grandmother, friend, etc. Men really don't see new babies the way I see them, or maybe the way any woman sees them!
I got the same exact response, same words even, from several different men, including one of my own sons! Do the words, "butt ugly" sound familiar? I mean, I laughed out loud when I read them and heard them, because they obviously came with heartfelt appreciation for my joy, but really! Even the baby's own father, in the beginning, not any more, were, (to my rushed questions about what does she look like) "She looks like a baby. She has baby hair, baby eyes." Now, I suspect, from the number of photos he has sent me, and which I crave, he has long since figured out that this particular baby is nothing like all other babies. She is spectacular, amazing, miraculous!
Anyway, in an attempt to understand this phenomena, the butt ugly part, not the spectacular part, I have gone and gazed at my granddaughter's photos for long minutes. Trying to see how anyone could view her differently than I do. I know there are ugly babies, I've seen a few, but not this one! And honestly not many. I think it may be that men first observe the way something actually looks while we, women that is, observe the feelings inside of us.
I see something warm and soft and cuddly, a new human being with infinite possibilities who is still absolutely new and pure. Trying to step back and actually just look at that little creature before me, I'll admit the sparse hair and almost invisible eyebrows would not look that great on a full grown human being!
But butt ugly? Come on guys, where did you ever come up with that phrase when you see babies? (and quite a few did!) ;-)
And....I have learned something amazing, which is pretty amazing considering how many years I have been on this earth and been a wife, mother, grandmother, friend, etc. Men really don't see new babies the way I see them, or maybe the way any woman sees them!
I got the same exact response, same words even, from several different men, including one of my own sons! Do the words, "butt ugly" sound familiar? I mean, I laughed out loud when I read them and heard them, because they obviously came with heartfelt appreciation for my joy, but really! Even the baby's own father, in the beginning, not any more, were, (to my rushed questions about what does she look like) "She looks like a baby. She has baby hair, baby eyes." Now, I suspect, from the number of photos he has sent me, and which I crave, he has long since figured out that this particular baby is nothing like all other babies. She is spectacular, amazing, miraculous!
Anyway, in an attempt to understand this phenomena, the butt ugly part, not the spectacular part, I have gone and gazed at my granddaughter's photos for long minutes. Trying to see how anyone could view her differently than I do. I know there are ugly babies, I've seen a few, but not this one! And honestly not many. I think it may be that men first observe the way something actually looks while we, women that is, observe the feelings inside of us.
I see something warm and soft and cuddly, a new human being with infinite possibilities who is still absolutely new and pure. Trying to step back and actually just look at that little creature before me, I'll admit the sparse hair and almost invisible eyebrows would not look that great on a full grown human being!
But butt ugly? Come on guys, where did you ever come up with that phrase when you see babies? (and quite a few did!) ;-)
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Reality
My friends are like a garden of mixed flowers. Each one is so different from the others it is hard to imagine that they have anything in common at all.
Different colors, shapes, and sizes, I love them all, a collection of people whose likes, dislikes, needs and wants are so diverse it takes quite an imaginative person to really understand. Still I connect with each one on a level that is very special and very important to me. Take away any one and I would truly be sad.
My sister and I sit with one of the dearest as she begins her second round of chemo and I am surprised at the depth of emotions I feel. Hearing about these experiences and being there are two completely different things. Seeing her head devoid of hair only makes me love her more, realizing what an important and sweet part of my life she has become over the years. Watching her go from serenely calm to a trembling, white lipped bundle of blankets clutching a tub and covered in hives, brings the reality of this situation right out into the light where it cannot be ignored in any way.
She is fighting for her life and there is only so much we can do for her. So we sit beside her and hand her the tub, or help her walk to the bathroom. We laugh with her and call the nurses and try to think only positive thoughts.
And suddenly this flower becomes the most important one around. My thoughts and feelings swirl in an invisible scent that fills all my senses. It is the aroma of love, tried and true, that must become a bulwark against anything that might allow it to dissipate. It is the power of feelings that need to rise up and prove that nothing is stronger than the collective caring shared among us.
We are friends, sisters by choice in an uncertain world. Together we have survived many things and we will survive this too.
Different colors, shapes, and sizes, I love them all, a collection of people whose likes, dislikes, needs and wants are so diverse it takes quite an imaginative person to really understand. Still I connect with each one on a level that is very special and very important to me. Take away any one and I would truly be sad.
My sister and I sit with one of the dearest as she begins her second round of chemo and I am surprised at the depth of emotions I feel. Hearing about these experiences and being there are two completely different things. Seeing her head devoid of hair only makes me love her more, realizing what an important and sweet part of my life she has become over the years. Watching her go from serenely calm to a trembling, white lipped bundle of blankets clutching a tub and covered in hives, brings the reality of this situation right out into the light where it cannot be ignored in any way.
She is fighting for her life and there is only so much we can do for her. So we sit beside her and hand her the tub, or help her walk to the bathroom. We laugh with her and call the nurses and try to think only positive thoughts.
And suddenly this flower becomes the most important one around. My thoughts and feelings swirl in an invisible scent that fills all my senses. It is the aroma of love, tried and true, that must become a bulwark against anything that might allow it to dissipate. It is the power of feelings that need to rise up and prove that nothing is stronger than the collective caring shared among us.
We are friends, sisters by choice in an uncertain world. Together we have survived many things and we will survive this too.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Secret Weapon
Love encompasses so many different thoughts and feelings that using it in our language could become almost meaningless. Almost, but not quite, because it still has deep meaning. Conveyed in a certain tone of voice, or with a particular kind of look, it has been known to melt hearts colder than Antarctica in the dead of winter.
It is the secret weapon behind harsh actions and punishments. It is the extra softness behind quiet words. It is the breath that blows unease across a million fractured souls, bringing comfort in spite of it all.
There is even something in the way it sounds that makes it uniquely sensual and touching. Curling up both sides of the tongue to make that "L" is like orally hugging the word and object it adores.
In the "Madeleine films," little girls sit at a large table and say grace. "We love our bread. We love our butter, but most of all, we love each other."
It is the way we are supposed to feel.
Without love my world would be so much different. It is my key to being content and peaceful, even happy. Without it, I am a shell of a person. With it, I am full to bursting with a warmth that fills me whenever I see the sweetness inside someone, or hear the song of a heart in full tune, and the only difference is in the amount of love that flows through me.
But who's to say a little love is not just as great as a lot?
It is the secret weapon behind harsh actions and punishments. It is the extra softness behind quiet words. It is the breath that blows unease across a million fractured souls, bringing comfort in spite of it all.
There is even something in the way it sounds that makes it uniquely sensual and touching. Curling up both sides of the tongue to make that "L" is like orally hugging the word and object it adores.
In the "Madeleine films," little girls sit at a large table and say grace. "We love our bread. We love our butter, but most of all, we love each other."
It is the way we are supposed to feel.
Without love my world would be so much different. It is my key to being content and peaceful, even happy. Without it, I am a shell of a person. With it, I am full to bursting with a warmth that fills me whenever I see the sweetness inside someone, or hear the song of a heart in full tune, and the only difference is in the amount of love that flows through me.
But who's to say a little love is not just as great as a lot?
Monday, June 7, 2010
Felix And Oscar And The Broken Hand
Day one in the saga of "Felix and Oscar And The Broken Hand" had a good start with Felix remembering to open medicine bottles, car doors and diet Pepsi bottles and Oscar remembering to order food that Felix did not have to cut into little pieces at the restaurant where they went to eat with one of Felix's old friends.
Afterwards a trip to Wapella brought them face to face with five adorable kittens that Oscar did not have to hold due to the splinted hand. Felix, on the other hand, had both hands free to play with and cuddle these little soccer balls.
In the evening, Felix dutifully cut little pills out of blister packs and placed them in a bottle, thereby proving that untrained nurses can still be very useful.
Then Oscar took a bath and Felix quietly perused some pictures, finding that even the shadows hold subjects of great interest, but as the shadows deepen around the house, Oscar and Felix will both go to their own rooms.
Oscar to dream of mowing the lawn on that distant day when the hand has healed. Felix to dream of stepping through the picture frame with great delight.
One of them will smile all night long.
Afterwards a trip to Wapella brought them face to face with five adorable kittens that Oscar did not have to hold due to the splinted hand. Felix, on the other hand, had both hands free to play with and cuddle these little soccer balls.
In the evening, Felix dutifully cut little pills out of blister packs and placed them in a bottle, thereby proving that untrained nurses can still be very useful.
Then Oscar took a bath and Felix quietly perused some pictures, finding that even the shadows hold subjects of great interest, but as the shadows deepen around the house, Oscar and Felix will both go to their own rooms.
Oscar to dream of mowing the lawn on that distant day when the hand has healed. Felix to dream of stepping through the picture frame with great delight.
One of them will smile all night long.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The Odd Couple
Continuing the theme of little girls, today I went to a baby shower in Springfield for my nephew and his wife. They are expecting twin girls in August.
The we had to drive to Lincoln to pick up my sister's grandson and take him home. Later she drove him to Taylorville where he lives with his mother and father. After that we went to the emergency room.
My sister fell off a curb on her way out of work Friday night at the hospital. It seems she broke the base of one of her metacarpals, meaning the bone in her hand, under her little finger. As is the way with emergency rooms it took hours and hours and by the time we finally got out of there, almost no one else was left in the waiting room. She will be home for at least a week, maybe six!
The bad news? She is the nurse. I am not, but I get to practice, because she broke her right and dominant hand. No driving, no writing, no opening medicine bottles, no getting it wet. We have been compared to Felix and Oscar, or the gingham dog and the calico cat, but whatever we are, the one thing that has kept us whole and sane is that she generally works about 46 hours a week and I don't, at least not outside the house. Now we are here. Together. Twenty four, seven.
Hmmmmm....and if she leaves, I have to drive!
The we had to drive to Lincoln to pick up my sister's grandson and take him home. Later she drove him to Taylorville where he lives with his mother and father. After that we went to the emergency room.
My sister fell off a curb on her way out of work Friday night at the hospital. It seems she broke the base of one of her metacarpals, meaning the bone in her hand, under her little finger. As is the way with emergency rooms it took hours and hours and by the time we finally got out of there, almost no one else was left in the waiting room. She will be home for at least a week, maybe six!
The bad news? She is the nurse. I am not, but I get to practice, because she broke her right and dominant hand. No driving, no writing, no opening medicine bottles, no getting it wet. We have been compared to Felix and Oscar, or the gingham dog and the calico cat, but whatever we are, the one thing that has kept us whole and sane is that she generally works about 46 hours a week and I don't, at least not outside the house. Now we are here. Together. Twenty four, seven.
Hmmmmm....and if she leaves, I have to drive!
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Little Girls
Little girls! Most of my life has been dominated by little boys, but not right now.
I just spent the afternoon and evening helping my sister shop and get ready for her granddaughter's eighth birthday. She wants make up and jewelry, "not the fake stuff," and horse things. I have a hard time with the make up. In my opinion, little girls need to know that they are smart and beautiful, extraordinary and strong and perfect just the way they are, but I do understand the desire to primp and pose in front of that mirror.
The horses are easier for me. I just found the most delightful horses for Lennon's castle and there are beautiful versions for girls. I found her the perfect horse, white with flowers in its mane and tail and a beautiful fairy riding on her back that even looks like Olivia. Then, feeling a little guilty about insisting on more basic beauty items like the comb and brush, fluffy wash pouf and toothbrush, I tied little ribbons on the fingernail polish and lip gloss. It turned out rather nice, if I do say so myself.
At the same time I am waiting for my newest granddaughter to be born. Elaina Corinne, named for her two grand mamas, is due any day now and no one is more anxious than the new mama and papa. This will be their first.
I just spent the afternoon and evening helping my sister shop and get ready for her granddaughter's eighth birthday. She wants make up and jewelry, "not the fake stuff," and horse things. I have a hard time with the make up. In my opinion, little girls need to know that they are smart and beautiful, extraordinary and strong and perfect just the way they are, but I do understand the desire to primp and pose in front of that mirror.
The horses are easier for me. I just found the most delightful horses for Lennon's castle and there are beautiful versions for girls. I found her the perfect horse, white with flowers in its mane and tail and a beautiful fairy riding on her back that even looks like Olivia. Then, feeling a little guilty about insisting on more basic beauty items like the comb and brush, fluffy wash pouf and toothbrush, I tied little ribbons on the fingernail polish and lip gloss. It turned out rather nice, if I do say so myself.
At the same time I am waiting for my newest granddaughter to be born. Elaina Corinne, named for her two grand mamas, is due any day now and no one is more anxious than the new mama and papa. This will be their first.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Eyes To See With
I am in an upstairs bedroom of my mother's old family home after it was turned into a nursing home. The room has old fashioned maroon wallpaper with a white diamond shaped trellis pattern on it and white camellias growing on that. It is a sunny morning and I am talking to someone who is dust mopping the floor. I am sitting up on the bed to keep my feet out of their way.
The room belongs to an older man with dark hair and dark rimmed glasses, but he is not here. I ask where he is and the woman who is cleaning tells me to go ask my grandma. I leave and go down the wooden staircase outside a nearby window. At the bottom I take two steps and realize I am standing in muddy, murky water and tall grass that comes halfway up to my knees. I start to think about what might be in that water and realize I can't do that, or I will panic. Looking back I see that it will be almost as easy to go forward as backwards at this point, so I try to just keep walking as calmly and purposefully as possible.
While I am walking, the man I am looking for comes up the driveway and we start talking. He points out many important things to me that I no longer remember, but as we are speaking I keep walking through the muck to the other side of the driveway. I am standing by my grandmother's covered patio when he takes off. I wave good bye, then look down. Suddenly the moss and grass part and I can look into the water I just stepped out of.
It is much deeper than I thought and it is so beautiful. Huge tropical flowers are growing in shapes and colors I never knew existed and the hummingbirds we have been waiting for are here. Iridescent green and ruby throat-ed hummingbirds flutter by the flowers, drinking the nectar in this underwater wonderland.
I dreamed this last night, but it reminds me that I was not born the way I am now. My art teacher taught my eyes to see shades within the blues and greens and reds I thought I already saw and my music teachers have taught my ears to hear sounds within the sound of a band concert, or symphony orchestra. Other people have taught me to see those invisible spots to hit pool balls on, or how to back out of a long driveway. At some time, or other, it is all new and I need the teachers who come into my life to show me the way.
I have had great teachers, trustworthy, patient, compassionate and kind and for that I am so grateful. There will be many more before I die, because I need them. Life is one long learning process, but if I had to pick the one most important lesson I have ever learned, it would be that my happiness comes from inside me. Trying to buy something I can swallow, wear, ride, or play with to make me happy is only purchasing momentary distractions. Eventually they all go away and I am still left with me. Even other people can only do so much. Expecting someone else to add to my happiness is one thing. Expecting them to make me happy is something else
The room belongs to an older man with dark hair and dark rimmed glasses, but he is not here. I ask where he is and the woman who is cleaning tells me to go ask my grandma. I leave and go down the wooden staircase outside a nearby window. At the bottom I take two steps and realize I am standing in muddy, murky water and tall grass that comes halfway up to my knees. I start to think about what might be in that water and realize I can't do that, or I will panic. Looking back I see that it will be almost as easy to go forward as backwards at this point, so I try to just keep walking as calmly and purposefully as possible.
While I am walking, the man I am looking for comes up the driveway and we start talking. He points out many important things to me that I no longer remember, but as we are speaking I keep walking through the muck to the other side of the driveway. I am standing by my grandmother's covered patio when he takes off. I wave good bye, then look down. Suddenly the moss and grass part and I can look into the water I just stepped out of.
It is much deeper than I thought and it is so beautiful. Huge tropical flowers are growing in shapes and colors I never knew existed and the hummingbirds we have been waiting for are here. Iridescent green and ruby throat-ed hummingbirds flutter by the flowers, drinking the nectar in this underwater wonderland.
I dreamed this last night, but it reminds me that I was not born the way I am now. My art teacher taught my eyes to see shades within the blues and greens and reds I thought I already saw and my music teachers have taught my ears to hear sounds within the sound of a band concert, or symphony orchestra. Other people have taught me to see those invisible spots to hit pool balls on, or how to back out of a long driveway. At some time, or other, it is all new and I need the teachers who come into my life to show me the way.
I have had great teachers, trustworthy, patient, compassionate and kind and for that I am so grateful. There will be many more before I die, because I need them. Life is one long learning process, but if I had to pick the one most important lesson I have ever learned, it would be that my happiness comes from inside me. Trying to buy something I can swallow, wear, ride, or play with to make me happy is only purchasing momentary distractions. Eventually they all go away and I am still left with me. Even other people can only do so much. Expecting someone else to add to my happiness is one thing. Expecting them to make me happy is something else
Survival
The earth is filled with parasites that feed off its bodily fluids, attacking it like fleas and heartworms and then spraying it with poisons in vain attempts to undo their damage. Covering it in plastic tumors and rusting abscesses, they force the grass and trees to fall off in huge quantities until there are great bald spots. They over run each other in one plague after another, each new one larger, more powerful and more dangerous than the last.
Eventually, like the dinosaurs of the past, these parasites too, will find life impossible and the earth will be given time to recuperate without them.
Eventually, like the dinosaurs of the past, these parasites too, will find life impossible and the earth will be given time to recuperate without them.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
A Warrior Queen
This is my life and it is real. As much as I might like once upon a times, any decisions I make that will ultimately influence my real life must be based on real facts.
No knights in shining armor ride into my life without me riding out to meet them at the castle wall. I am no damsel in distress. I am a warrior queen whose life has been based on my understanding of the logistics necessary to maintain what I believe in.
And what do I believe in?
Peace, but not at any cost. I want peace built on a foundation that will hold up the premises important to me. Growth, based upon firm, proven techniques. Stability that allows me to keep doing those things I find necessary for my own peace of mind.
I smile lovingly at those who tilt at windmills, but I do it from afar. They are the court jesters and entertainers whose antics may be funny, but not particularly sane. I regularly deal with dragons and gorgons who come from within to hone my actions and keep me honest. I stay in touch with my children, knowing that they have been trained and educated to the best of my ability to survive on their own in this world.
And my round table is surrounded by people whose lives serve to keep me honest and thinking. Men and women who understand what it is to fight their own dragons and sustain their own charitable proclivities. People who can stand on their own two feet and wield the sword of justice with the intense concentration of one who knows the difference between discipline and indulgence.
This is my life and my kingdom and I am not afraid to die defending it, but I will not die the death of a romantic, consumed by my own foolishness. Nor will I die a martyr hoping that my actions will bring me fame posthumously. I don't need fame. That comes from outside me. The things I crave come from within.
I surround myself with people I admire and respect. They become the living mirrors whose reactions help me gauge where I am and what I am doing. Often I am in awe of those who take the time to communicate with me. I cannot believe I am allowed to rub shoulders with such people. They are the real knights in shining armor, not charging, but riding quietly through this world doing what they can to the best of their ability. If I can learn to do that, I will be content.
No knights in shining armor ride into my life without me riding out to meet them at the castle wall. I am no damsel in distress. I am a warrior queen whose life has been based on my understanding of the logistics necessary to maintain what I believe in.
And what do I believe in?
Peace, but not at any cost. I want peace built on a foundation that will hold up the premises important to me. Growth, based upon firm, proven techniques. Stability that allows me to keep doing those things I find necessary for my own peace of mind.
I smile lovingly at those who tilt at windmills, but I do it from afar. They are the court jesters and entertainers whose antics may be funny, but not particularly sane. I regularly deal with dragons and gorgons who come from within to hone my actions and keep me honest. I stay in touch with my children, knowing that they have been trained and educated to the best of my ability to survive on their own in this world.
And my round table is surrounded by people whose lives serve to keep me honest and thinking. Men and women who understand what it is to fight their own dragons and sustain their own charitable proclivities. People who can stand on their own two feet and wield the sword of justice with the intense concentration of one who knows the difference between discipline and indulgence.
This is my life and my kingdom and I am not afraid to die defending it, but I will not die the death of a romantic, consumed by my own foolishness. Nor will I die a martyr hoping that my actions will bring me fame posthumously. I don't need fame. That comes from outside me. The things I crave come from within.
I surround myself with people I admire and respect. They become the living mirrors whose reactions help me gauge where I am and what I am doing. Often I am in awe of those who take the time to communicate with me. I cannot believe I am allowed to rub shoulders with such people. They are the real knights in shining armor, not charging, but riding quietly through this world doing what they can to the best of their ability. If I can learn to do that, I will be content.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The Secret
It was part of me before I even knew who I was, a part that emerged as colors and feelings, thoughts too intricate to even take shape in the beginning. Along with my ability to talk and walk and draw pictures with my red crayon, it grew into something real. It was a part of my imaginary world, a world where people with real names and real faces and real actions did real things, no one else could see.
Then I went to kindergarten and the simple, innocent day dreams of a creative five year old turned nap time on the throw rugs of a school's tiled floors into adventures in tents with real names and faces that others could see. Only I was sure they didn't see what I did.
I continued to grow. All of me growing in thought, word and deed into the beautiful adolescent who felt the awkwardness and isolation of all adolescents. And that part of me grew too. Like shaving under my arms and hiding the budding pimples on my nose, I not only had no desire to share it, I would have been mortified to do so. I felt different, unique and thought that maybe I was indeed an odd and strange creature, different from all the other people I knew.
This part of me that I would never share became richer and began to flesh out into the adult I would become, an intricate and important part of me, like breathing in and breathing out. I began to spin myself a cocoon, a sticky sweet gossamer coat of armor that allowed me to peer out at the world, but kept the world from seeing me clearly.
Coming of age meant I had to maintain my facade outside of the cocoon so that people continued to believe I was beautiful and perfect, inside and out. I had to fly a little higher, sing a little sweeter, work a little harder to cover up the marks my red crayon kept making on the inside of my thoughts. Afraid that if anyone could read the tales it told they might think less of me.
Until one day I found a mirror whose reflection saved me as surely as any knight in shining armor. There I saw the eyes of others who were struggling to take off their facades and move quietly forward and I realized that I was not alone
Then I went to kindergarten and the simple, innocent day dreams of a creative five year old turned nap time on the throw rugs of a school's tiled floors into adventures in tents with real names and faces that others could see. Only I was sure they didn't see what I did.
I continued to grow. All of me growing in thought, word and deed into the beautiful adolescent who felt the awkwardness and isolation of all adolescents. And that part of me grew too. Like shaving under my arms and hiding the budding pimples on my nose, I not only had no desire to share it, I would have been mortified to do so. I felt different, unique and thought that maybe I was indeed an odd and strange creature, different from all the other people I knew.
This part of me that I would never share became richer and began to flesh out into the adult I would become, an intricate and important part of me, like breathing in and breathing out. I began to spin myself a cocoon, a sticky sweet gossamer coat of armor that allowed me to peer out at the world, but kept the world from seeing me clearly.
Coming of age meant I had to maintain my facade outside of the cocoon so that people continued to believe I was beautiful and perfect, inside and out. I had to fly a little higher, sing a little sweeter, work a little harder to cover up the marks my red crayon kept making on the inside of my thoughts. Afraid that if anyone could read the tales it told they might think less of me.
Until one day I found a mirror whose reflection saved me as surely as any knight in shining armor. There I saw the eyes of others who were struggling to take off their facades and move quietly forward and I realized that I was not alone
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
A Piano
I have been suffering from piano withdrawal this week. Only one month without my old friend and I find myself day dreaming about ways to play.
Buying any new piano is so far beyond my means that I might as well be looking for a Steinway Grand. Buying a used piano is not even really within the bounds of what I can afford unless someone is feeling very altruistic and almost wanting to give one away. Then there is the matter of transporting the creature from its old home to mine. The last time I had to do that it cost $200 to go about six blocks.
A keyboard would need weighted keys and enough keys and a decent sound, or it would be like drinking imitation lemonade. It might look like the real thing, but my senses would know the difference and never be satisfied.
I tried to think of people I know who have a piano, but it seemed like a rather awkward situation. Then I came up with a solution.
Today I played in the geriatric wing of our local hospital! I have to admit, playing for people always makes me a little nervous until I know what they expect and I hadn't played for a while and I used their music so I was sight reading and one of my worst nightmares came true. The lady sitting at the table behind me was a music major from Millikin University....
...and it was wonderful all around.
Buying any new piano is so far beyond my means that I might as well be looking for a Steinway Grand. Buying a used piano is not even really within the bounds of what I can afford unless someone is feeling very altruistic and almost wanting to give one away. Then there is the matter of transporting the creature from its old home to mine. The last time I had to do that it cost $200 to go about six blocks.
A keyboard would need weighted keys and enough keys and a decent sound, or it would be like drinking imitation lemonade. It might look like the real thing, but my senses would know the difference and never be satisfied.
I tried to think of people I know who have a piano, but it seemed like a rather awkward situation. Then I came up with a solution.
Today I played in the geriatric wing of our local hospital! I have to admit, playing for people always makes me a little nervous until I know what they expect and I hadn't played for a while and I used their music so I was sight reading and one of my worst nightmares came true. The lady sitting at the table behind me was a music major from Millikin University....
...and it was wonderful all around.
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