It's Hot Outside!

I woke up this morning and realized that summer has finally caught up with us here in the heartland.  My air conditioning still wasn't on, but the fan was not quite doing the trick.  I planned to be gone most of the day and I'm leaving tomorrow for the fourth of July, but my canary, Jack, is holding down the fort and I need to decide whether or not he is tropical enough to leave without AC for a few days.

While I was pondering this I heard sirens, lots of sirens!  I live fairly close to a busy street so I do hear these things once in a while, but these seemed to be unusually close.  Typical of me, a few minutes after I heard them I forgot about them, until...

I heard more sirens and then even more and I thought, this must be a big fire and it must be in our part of town.  A few minutes later my apartment filled with the acrid smell of smoke burning old wood!

I rushed outside to see the apartment building half a block away burning!  The parking lot was filled with fire trucks of every sort and ambulances and at first I felt sick, but then one of the cleaning women told me that building was empty. The firemen were hot, the building is a mess, but no one was hurt.

I drove out of here this morning, on my way to the museum where I volunteer, through smoke like pea soup fog, but when I came back a few minutes ago, it is all over except for the clean up. 

I found these pictures of it, if you want to look:

http://www2.pantagraph.com/shared-content/gallery/?galleryid=4&gallery_page=0&album_page=0&albumid=1711&mediaid=39490

Take Care

 I love to sit with things for a while, allow my mind to kind of steep in whatever is.

I notice that my first impression is seldom quite right.  There are always details, nuances, little glimmers and glances that don't seem to appear until they have the time to settle in.

Not into reality, that is always the same, but into the reality of my mind.

A mind looking through sixty years of thoughts and concepts and misconceptions sees differently from a mind untouched by the world.

Yet the world is quick to brush over new minds, indoctrinating them with all sorts of facades, poking holes in perfectly good feelings and even blinding them to some of the sights they were born to see.

We seem to think that we can do better than the power that created us, so we tug and pull, snip and tuck and fill our children full of all those things someone filled us with.

We need to be careful when we alter creation.

Everybody Needs A Muse

People are always saying, be yourself!

I can't tell you how many times I've been told that.  The trouble is that I want people to like me and it has been my experience that when they say, "just be yourself," they usually are not saying I will like you no matter who you are.

They only mean that I should be me and they will be them and that is the way they think the world should be and it probably is, but I want them to like me.  No, let's be honest, I want them to love me!

Even people who really will love me, because they sort of have to since I am family, want to change me and they only see the tip of the iceberg!  What if they looked down deep where things are murky and maybe even dark?  I wonder what they would do then?

That is why I am sort of in shock right now.  I look in my mirror and think, "Mmmm, this chunky body may not be so great to look at, but it is very cuddly."  And I even think, "Maybe I'll just let those silvery looking hairs grow in and see how I look au natural!"

It's not that I have had any great awakening.  At least I don't think I have.  It is just that my Muse has been writing to me for a very long time now and continues to tell me, "I'll stand behind you even if you're wrong."  And "You could be a trash can, and I would love it.  I just wanna hug you close and talk your ear off."

Believe me he's been scuba diving down in the depths of my mind for months now and we never run out of things to talk about.  There is something to that that I've never felt before.  Not once has he said, "eweeee," or "why don't you try to be this instead."

I find myself slipping away from that huge frozen wasteland where I was never enough and floating out into the sunshine and open where the freedom is breath taking.  It's been here all along, I just never believed in it before.

Fairy Tales Do Come True...

Fairy tales are written for children, or are they?  Is it possible that there is something for all of us hidden deep within the once upon a times and forever afters?

No one believes everything we hear about things that go on in high places today.  Why should it have been any different way back when?

In The Emperor's New Clothes, perhaps we should ask the Emperor himself what happened!  Of course some of you will say his version is only a cover up, but then what did he cover up?

It has always been the job of the Ladies League for Decency to keep track of marriages and births, school suspensions and who took too long of a vacation where.  Is it any wonder that they might love the idea that a man like the Emperor got his come up-pence pointed out by the purity and innocence of a child?  How they must have delighted sitting there in their rocking chairs on their front porches, marking calendars and smiling at the thought of that risque man standing red faced and alone in his room back at the castle!

But if you ask the Emperor he will tell you that his secret wish, all these years that he has been forced to wear all those kingly robes and hot itchy suits is to reveal himself in all his exhibitionist glory!  The real man, who would prefer to be running around in his birthday suit playing Adam and Eve in his back garden like William Blake and Catherine, decided to play a most involved practical joke upon his court and his people.  One that would allow him to fulfill his dreams for one afternoon and entertain his kingdom for years to come.

Proving, perhaps, that you can please all of the people some of the time, as long as they all don't know it.

Wholeness

I am not good at routines, but I sometimes find great meaning in ritual.  I brew a cup of tea, put on my headphones, inhale the tea's aroma and feel its warmth seeping into my fingers as my thoughts seep into the music.

And then, eyes closed as the tea's dark earthiness slides over my tongue, I wonder what it is I am hearing.  Is it only a sound or is it the silences between the sounds that draw me?  So many sounds are not music to my ears, but some are so rich that if I close my eyes I am completely immersed and wonder if breath is even necessary.

When it is, my sigh becomes a note, a song within the song and I slip deeper into this place that unites all the parts of me in ways nothing else can.  It is not so much the tune as the being in this space called music, this place where light comes from a source unseen and unfelt breezes carry me away.

Here the totality of my being emerges for whole breaths at a time.  Here my heart is the only metronome that can possibly keep time.  Here love drips slowly from my eyes for reasons I could not begin to explain, because it is not something that can be said.

The tea fills me, but I fill the music, expanding into it like moonlight on the rich velvety moment when the universe is totally dark.  

Softly surreal, gently fulfilled, it is here that I am most myself.

Lost And Found

I think we all do the best we can for those we love even though sometimes it may not look that way to others.

And while I always try to do my best too, there have been times when I wasn't so sure.  Tonight I discovered photos of a child that put some of those fears to rest.

I knew she was out there.  I was pretty sure she was in the right place, but after looking at pictures that show her opening Christmas presents and making snowmen and doing those other simple family things with her brothers and sisters I am convinced she is in the right place.

There is a lot of comfort in that and while my first thought is to write and tell them how happy I am this is so -- I won't do that.  I won't rock a boat that seems to be on an even keel right now.

But I will go back from time to time and look again.  That is the beauty of the internet.  I can do that and no one need be the wiser.  Life will go on as it has for the last long time and the only thing that will change is that I will sleep better.

We Are The World

The internet is one step closer to making this world into one big family.  Unfortunately, families, due to the nature of their closeness, can often rub each other the wrong way.  Most of us deal with that in the physical world, because no matter how much Aunt Pearl, or Great Uncle Melvin annoy us, they ARE family.

Of course it is a different story when one of them sets fire to the family attic, or hires a truck to clear out the basement without telling anyone.  No one wants anyone else to come in and mess with our personal stuff.

I need to be sure my purse and bank accounts are up and out of the way of children who might come in and rifle through them. There must be a system in place that slaps the hands of those who reach for these forbidden things.

But on the whole, the internet is the most amazing place for sharing I can imagine.

Everyone can find some like spirit to share with and talk to.  No hobby is too obscure, no subject too outlandish not to be able to find someone else who shares it.  I can compare notes with someone in Scotland.  I can write a story with someone in Louisiana.  I even discover there are people in Russia and India who read my thots. 

I have opportunities my ancestors never dreamed of and they are not limited by differences in place, time, or culture.  I can avoid almost all biases if I choose.  No one needs to know what gender I am, or the color of my skin.  Whether I am full of health or bedridden, it doesn't matter.  It only matters who I am inside, how well I can communicate that.

Education becomes of paramount importance now.  The need to be able to relate my thoughts to another person escalates when that is our only connection, but it is one almost all human beings share.  With today's technology we should be able to reach every single child in some way and make it interesting enough (to them) to keep their attention.

Of course there is room for abuse too.  No matter what goes on in the world, someone can find the dark side.  Sweeping it under the rug only allows the fungus to grow quietly in the corners. Realistic expectations, tolerance and a willingness to live and let live goes a long way towards keeping these things out in the open where they can be dealt with.

On the whole, I think we are finally entering an age where the possibilities are unlimited and magnificent.

The Seedling

Sometimes when I look at baby pictures I think of them as the seed for the adults that grew out of them.

Those tiny fingers reaching out with perfection, the little wizened heads lying helpless on their father's laps, miniature feet outlined in sleepers that cover diapered bottoms and round little tummies.

It isn't always easy to see who that child will be one day, but it is amazing when you look back and already know.

And when I look at the man holding this child? I see a young man in his prime doing the best he knows how with the tiny new life right there in his hands. His eyes are closed. He appears to be asleep and I wonder if he is dreaming of his son and the man he might some day become.

This is a picture of the best there is. A mirror, reflecting on a love that goes both backwards and forwards, generation after generation, being handed down, right before my eyes.

A simple scene, but I am used to seeing mothers like this so seeing a father in such a tender and committed act touches me deeply.

The Truth, The Whole Truth, Or Something Kind Of Close

Truth is certainly a much-discussed topic.

People will go to almost any length to promote the truth, their truth, even if it means lying.

I hear quotes attributed to places they never came from, using words that were never there at any point in time (until now.) History is altered, erased and blatantly ignored. Facts have virtually nothing to do with statements made by supposedly well educated people.

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth can sometimes be a matter of opinion, but proving that truth requires fact. Otherwise it is something more akin to, "I feel," or "in my opinion."

You have a right to your opinion, but you should know the difference between that and actual truth.

And I think the most important question is why would you want to promote something you had to lie about?

Of course the answer is that many of us don't want the truth at all. We want things to support what we want to believe no matter what.

Somewhere deep inside us we believe that we know what is best, at any cost.

That is a dangerous habit.

The Serendipity

Some people love to live on the wild side but I'll admit it. I've always liked the idea of happily ever after. A little cottage in the woods surrounded by flowers. A happy woodcutter with a good wife who bakes bread while he stockpiles logs and they both rear two apple cheeked children, a boy and a girl.

Both children have bright blue eyes and white blonde hair. They help their mother with the chores around the house and every night the family sits down to dinner to sip their healthy vegetable soup and eat their homemade brown bread while the crickets begin to chirp and the moon rises over the lake.

After dinner, mother opens the cupboard doors that hide two cozy little beds and turns down their eiderdown comforters before tucking them in. The children sing a beautiful duet of, "When at night I go to sleep, fourteen angels watch do keep."

Both parents kiss their sweet little foreheads and go off to sit in front of the fire where the mother quietly knits warm woolen stockings and the father smokes his pipe in absolute contentment. As the fire dies down, both parents climb into their own bed and go fast asleep, snuggled up in each others arms.

And after 365 days of this they all dream of a day when a little adventure will fall into their lives and relieve what has become unbearable monotony!

Of course life is seldom such smooth sailing, but I do notice that without a little angst in mine I have trouble writing.

On the other hand, I suffer from Goldilocks Syndrome. When life is way too soft I sink into it and am unable to write at all. If the angst is way too hard, it consumes me, also leaving me with no energy to write with. I need it just right!

Like a child I love to dread. I dream of meeting the wolf in the woods and recognizing that something is not quite right. I love putting two and two together, remembering that some wolfly creature was heard blowing down houses and when Grandma looks a little peaked I can be the hero who figures out she has been replaced by a shape-shifter and I am the one who rescues her from the dark closet!

And if I am not dreading, I love to want! The thought of discovering a house filled with toys of every sort is so delicious! But I don't really want it to last forever. It is the wanting and the dreaming that makes me drool with anticipation! Waiting for Santa to slide down the chimney with some long dreamed of object. Gobbling up the story that my favorite author took three years to write. Looking forward to meeting someone I've dreamed of meeting.

There is such richness in imagination, but mine must be fed a starvation diet of living a little along the edge, or like a dark Tinkerbell, it begins to die. Too much of anything, even peace and harmony dulls my senses, either burying me alive or allowing me to take life for granted.

My Time

Imagine riding pillion behind once a time princes

Fighting imaginary dragons over imaginary fences

Searching for depth and soul and rhyme,

To hold me up and help me define

Who I was and what I was and when was my time.

Being carried over thresholds of pillared white mansions

Full of wide eyed wonders in brand new fashions

Searching for depth and soul and rhyme,

To hold me up and help me define

Who I was and what I was and when was my time

Manufacturing skills, desperate to improve

Working and writing and needing to move

Searching for depth and soul and rhyme,

To hold me up and help me define

Who I was and what I was and when was my time

And then one day, when I was stumbling unbidden,

In a nearby place that I thought was forbidden

Behind my face and inside my mind,

Were all these treasures that were so long hidden.

In the depth of my soul, in tune with my rhyme,

Was all this truth waiting to define

Who I am and what I am

At just the right time.

Happy Father's Day

It is Father's Day and this morning I am remembering my own father.

He was young when I was born, only twenty two years old, but he already had his Master's and was working on his Doctorate.

Some of my earliest memories are of him coming up to my room and waking me up to tell me I had a gift to give my mother for Mother's Day. It was a little yellow canary named Caruso, or he would come home for lunch and we would talk about castles and crowns and the Rosetta stone over cheese sandwiches and vegetable beef soup. It was heady stuff.

I remember when he showed me what the number ten looked like. I was amazed at its shape, it wasn't at all what I thought ten was. And I remember when he left me ten dimes and one hundred pennies on the newel post to show me what a dollar was. I was sure you needed it all to make a dollar!

He would shake the covers of my bed out after I had a nightmare to prove there were no spiders in it and he would put me to bed and then wake me up later if there was an important movie on television like Lost Horizon.

He swam out to the sailboat in Minnesota with me under his arm and I had no fears at all. I thought he could do anything.

I was never banned from reading any of his books or magazines and he never minced words when he talked about them. In some ways he was a thoroughly modern man. In others he was very old fashioned. Every single morning he got up and shaved with a straight razor, took a bath and polished his shoes while he sat in the big chair in his bedroom.

I took him to see Camelot. He took me to see The Lion In Winter. The girls in my dorm all had a crush on him and I could understand why. I adored him.

Even when he drove me nuts by forcing me to study for my physics test for hours on end and I said I hated him -- I loved him.

And I miss him.

The Gift

Life as I know it is sometimes strange when I actually sit back and take a look at what I do.

I woke up early this morning and felt terrible. Finally getting back to sleep I slept way too long and woke up fuzzy. I hadn't written a thot, haven't really done a lot of things lately, that I usually do.

It is as if someone pulled translucent blinds down, the ones that let you see the light, but not the actual scene on the other side. I'm not depressed, but I am certainly subdued. Perhaps like being in a chrysalis, waiting for the sun to awaken me and call me out to stretch my body and see what's new.

This morning that happened:

With resonant guitar chords and harmonica accompaniment crawling along its bars here and there, backed up by a sweet and sonorous voice luring me in closer, ensnaring me in its words and beauty until I sat with my headphones on, eyes closed, just listening.

Over and over I listened. Like a child watching a favorite movie, I immersed myself in this music until its images filled my mind and soul. Catacoustic moments of ecstasy.

My eyes opened and my wings spread out for the first time in a while. I felt myself lifted up, floating in a light that is conducive to all those things I deem important.

Buried Alive

I wasn't sure what I would write about today, so I was behind reading my email and decided to look through it first. This is what I found. It is one of those videos you should not miss.

http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=e59_1307497826

It is the exception to be sure, but it is not as rare as many of us think.

Here is a throw away child, unwanted, mistreated; who managed to do more than many children with homes and money and loving attention showered on them night and day.

Here is an example of what the human spirit is capable of.

I would never advocate child rearing like this. It is an abomination, but it makes me wonder if we do not burden our children with too many "gifts."

The old idea of giving our children everything we can, comes from a time when there was not much to give except love, but I wonder if now we fill their lives with so much that they cannot find themselves.

Are our budding Pavarottis and Tolstoys and Dylans, our Wrights and Okeefes and Einsteins, our Gipettos and Harrys and Jones, buried under the constant ka-ching of electronic paraphernalia and media pressure to be different - like everyone else?

How much is too much? How do we make sure they have a chance to see and experience life so that they find the key that opens their hearts?

Deep in my own heart I know that every child has the potential for something.

Today

I had a tour at the museum this morning. Thirteen children, ages five to eight from a day care who got to come sit in our helicopter and one of the jets that the pilot opened up for them. They were bursting with energy and more eager to be noticed than to listen. It occurred to me that what children today want more than anything might be for someone to take a walk with them, one on one and just listen to them.

Of course most of us like it when we are paid attention to. No one wants to be the canary in the corner cage, admired when he sings, but basically a form of entertainment for his caretaker. Like a book, or a television program, or a bicycle, people tend to roll out their kids when they want to be entertained. Otherwise they are too busy to do more than the necessary chores with them. Feed them, bathe them, clothe them and put them to bed. It worked for Old Mother Hubbard and her brood in the shoe.

It will keep them alive, but it takes more than that for them to really thrive.

These kids will raise their hand for anything! They'd rather be wrong than not noticed. They'd rather be picked to do almost anything than ignored.

I wish I had had thirteen ears and hands!

Instead I am hoarse from trying to talk around them!

These kids had the best. Great, state of the art children's bus, matching shirts with their names on them, and a caretaker who looked like she was truly interested.

Noblesse Oblige

We live in a crazy world. Of course that is news to no one, but I wonder how some otherwise intelligent people think their way through the notions that are obviously carry overs from a less thoughtful time.

The media today is full of all sorts of conflicting ideas.

Live green! Lessen your footprint on this earth!

The queen wears her clothes more than once! Two starlets are spotted wearing the same dress!

Most of us wear our clothes many times. Spending more on something because it is better made, lasts longer, or is possibly more comfortable makes sense, but can most of us really tell the difference between a good shirt and haute coutoure with our eyes closed? The only people who really benefit from original, one of a kind outfits worn one time by one person -- is the person who makes it and sells it.

I feel the same way about people who buy fifty million dollar private homes that can park a hundred cars. If you want to do that with your money that is your business, but don't ask me to believe that anyone must live that way, or that it is economically or environmentally sensible. It is pretentious to say the least.

I enjoy good things. I like comfort and ease, but I think we do our children and possibly the whole world a disservice by implying that people who do and have outlandishly priced things are somehow better than the rest of us. We say we don't want an aristocracy yet we make such a big to do about people who can spend money. Frankly I am more impressed with noblesse oblige than those ridiculous hats that look like they came straight out of an old Disney film.

My great aunt used to say you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear and I hear an awful lot of oinking hidden in the folds of the society that surrounds me.

Let Me Entertain You

I am disgusted with politics and I think I have the credentials to voice an opinion.

I was born into them, teethed on them, licked envelopes and sold Goldwater before I was old enough to know what I was getting into. One Uncle taught me nasty little Republican slogans. Another taught me equally nasty Democratic ones. I learned them all because I knew I was cute when they all laughed and clapped.

That's how it works you know. People laugh and clap and entertain us with all sorts of clever words then go ahead and do whatever they want if elected.

Politicians used to be smarter. They never let slip things like the fact that they don't know what the Constitution says, or whose side we fought on in the Revolutionary War. There was always the pretense that the little guy mattered and we were trying to do the right things as a country.

Now I often hear the patronizing words and see the gentle pats on the head as our aristocracy takes care of business -- their businesses.

For all their moaning and groaning they can afford to wait out the hard times, perhaps lower themselves to driving a Cadillac instead of a Porsche, let a couple of the maids go, put their children in second rate private schools. In fact, some of them may have to sit in the waiting room because they can't afford to keep their doctors on retainers anymore. Times are tough.

It's our own fault. Complacent and preferring to be spoon fed rather than study the issues and make the hard decisions, we elected these people, chose them and handed them the power.

Happy to be placated with the same non issues they have used to distract people for the last forty years, we vote on things that are never really resolved and which would be more appropriately dealt with in institutions, or around dinner tables.

Like it or not, we asked for all this. Isn't that sad?

This is the stuff of consequences.

Cozy

Cozy is an idea that is amazingly diverse!

I think of an inglenook and one other person. I want to sit in the fire's warm glow and share intensely! There is nothing I love more than two people focused on each other. Each in their own space, but allowing those spaces to intermingle and overlap, perhaps even to run along side by side for a while.

Other folks want more people. They feel the more the merrier and while I have no problem with groups of friends getting together, it loses something for me. Every person added to the mix takes away from the intimacy of a conversation.

If I have plans to get together with you and you suddenly want to bring Aunt Mary, or my favorite cousin, Sam, my mind goes into over drive. Are you afraid you will be bored? Will we really be able to talk about subjects dear to our hearts?

A group mentality means everyone should be included and the time then becomes about the group, not you, or me, or even the subject so much anymore. More than two often means more doing, less simple being and being is my favorite thing in the whole world,; so even when I am with a group I find myself wanting to get off alone with each one of them, spend time listening to what they have to say, find the key that unlocks who they are in that moment.

That's where my cozy comes back into play.

Chimeras

Once in a while I doubt my own good intentions.

What follows that is usually a series of rationalizations dreamed up to make myself feel better.

It's possible to convince myself that either side of most arguments are right if I really want them to be.

It doesn't mean that is actually true; only that I can make myself believe it is.

Of course feelings like that are really only chimeras.

My real feelings are much stronger and they will continue to chip away at me until they break through and the truth is revealed.

Whether that comes in an Aha moment, or in a dream, or nightmare, depends on how deeply I have hidden the truth from myself.

I am never forced to consciously recognize these parts of me, but the discomfort of living at odds with myself will become increasingly more uncomfortable.

How I deal with that kind of pain determines the quality of my life and the type of person I am.

It really is up to me whether I want to believe it or not, but I think one of the secrets to dealing with it is to understand that I also have seriously good and beautiful parts that are also lying unnoticed inside of me.

Going on a truly fruitful archaeological dig means taking what I find and trying to look at it as calmly and clearly as I possibly can. Understanding that I am neither angel, nor devil, but a simple human being whose virtues and faults run the same gamut all humanity has had to face since it's first thought.

Nightmares

My imagination never works overtime. It simply doesn't know what that word is.

My imagination works all the time!

I never lack for feelings.

I can manifest them as stories, or put them to work capturing the interest of a group of school children, or regaling some poor soul who is a friend.

Sometimes there are still too many left over and they spill out of me at night when I am most vulnerable in the form of dreams and nightmares. The only difference between the two being the way I feel while they are occurring, or when they are over.

I think maybe that is my body's way of telling me I need to write more. For me writing is the release that others find in gardening, or tennis.

The Legacy

I hear Americans moaning and groaning on both sides of many issues. Afraid that new foreigners will come in and gobble up the benefits they believe should be reserved for real Americans, meaning those who came at some magical point between 1492 and now; and wanting to visit the ancient worlds they believe only exist outside of our country.

I have no real solutions for them, but I was thinking. Our earth was created (by or how doesn't really matter in this instance) in one piece.

I'm sure that some mountains were pushed up out of the earth before others and some oceans dried up, or filled in sooner or later, but the matter for them was here all along.

The belief that little people must live only in the secret caves of Ireland, or Scotland seems short sighted to me. If plain old humans can migrate all over, how much easier it must be for people of magic.

The magic that is supposed to only sing in the stones of Great Britain, or buzz in the pyramids of South American is probably humming right along everywhere in some form.

The fact that people only know about so much history does not mean that history did not exist. If the earth was here, the land was here. I have a difficult time believing any of it is more sacred than any other part.

Taking away the dignity and quality of anything should not be done lightly. I believe there is a price for everything we do and that is not something we should pass down to our great grandchildren and their grandchildren thoughtlessly.

I love to wrap myself up in the history and science and mythological ramifications of this planet, but my knowledge is limited. I don't know all the best ways to solve those problems we perceive, but I do know that I am responsible for my own life, for the things I take and give, use and care for, and that if someone was keeping track of it all I'd want to be known as someone who loved this world, not someone who used it simply for my own pleasure.

Everything on this planet deserves to have a dignified existence and be treated decently.

Breathe

Isn't it amazing how impossible it is to really own those things that are the most important?

They can't be frozen and stored, or put into a cedar chest. If I try to cling to them they slip right through my fingers like water.

They seem to have no substance at all, yet they are so powerful they can make or break a moment, or a day, or even a lifetime.

From the time I was a very small child I wanted to gather my loved ones up into some compact place and keep them there with me where I thought we were safe.

Of course it doesn't work that way. People grow up, they leave, they die, or simply turn away and the empty spaces seem like vacuous black holes. Spaces that have no substance, but cause incredible pain.

There isn't much that can be done about it. Rushing to fill them, or pretending they don't exist is usually only a stopgap. Sometimes it just prolongs the agony.

Time has a way of dealing with them that is pretty sure fire though.

If I yield to their existence and allow myself to just be, one day I realize that they have not only filled in, but often are full and overflowing.

So when I feel that old panic setting in I tell myself, "Breathe." Just keep on breathing, one breath at a time until I forget to, because something so much better has come along and filled me up.

It's A Mystery

Mystery abounds in the world, but a lot of things are really not that mysterious. If you don't believe me I don't blame you. There was a time when I thought it took a genius to put things together, repair things, hang a new chandelier, use a new appliance, or, heaven forbid, set up, or fix the computer!

Now I ask myself if I really thought that, or if I was just too complacent and maybe a little lazy. As long as I had someone who was not only willing to do those things, but seemed pleased to do them, I was helpless.

I waited hours, sometimes even days, or weeks, or months without something I really wanted because the miracle person, yes, usually a man, was not ready to take care of it. Then the miracle man disappeared and I either had to find new miracle workers or take a stab at doing what needed to be done.

The first time I moved my computer I labeled every cord with a number that matched the number of the hole it plugged into. Later I realized most of them won't plug into the wrong hole. It was simple matching. The square thingee goes into the square hole. The round thingee into the round hole. Not really so mysterious.

Then the first time I couldn't get something on the computer to work I began a systematic search for a solution. First of all I read what it said on the screen! It's amazing how many things can be solved that way! Then I needed to understand how to move using a mouse and using a keyboard, it doubles the chances of getting something to work. I learned many things work if I just unplug them and plug them back in. None of these things require a degree in computer technology, take my word for it. If the internet worked, I looked for an answer on there. I have had problems I couldn't fix, but I've never had a problem that was so unique no one else in the whole wide world has never experienced it.

The same thing goes for most things around the house. I can do them if I really want to and take the time to read whatever is written about it and then fiddle with it. Fiddling is something that might not work if I had to alter computer boards, but for navigating around a working computer it is almost miraculous. I am the miracle man for my sister! Now I understand why someone would be pleased to do these things. It feels sooooooooooooo good to fix something and have someone be so happy and in awe!

Now when something breaks down, or needs to be put together, or installed I understand that it is a balancing act. I have to weigh the time and patience it will take me to do it against the time and wheedling it will take to find someone else to do it. It's never a sure thing either way. Sometimes I've started out one way and ended up switching to the other.

The mystery is still here, but it is a different sort of mystery and a whole other thot!

Subtitles for the emotionally unprepared.

Imagine sitting down to watch a movie with a hot pizza and something cold to drink only to discover that after I have gotten through all the previews and ads and public service announcements, I cannot understand a word that is being said on the actual film.

The other night the subtitles didn't work at all. Tonight there was only one subtitle for every three or four minutes of dialogue.

Even that might have been tolerable, but the person who put them there didn't appear to speak either language fluently.

There were lines like this, "Woman shocked herself to hear the unbelievable words" and those words or anything about them is never mention again.

And there were lines like this, "Satellite explode lights in sky all over." Of course the scene was in a dim hospital room with almost no lights and absolutely no sky at all.

Like the past two movies that I rented from Netflix, I tried to report the problem with no success. I just ended up in a useless loop, so I sealed it up in its signature little red envelope and placed on the table to go back in the mail tomorrow. Then in a fury I wrote on the outside that the nonsensical subtitles made the film incomprehensible and Netflix would not let me notify them on line.

There! I got them! Let the world read my words as this piece of mail goes hand over hand through the US mail back to Netflix. Except that anyone reading it will probably laugh at my exasperation and Netflix will probably open it without even noticing.

I figure I have several choices, including learning seven more languages, or watching only English language films. Neither is likely to happen so I play Russian Roulette with my evenings, never knowing until it is too late if I am going to be having dinner and a movie, or dinner and a fit.

I have to believe that I am not the first English speaking Netflix customer to rent this DVD, who does not speak German. I just have to wonder what the others thought. Surely they must have noticed!

Along with PG and G and all those other ratings, we need one that warns us this movie is not for the language challenged and emotionally impaired viewer like me.

Criteria

Sometimes the person I am meets the person I wanna be and I have a real identity crisis.

It is a strange thing not to recognize my own work.

It can be an embarrassing thing to quote my own words thinking they belong to someone else!

And yet, what a nice surprise to find parts of me that I really like!

It makes me wonder what my criteria is for judging myself.

You might say there is no need to judge yourself, you are what you are, but the truth is we all do it all the time; and no one teaches us how to do it. At least no one taught me how to do it.

I grew up learning what I call false modesty, what some cultures considered placating the gods, but what, under any name, is not particularly healthy in my opinion. It's that old idea that, "You aren't pretty if you think you are."

Okay, no one wants to hang out with Narcissus, but there is a lot of leeway between self centered-ness and what some might call simple honesty, or perhaps just an appreciation of the truth.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. How many parents and grandparents hold up that toothless bald wonder and marvel at its beauty? But perhaps what we need to realize is that they are looking with their heart and the heart can see beyond surface details and freckles and even intelligence.

Many of us are good at seeing others with our hearts. What we need are magic mirrors on the wall. Ones we can ask, Mirror, mirror, tell me please... show me how the world sees me.

Or maybe we don't.

Bestest

How and when do we teach children that some things should not be discussed -- with anyone!

I have memories of a time shortly after my second birthday, where I remember struggling to dress myself in a new nightgown and feeling very proud. I also have memories of things I thought about then that I already knew I could not ask anyone about.

The list of things we cannot, should not, or better not talk about grows every year. Sometimes it is a matter of taste, or tact, or discretion. Sometimes it is simply fear of the unknown, better to be silent than embarrassed.

Then, if we have enough money, we pay someone to listen to those things and sometimes that helps and sometimes it just reinforces the idea that they are not fit for most company.

The best solution is so obvious, so simple, so rare, so basic and yet it doesn't seem to be particularly common.

The best solution is to have a very good friend you can share everything with. Someone you trust, not just with your life, but your very soul. Someone who is not just your best friend, but your bestest!

There is an incomprehensible comfort in being able to just blurt it all out, to say it exactly the way it feels, not to mince words in any way and know that someone will listen. Not just listen, but stand behind you and hold you up even if you are wrong. Someone who will be there no matter what. That is real security.

That is love.

This Is The Thought That Jack Built

I never could have imagined that a bird would be as much of a pet as Jack is. I could watch him forever. For a canary he is amazing. He plays with his food, pecking at his apple and carrot, pulling off pieces of spinach and climbing up to get seeds off his millet spray.

Today he jumped inside his covered water dish and took a mad splashing bath! It must have been good because he did it several more times before stopping. So, I refilled his bath tub and left it in his cage.

I love watching him and I realized something.

It's not something really new. When I taught preschool we used to say that if we were interested, the children would be interested, but if we were tired or bored we should expect them to be too. It's the same story here.

I pretty much get back from Jack what I give to him. I feed him a variety of foods and give him different things to play with and his interest in it all keeps my interest alive and well.

Life is probably like that most of the time. I get back what I put into it. If I am not interested enough, or creative enough to be pro-active then why would I expect life to be fun, or exciting?

If I give it my best shot, it's likely I will get an equal and wonderful reaction! And even if I don't? Well, the giving is actually pretty satisfying and fun all on its own.

Measureless Moments

The measure of a moment is in the way it touches me.

It must exist. I must be aware of it and then it must be allowed to penetrate all those shields and bits and pieces of armor that protect me.

Sometimes I wonder who is responsible for what gets through to me.

Is it up to me to let down all my defenses, open myself and roll over, belly up like a puppy? Trusting and vulnerable and ready to face whatever there is.

Or are there those who were made with the ability to do that whether I want it or not?

Souls who have the ability to reach deeply into my soul and touch me at my core?

When that happens it is as if I burst into bloom; as if a light inside of me is lit and the flame fills me with something greater than inspiration; greater than genius; greater than anything I could ever do on my own.

I think these may be the moments when the veil is lifted, moments so precious they can never be forgotten.

Measureless moments.

A Very Bad Day

I am not having a good day and it is not even nine o'clock in the morning!

I was awakened before six this morning to the sound of something alive and moving in my living room! Again! The maintenance people claimed they had to order a new grate in order to repair the problem that allowed a bird into my living room earlier this week. I called them this morning, they didn't show up until eight.

Two birds were in my living room this time, hovering behind the television where I couldn't have reached them if I'd wanted to. They had obviously been there a while. My Pavarotti book was pooped on and ripped around the edges. My photos and shelving, carpeting, surge protector, even the walls have bird poop all over them. I cleaned and vacuumed all I could get up, but there is still stuff on the carpet back there.

There is now a grate over the place where they installed air conditioning/heating units this year, but the insulation is compromised and the inside is too. There are spots in the carpet that won't come out and I keep having this nagging feeling that anything might have crawled in even though it really probably did not since the space is probably ten feet off the ground.

After they left I came in here and some guy walked by outside spraying something on the grass. I worried that he might be exposing himself to toxic chemicals without even realizing it and felt bad for him. Then the wind must have shifted and I went into a full blown asthma attack as whatever it was filled my room. I should have shut the window before I guess, but like I said, we are at least ten feet off the ground.

I am breathing again. Jack is breathing, which was a real concern for me. But I am feeling distinctly crabby, grouchy, and vindictive.

The secret is not to act on any of this until I feel better, I'm sure of that, but then?

Well, maybe I better wait until then to even think about what I'm going to do.

It's All The Same

Sometimes I look down at my feet and they are the same feet I've had all my life and then I look in the mirror and I feel like I'm playing dress up.

Not like I'm wearing my mother's clothes, or walking around in someone else's high heeled shoes, or wearing Grandma's hat, because I'm not. I'm dressed just like I always dress only it doesn't look like I'm supposed to look.

I've got on somebody elses face and hands! She looks familiar, but that can't be me!

I must be having a dream that I grew up and got old. I even dreamed that I had children and grandchildren, there hasn't been enough time for that. Has there?

Outside, the sky still looks just as blue and the clouds are big and fluffy like they've always been. The trees still smell so good when they're all wet from the rain and when the moon comes out? I still see the old man smiling at me and sometimes I see that lady up there brushing her hair. The first star pops into the night sky and I make a wish.

"I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight." And I make the same wish I've made all my life.

I think it has come true a bunch of times, but I always thought it was supposed to stick. I always thought that one day everything would come true and I would live happily ever after...for ever. Then things would not change anymore. That was how I'd know I was finished, how I'd know I was all grown up. Then I would be the one who knew how to do everything and didn't have to ask questions any more.

But I just seemed to get bigger...and maybe older....almost everything else seems the same.

The Three Men

Once upon a time I left my house on a Tuesday and when I came home there was a little yellow bird flying loose in the hallway outside my door. I caught him and now he lives in a cage in my bedroom where he sings for his breakfast, lunch and dinner on a daily basis.

The same day the next week, which just happened to be today, I came home to discover that something had been in my house. I looked at the crackers on top of the refrigerator and they had fallen down onto the counter top. I looked at the air conditioner in the wall and the insulation around it was all chewed up and open. I looked at the rug and it was covered in bugs and worms and pieces of that insulation. I even look at the footstool and it was covered in bugs and bird do.

I thought something had been in my house. It had been on my windowsills and my refrigerator and my carpet -- and it was still here!

A dark shadow scrambled out of sight when I glanced towards the sofa.

I called up the apartment managers and they sent three men over. A big man, a man with glasses and a wee small man whose mother had an African parrot that got loose in Texas last week. The big man opened the door. The man with glasses peered into my air conditioner and the wee small man took my tea towel and caught a young black bird that was hiding behind my couch and flew quickly into the bathroom.

Then all three men promised to board up the hole the bird used to get into my apartment and nearly did that when I told them to be sure and remove all the other birds first.

Now the big man, the man with glasses and the wee small man will all come back in the morning. Hopefully they will bring insulation and new packing and tape and a grate big enough to keep all the new visitors from entering my apartment through the hole in the wall that surrounds my air conditioner!

Tonight I will sleep in my own bed, dreaming dreams of birds that dig their way into my apartment past three men. One who is big. One who wears glasses and one wee little man whose mother just lost her parrot in Texas.