Roasted

Tennis shoes slipping on a muddy hill
Gloved hands tingling in the snow
Bird song freezing in a frozen trill
And Grammy's dressed up like Eskimos

Everybody knows some twigs and some dried dead leaves
Help to make us look like tykes
Youthful grandmas in their wintery weaves
Will find it hard not to hike tonight

They know that old age is on its way
And now's the time to walk and time to play
So every grandma knows it's time to try
And prove that they are still quite spry.

And so I thought that you ought to know
For those who want that rosy bloom
Don't go hiking in the mud and snow
Or they'll put you in a rubber room.

I wish I may I wish I might

How many of us have looked back and said, "If only I had known..."

Perhaps the secret of life is to live as if I do know.

Take the chance of looking foolish.

Be a bit maudlin once in a while.

Reach out knowing rejection isn't the worst thing in the world.  (Regrets are.)

The rules of the heart and the rules of the world don't always coincide, so err on the side of the heart.

Someone out there might be wishing on a star and you might hold the answer right there in your hand.

Lifesavers

The clouds hang like leaden shields between my house and the prospect of anything brighter.  Day and night become almost indistinguishable, because to open the drapes is less desirable than the bright artificial lights within.

Once, long ago, when I was six, there was a year like this.  I was in first grade and I remember sitting at the desk I had longed for.  All my short life my father had been at the U of I and I had been so eager to join him in academia.  I had high hopes for that year and they all sank slowly into a wall of windows being absorbed by the grayness outside.

We were not talking about Rosetta stones or imperial jewels.  We weren't even discussing alchemy.  Instead I was faced with counting reindeer heads in little squares and waiting to take a turn that never seemed to materialize in the Hansel and Gretal house the sixth graders kept in our room.

My world had turned into a never ending struggle to pull on snow-pants and recalcitrant rubber boots over the new shoes I had been so proud of, and an almost unendurable waiting.  Waiting to turn in my paper, waiting for my reading group to be called, waiting for the morning break and my turn to punch holes for straws in all the little milk bottles and then it happened.

One afternoon when I thought I never wanted to come to school again I was called to crank the old fashioned record player!  I remember how it took both hands to turn that black metal crank with the wooden handle and how I got to do it again and again as we learned the song, "There was an old woman who swallowed a fly.  I don't know why she swallowed a fly.  Perhaps she'll die."

It was a turning point.  I began laughing uncontrollably and had my name put in the Noisy box, a place of shame in the corner of the blackboard.  That stopped the laughing.  I was mortified, but somehow I didn't feel so deeply sad anymore.

I sang that song for my mother that night.  Unfortunately we were on our way to my great grandmother's funeral, but my mother was kind.  She told me it was a nice song, just not to sing it anymore.

I had discovered irony.  I didn't know it at the time, but it would be a life saver for the rest of my life.  Now I sit here with all the time in the world on my hands waiting for my turn with the big crank.

Rules

Our world is in love with rules.  They make people feel secure.

After all, if there are rules that means someone really knows!  Right?

Nope.  It means someone had enough gall to say they know, or believe they know.  At their best, rules are a guide line to the most common ways done by the most people.  Or they are simply an out and out attempt to make people do things a certain way for whatever reason.

It is necessary to have a lot of beliefs in order to follow rules.  One is that the maker of the rules had my best interests at heart.  Two is that there is hard evidence that these rules supersede all others in all ways.  Three is that there is a need for me to see that these rules make my world a better place in some way that I agree with and understand.

And lastly, the punishment for breaking the rules is such that I don't want to risk it.  I think this one is the only one a lot of people are concerned with.  Otherwise we would not have so many rules.

And that might be a very good thing.

Magic

There are no guarantees.

That's the thing about happiness.  You just can't save up for it, or bank on it, or buy it.

Everybody's sense of happiness is a little bit different and comes in a slightly different form, or way.

The only absolute common denominator is that it is always something felt.

Feelings are the closest thing to pure magic I know of.  They fly in out of nowhere and assault my world turning it right side up or upside down, so I try to make sure there is always room for happiness to get in.

A cracked cup, or broken phone, a financial disaster, or loss of a loved one can shed enough pieces to fill in the cracks with ease, but I keep sweeping out the extraneous material in the hope that my world will always be holey enough for joy.

Closer every day

I was born into a tight little world of family and familiar sights, sounds and feelings.

Little by little that world expanded into extended family and friends, neighborhood and city and I learned to talk on the telephone and watch a less familiar world on television.

Eventually I went to school, then high school and finally college.  I discovered calculators and  transistor radios, microwaves and boom boxes, CD players, cell phones, digital cameras, computers, smart phones....

And each new step took me, not farther from, but closer to the people and things that are nearest and dearest.

Some of the people in my great grandmother's generation left home in covered wagons and never saw their families again.  I am seldom farther away than a few flicks of my fingers no matter where I am.

Technology only separates us if I want it to. 

Christmas

Santa Claus arranged my Christmas so that it came in bits and pieces, stretching over several days and building like a crescendo to today.

So much love, so much creativity, so much joy...

It doesn't seem possible for one person to have so much and yet...here it is.

Blessings

Life is an adventure, a mystery that takes me from place to place in ways I will never understand and maybe don't even want to.

I drift along, lost in the beauty, the absolute wonder of it and realize if I wrote this no one would believe me.

The fairytale is real, the possibilities endless.  All the impediments seem to be man made, concepts that are limited by the beliefs and understanding of people with less imagination than the universe.

Looking at this world I realize the universe is a creation beyond belief and I am a creation who has been blessed and blessed and blessed.

The first day

Let's make this the first day.

A day when the sun comes up and the wind blows and the trees stand secure on their roots.

Let's forget all the stories...

Write new stories based on real love and tolerance. 

Let's yield to something greater than ego.

As a child I wanted to be special, to be unique, to be the best, but I am no longer a child and I don't need childish values anymore.

Let's clear away the overgrowth.

The garden is still here hidden under centuries of abuse.

Let's make this the first day.

It's the people

A week ago today I decided to make some special cookies that I haven't made in many years.  I creamed the butter and sugar and reached up to open the cabinet for a measuring cup.

As the door to the cupboard opened, the shelf collapsed and in one of those slow motion moments while I watched and tried, ineffectually, to catch one thing or another, all my good cups, several of my good glasses and one of my mixing bowls cascaded out of the cabinet and onto the counter top and floor!

Some of the pieces landed twenty feet away in the living room!  I picked up cup handles out of my recliner and pieces of china out of the Christmas tree!  It was a mess.  Looking down at the bowl of cookie dough I saw shards of porcelain and glass sticking out like shiny bits of candy, but probably worst of all was my new phone.  The front was shattered!

It's been kind of a rough week.  Turns out my phone cannot be repaired and it wasn't insured, but my landlord did offer me his old smart phone which I thought was very generous.  I made more cookies and while I didn't go to extremes to ice them, they tasted good.  It was comical when I offered my guests hot cocoa and told them I didn't want any.  They guessed that I didn't have enough cups, but I got a new mug for Christmas.

In the end, though, I realized that as big a mess as it was and as expensive as it was, in the grand scheme of things it was not so big after all.  I've had a lot of love from people this week and not one of them cared if I had a nice phone or enough cups or if those cups matched. 

It's not the stuff in life that matters.  It's the people. And as trite as that may sound it is the truth.

Little gifts

The universe gives me little gifts all the time.

Yesterday I rearranged my living room so that my computer is in front of the hot air register for the winter.  Today while I was sitting in my big chair, talking to a friend on the phone I saw a tiny little hand print on my fireplace!  That has to be my grandson's from earlier this year, but what a gift it is today!

It's like having a little piece of him still here.

It's the bits and pieces that make life not just bearable, but wonderful.

I talk on the phone, skype, email, and life goes on in ways it never could have when I was younger and we didn't have so many amenities.  Today I can have Christmas with a loved one.  We can share a cup of hot cocoa, open presents and look at my tree and still be five hundred miles apart!

Musty memories

Things shift and I am not sitting on top of the world, or at least that is my perception, so I ask myself what caused the shift.

The answer seems to be a lack of perfection.

Mine.

It is the age old problem come back to haunt me.  Anything less than perfection and my world feels like an uphill walk in back country America.  Not your Norman Rockwell world or nostalgic scenes with warm fires and tables set with austere beauty, but more like James Agee's Alabaman tenant farmers.

There is an impending sense of dinginess, as though it is about to creep up and overtake me if I close my eyes for just a moment. 

I remember this happening as early as my second Christmas when I sneaked out of bed at nap time and dressed myself in an elegant little blue nightgown with matching robe and white bunny fur slippers.  I was desperate to be pretty, but no one was impressed.  They were upset that I had gotten out of bed.

My foibles were never encouraged, yet they persisted. 

Some people fight for perfection.  I struggle to let go of that need.

The joy and the sadness

A little boy holds up his empty bowl.  "Please sir, may I have some more?"  It is breakfast time and there is a line of cold children queuing up.

Hungry children without socks on cold winter days. 

Children with holes in the soles of their shoes. 

Children whose last meal might have been yesterday's lunch.

Children who come to school one day and disappear without a word the next.  Children who suddenly reappear after weeks of being gone.

These are not tales out of a Dickensian novel.  They are straight out of one of the wealthiest cities in the Heartland.

A teacher keeps a box of "extra" shoes and socks sitting by her door.  There are a few hats and mittens in there too.  You can help yourself, or she might help you if you don't.

Late in the day there is a drawing and the winners get to take home a prize, a gift wrapped up in Christmas paper.  Supposedly this drawing is for children who donated something to the food baskets.  In reality it is, at least partially, a cover for children whose parents are too proud to accept charity.

But beginning to end, these children appear to be the same laughing, joyful children who simply accept what life hands out that you see anywhere.

The joy and the sadness stand next to each other every day.

Feelings

Feelings are independent critters. 

They come and go at will, seldom held back by short leashes, or hindered by common sense. 

Fed by some of the lowest causes and nurtured by weaknesses, they are still one of the most beautiful parts of a human being.

I may be ashamed of Jealousy, but she springs from a love that is monumental in size and she is only a tiny tendril on the edge of that love.

It's those tendrils that keep me grounded.  They remind me that in spite of all my goodness, I have plenty of not-so-good things that are just as much a part of me.

Good and bad, yen and yang, up and down, it's the tension in life that keeps things interesting  -- and balanced. 

Start altering feelings artificially and it's never quite the same.  A seesaw really balances on a fulcrum.  Pretending that fulcrum is some place else doesn't really change anything in the long run, because eventually you're gonna forget to put your feet down and the landing will be hard!

I think it's just better to tend to the critters as they wander over and rub against my legs.  At least then I know where they are.

How come

Once upon a time I did this and I did that and it drove somebody crazy!

In fact, much of  my life I've done things that even made me wonder.  How could I be so clumsy, or so naive, or weird?

How come other people go to the store and buy a cloth tape measure and I go to the tool box and pull out a Stanley to measure my knitting projects?  

Why is it making toast to you and an adventure in cooking for me?

There are probably a million reasons, but the really important thing is this:

I've finally found someone who finds those things endearing!

Tragedy

Yesterday afternoon I received an email to fly the flag at half-mast.  That was how I first heard about the tragedy in Connecticut.

It struck close to home because I volunteer in an elementary school and was discussing the school's security procedures with a secretary the day before.  Entering our school requires ringing a bell and waiting for the office to push a button to release the door.  It doesn't work very well and often takes several tries before I can get in.  The secretary said she sees no real point in it because they let everyone into the office who rings the bell.  Of course they wouldn't if he had a gun, but anyone wanting to kill people would most likely hide the gun until they were inside.

It makes me wonder how this man got into the school this morning?  I also wonder where he began shooting?  Did he pick a particular classroom?

As I drove home I wondered how his parents felt, how they would deal with being the parents of a monster who killed babies? Then I heard he shot his mother first.  Not in the back, or chest, but in the face.  That sounds like a confrontation with unsettling questions all on its own.

I wonder what went on in that house?

This doesn't sound like a kid bullied by classmates, or coworkers.  What went on in his mind that sent him out to shoot five year olds?

No amount of questioning will bring back the dead, but we need to give some serious thought to what preceded this tragedy, because I have a feeling it was even more tragedy, just a quieter, more acceptable sort.

No obstacle is too great

"Swim said the momma fishy, swim if you can....."

We swim around swishing our tails and blowing bubbles, rising up and sinking down and the ripples move out across the pond.

Our actions affect everyone else s. 

When I rise to the top some of my comrades think they have to swim in my shadow.  Others like the shade.

When I lay on the bottom feeding, others look at what I eat as a guide to what's good while some point at me and laugh derisively. 

Life is just a bunch of choices! 

Be my shade and my inspiration and we'll swim "right over the dam."

Sound track

Every so often some song sticks in my mind and becomes the sound track of the moment.

I remember back in my twenties, working at my first job in Bloomington, when it was, "Oh what a beautiful morning!"

Lately it has been "Let it snow!"  You saw the results just the other day when I wrote, "It is cold."

I don't know why this happens to me, but it isn't a bad phenomena.  Everything I do is backed up by my mind searching for words that express my current feelings.  This morning I found myself vacuuming and singing:

Oh my life is so delightful
the lessons so insightful
Today I'm feeling so cool
I'm going to school, going to school, going to school!

It's nice to be happy.  I don't mind being silly.

Back in the classroom again

I love five year olds!

Every Monday I volunteer with several classes in an elementary school IMC.  That stands for Instructional Media Center, or Library in old fashioned words.

The bi-lingual kindergarten is one of my favorites.  Five year old children are so cute.  They say exactly what they think or feel and they are still very eager to please, so it is the best of all worlds.

Now through Christmas I also have the chance to work with some other kindergarteners doing "math" every afternoon.  Five year old math is very complicated.  Yesterday we had to cut out gingerbread men and glue them to another sheet of paper in numerical order.  Then we had to write the number beside each square of these little cookie people and the problems were unbelievable.

Some children tried to actually cut out each little man, a physical impossibility, but one they undertook with intense concentration.  Others had trouble finding a crayon or pencil that would either write on glue soaked paper, or show up on the black construction paper.  A few simply had trouble holding the scissors!  My job was to just float around and try to head off problems before actually getting down to how to write an "8!"

Today was much simpler.  We played Christmas tree bingo.  The first two rounds I held up a number and they tried to find it on their tree.  The first one to fill up their tree won, but we continued to play until everyone's tree was covered in ornaments.  Then it got harder.  I did not show them the number so they had to know what it looked like.  Those teens are tricky!

Later this week we are baking real gingerbread cookies and eating them while we drink hot chocolate.  I work hard!

Honestly, though, the teacher really does work hard.  She has 28 students who are expected to add and subtract sums up to ten, read a hundred words, spell their names and know their colors, as well as all the other social skills necessary to fit into a classroom that comes with all day kindergarten.  Some of it is simple for children who have been to two years of preschool or have families who spend time with them doing these things at home, but many of these children do not fall into this category.

I don't know how they can expect one person to do all of this without aides and volunteers, but it makes my day to be the volunteer.

I am cold

Oh the weather outside is freezing
And I've found my coat's not pleasing
So I suck it up and try to be bold.
I am cold!  I am cold!  I am cold!

I find myself buttoning and zipping
Weighted down with clothes and tipping
I hate to turn into a scold, but...
I am cold!  I am cold!  I am cold!

When I finally walk to the park,
All the squirrels chatter and run
And the weather there is damp and dark
I find myself pining for sun!

My teeth commence to chattering
My face the wind is battering.
And even if your love I behold
I am cold!  I am cold!  I am cold!

Sweet spot

The minute waltz has nothing on the five minute thot!

I have reached that point in my life where things are so good and I am doing so many of the things I really love that time has sometimes become an issue!

What a wonderful problem to have.  In fact it really isn't a problem at all. 

I am noticing that as the quality of life improves so do my life skills, which makes me believe, even more, that it is all more about perspective than I wanted to believe for so many years.

If I am right I have found the sweet spot.

Creation

Once upon a time gifts were mostly homemade. Men whittled toys for young children, combs for their wives, or made the cradles that would rock their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.  Women knit new mittens and hats, made dolls and baked special treats for those they loved.  Each gift was lovingly hand crafted because there was no other choice. Baby clothes were passed from generation to generation, too precious to toss out when they had been hand stitched or crocheted or knitted.

It wasn't sentimentality as much as necessity.

I can't imagine having to make all my children's socks, clothes, or toys.  There wasn't time.  Yet, back in "the day" there must have been less time.   I made the bread for our family, but after a few years I had a bread machine I used.  I cooked from scratch, but my husband did not have to raise and butcher our meat and I could buy those noodles if I wanted to. My sister had a big garden.  I bought our produce.

I did knit the occasional scarf and I did make many of their clothes while they were younger because I couldn't find the kind I wanted, but I had a sewing machine.  I even made stuffed animals and playhouses that hung over card tables.  I made dolls, but they weren't the only dolls.  I made teacher's gifts of quilted houses that fit over tissue boxes or held scissors.  I macrame ed plant holders and wall hangings and crafted dream catchers and drums.  What had once been necessity became a luxury -- my hobbies.

I don't know how to engineer video games, or produce electronic toys, but I am finding there are some modern types of "crafts" that I can still get my fingers into and that is what I love about Christmas.  It is a time of year when I can indulge my need for creation.

Turning points

There is always a point where things change.  Change has been a huge part of my life for as long as I can remember.  A new sister, or brothers, new homes, new friends, new schools, new lessons, not much of life is truly static when I think about it.

I've learned that most of my fears come from the unknown, but that in the end most new things are a lot like the old things, or at least the important parts of them are, and that is because how things feel depends on how I look at them.

Still, there can be major changes and it's interesting to ponder where the turning point occurred.  I like life to progress honestly and openly, but there is usually an "aha" moment when all new things click into place.

What is it that triggers life-changing moments?  Usually not momentous things accompanied by John Williams sound tracks.  Somehow the really big things usually spring from almost obscure details, a few words in a book, a card, a seemingly inconsequential point in time.

Whether this is because these things would have happened no matter what, or whether those tiny moments were the magical keys that opened some door I couldn't see, I don't know.

There really are turning points in life and they can become the pivotal places for extraordinary change.

True Love

When I was a child I wanted to be in love.  I loved the picture of the prince kissing Snow White and awakening her.  Loving her before he ever really knew her.  I loved the idea of riding off to a beautiful mythical place where people were happy evermore.

I was fed tales of this or that family member who lived to a great age with their heart’s desire and I had vague memories of my own parents kissing and cuddling while I was still young enough to squeeze in between them.

As my parents grew less enchanted with one another I wanted this sort of bliss even more and I was getting to the age when it was encouraged by my culture to seek it. By the age of eighteen I found several people I thought might be prince charming and by twenty I was married.  In our culture that was a vow expected to last a lifetime.

A lifetime when these expectations were set was much shorter than a lifetime now; in fact it was probably half what it is now and marriage was as much for convenience and survival as it was love, maybe even more so.  But I was expected to make this decision at an age when I didn’t really know who I was, let alone what love was and live with it until “death us do part.”

We stuck it out for nearly thirty mostly unhappy years.  United only by this cultural expectation and the children we brought into our lives.  Now that I am three times the age I was when I was married I am much wiser.

Shangri-La exists, but not on some mystical mountain in Tibet, or a mythical castle in Forever More.   It exists within the boundaries of my own understanding and perception. 

I have met love now and it is so much more than I ever dreamed of at the impossibly young age I chose a lifetime companion.  Sometimes I wish I had known then what I know now, but then I think how truly fortunate I am.

Some people live and die without ever knowing true love, but I am not one of those!

One word

Lots of words can tell a story, or describe something so that you can see what I see.

One picture can do the same thing.

But what if I just write one word?

One word only opens a door.  It isn't specific.  It unlocks the thoughts of whoever reads it and allows their feelings and interpretations to flow out and fill in the blanks.  The less I write the more room you have to feel in your own creative and personal way.

One word is a poem...created by you,  in your head, using your thoughts and feelings and memories.

National treasures

Children are often treated like little bonsai trees.  Twisted and wired into shapes that conform to the world rather than being allowed to grow into the magnificent creations they are. 

Imagine a world where children are not thrown into daycare at the tender age of six weeks, or forced to fit into someone else s schedule.  They sleep when they are tired; eat when they are hungry; are held when they need comfort and fed morsels of knowledge when they are ready to receive them.

A world designed to bring out the best in each child is not necessarily a world that is best for the care giver, or anyone else and so it seldom takes precedence.

But when it does?

Oh the things that emerge!  Two year olds playing music; who already know their letters, shapes and colors; happy, giggling, active human beings oblivious to the stress and strain of their peers.  Little people who are so in touch with their feelings and so comfortable in their world that the only real thing they have to struggle with is their emotional growth.  And that too comes more easily for a child whose every waking moment is not one of conflict.

I suspect that if children were brought into this world and treated like the treasures they are, we might be amazed at the difference in the quality of everyone's life.

Hugging pillows

Rain patters against my window panes like cozy thoughts sifting down around me.

Nights like these make it easy to snuggle down in my bed, my hugging pillow close up against my back.  Not hugging me, or being hugged, just there, a place holder for soft dreams and warmth.

A gentle nudge that says you are loved and safe and the world is a pretty wonderful place to be.

I close my eyes, sigh quietly, and drift into the land of nod, into that place filled with stars where anything is possible and magical things happen all the time.

Here I find you waiting for me and even in my dreams I know you too are sleeping snuggled up against your pillow, your little teddy bear tucked under your chin, safe and warm and dreaming of me.

Heart felt evening

If I could describe my dream evening it would include live music and at this time of year that would be Christmas music.

All those old favorites from childhood like, "Up On The House Top," or perhaps later ones like, "Blue Christmas."  There might be a few new ones in between, realistic songs about real Christmases that tug at the heart.

And no evening of Christmas music would be complete without "Silent Night" sung from the heart and played on guitar.

End the evening with a little laughter and quiet conversation and a story read aloud, and it would be a night with pictures from the heart to last forever.

What are the terms

A hungry person thinks of everything in terms of food.  A sick one in terms of health.  A bored one in terms of excitement.

It seems the human race is geared for thinking in terms of what they don't have, or perhaps what they want.  Of course there is also Gertrude's law.  Gertrude was Hamlet's mother.

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks". Gertrude's Law states that if a person is overly passionate about condemning a certain lifestyle choice, they most likely engage in that lifestyle secretly." 

Or perhaps they would like to if they only had a little more courage. We are creatures who seem to thrive on conflict.  When it doesn't exist there are soap operas, movies, stories, even back yard gossip to create a bit more of it.  There is even denial.

And maybe that is understandable.  "Bad" people doing "bad" things offer us the opportunity to empathize with the one being "hurt," or perhaps even with the saints and heroes who deal with the bad ones.

An awful lot of bad things have been done in the name of good.

That bears thinking about.

No twisting necessary

It is not necessary to make up things in order to be happy; to live purposefully.

Simply do the loving things, the common sense things, the logical things and life goes on in miraculous ways.

When it becomes necessary to manipulate and twist things, that is a clue there is a problem.

The real miracle is that we exist.