Escaping

Imagine me with a small houseboat. I know we are in danger and need to leave the place we are at, so I gather my siblings and a few supplies and we set off down the river through the mountains.

All is well until we pass by the village and suddenly the river ends.

I am embarrassed, surprised and also shocked to realize that I really didn't know how we were going to do this. I only thought if we got on the boat and headed out, it would work, so now we have to turn around. You cannot cross dry land with a boat that big.

Back in our old place the water is filled with predator fish like sharks so disembarking has to be done very carefully. My teacher is there to meet us. He tells me I am late, but I can still take the exam. I sit down at my desk, but I don't have a clue what the answers are.

I get up and leave, but realize I left my purse in his classroom. When I go back to get it, he rummages through a pile of things along the back of the room and I leave wearing boots. They fit. They are the same color, but they obviously do not match. One has a rounded toe and the other a pointier one. I go back and try to show him that one of these boots is not like the other and they are not a real pair.

He doesn't see it and I have to reconcile myself to wearing mismatched boots. I think, I can do this. No big deal. We will just walk out of here. I start walking and pass a small fancy little shop where Aunt Lela is tatting lace and selling dresses decorated with it. I know you can't wear lace with mismatched boots, so I pass on by.

I make it through the town and am walking up a mountain path when I see a bunch of alpacas. I imagine them harnessed to the boat, pulling it through the narrow straits so we can escape, but then I remember I no longer have the boat.

There isn't any water here anyway. Let alone a strait that might lead us out.

And then I woke up worrying about those mismatched boots.

The elixir of life

I recently read about a study of 14,000 people that indicated people in their seventies who were overweight and drank both coffee and alcohol were the most likely to live into their nineties.

Old age can be a mindset.

After living a life of deprivation in order to be politically correct, religiously ethical, and puritanically like our forebears, many of our elderly are then shipped off to the abattoirs we euphemistically call nursing homes and hospitals.

People who have little or no say in any of life's little pleasures are unlikely to thrive.

I imagine most people who are still alive and a little overweight in their seventies are basically healthier than those who are already ill, so it makes sense they would live longer. Having the freedom to choose what they eat and drink is one of the pleasures that persists long after their ability to play football, or paint houses.

Being able to enjoy life, having the freedom to make your own choices, actually exercising free will, is the elixir of life.

Ancient artifacts

My life is like a museum now. Everywhere I look, everywhere I go, seems familiar.

There are the faces of my life, the songs of my life, the books, and letters and stories, all laid out on pedestals and upon walls, under glass and occasionally packed away deep down in the bottom of a trunk pushed up against a wall someplace.

I wander through admiring, breathing, trying to keep it all in perspective.

Occasionally though, one of the pedestals tips over and someone falls off. That's the danger with pedestals, they are more like leaning towers of Pisa than sturdy little three legged stools.

A stool may not be as elegant as a pedestal, but no matter how many times it is turned around the three legs keep it balanced. Once in a while it is necessary to just turn something around so I don't have to look at it.

I am slowly transferring everything off the pedestals as I grow older. It's safer and more sane that way.

It's Christmas and the world goes on

Does it matter who did it?

Does it really matter why?

Does it make a difference if it's the first time, or the millionth?

Are there enough excuses to excuse it?

If you could take the tiny body and lay it in the lap of the Christ what would he do? What would he say?

Matthew 25:40-45 King James Version
And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

If you don't believe in all that, imagine the body of your child, or your grandchild, make it personal, because whatever we do to anyone is personal.

Statistics are for excuses and politics and reasons never justify cruelty.

The hour I found Christmas

You can give someone a million Christmas presents, but to really give someone Christmas?

That is a gift beyond words.

Truly beyond words.

Bestest gives me music and once he gave me a keyboard so I could play my music.

But I could never play for him. My hands shook. My heart quaked. I was too afraid.

This year I was like Charlie Brown. I just couldn't find Christmas, but Bestest kept right on singing and playing until Christmas Eve.

When the spirit of Christmas finally rose inside of me and poured out of my fingers.

After eight years I could play for him.

All's well that looks well

The title of this blog speaks to much of our society today.

We are a people of social media concepts. If you think I'm smiling I am happy. If you think I look beautiful. I am beautiful. If you, if you, if you . .

And the truth lies in between the words.

Because magic starts inside of us.

If I think I am beautiful, then I am. To me. To the person it really matters to. And that will most likely make me smile and make me happy and then I will be all these things and more.

My happiness is up to me, not you. Although you could enhance the happiness for both of us if you do something kind for me out of the goodness of your heart.

And vice a versa.

Today

Music is my soul. Maybe it is everyone's. I don't know.

I do know that it picks me up and transports me to times long gone. Specific times.

I fills my heart with the same sorrow and joy of that time. It wrings the same tears from my eyes.

Perhaps the first year of a new decade is the hardest, or perhaps I am feeling my age, but this feels like one of the hardest and sweetest moments I have ever known.

Whatever comes later, I will never forget now.

My world

I am surrounded by fears and disappointment.

And so I surround myself with beautiful things.

Pictures of those I love.

Lovely rooms.

Even lovelier toys.

And an imagination that sometimes even stuns me.

I want good wine.

Good food.

Better desserts.

And a mind unafraid to contemplate all of creation.

These are the things that keep my feet on this earth

And the love that rains from a few.

Where are the simple joys

Be yourself they said.

But don't do this.

Or that.

Don't cry, or be nosy, or impolite, or too loud. Speak up. Sing out. Don't get in the way or bother anyone.

By the time I was finished and sent out into the world to meet my fate I had no idea who I was.

I tried polishing up the edges of that person in the mirror, but I was never really sure if I was becoming more me, or if I were just someone else's art work in progress.

I am coming up on twenty years of cohabitating with myself.

I pop up now and then on long lonely mornings, or walks around the park. I appear in the library like a ghost returning to its old haunting grounds. I even heard myself singing the other day as I played with my favorite things.

Not raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens, but dollhouses and wallpaper and typewritten stories..

I used to run to the telephone when my Daddy called and it was the highlight of my three year old day. Now I do the same thing, but it is  Bobby and Bestest.

No longer obsessed with finding the simple joys of maidenhood and all those adoring daring fables, I am beginning to look a lot like me!

Time

One of the sweetest things about knowing someone for a very long time is watching them grow.

People have to grow into their bodies and voices and find their own places in this world and as much as I might think I know where they will end up, I am often surprised.

Bestest has been a writer for as long as I've known him. He writes for a living. He has books that are sold with his name on them and they are wonderful books.

Yet, this year he has truly found his voice.

Now he writes with his soul as well as his head and the words touch other people in ways that could not happen if he hadn't finally found his place.

The night before

Twas the night before the apocalypse and all through our country
Not a creature was stirring
Not even old Grumpy
The charities were all stashed underneath his great chair
In hopes no one found them
But they were all there.

The aides they were hung by the scruff of their need
Contemplating the wisdom
Of following their greed.
With rattraps galore and Decon out too
Success had been tainted with lots of true rue.

The fireplace was roaring
The logs were in place
And the red of his hair
Hid the red of his face.

But I heard him exclaim as he leaped in the fire
I'm winning. I'm up, No need to inquire.
And the ashes that rose from the chimney with flare
Gave rise to the lies that he would not dare.

En pointe

I feel like a Christmas Tree, a Scotch pine balancing sideways on the point of a mountain.

Slightly off balance.

My roots cut off.

Every bit of wind leaves me quivering and quaking, literally shivering.

Like something bad is going to happen when I least expect it

Which is comforting, because I am expecting it any moment, so maybe it won't happen.

I imagine myself with lights and ornaments and maybe even tinsel

But it would blow off, or fall off, or be destroyed in some way up here

That's the point I suppose.

I am balanced. I'm not actually falling off

But I am not en pointe.

Healing

Fragile.

That is not a word anyone has ever used to describe me.

Even when I was born.

Even when I was a teenager and asked my father, he told me I looked healthy.

I thought I wanted to be petite, tiny, fragile.

But now that I am older I realize it's not all it's hyped up to be.

I realize that I was emotionally fragile. Nightmares, night terrors, depression, these things have been my constant companions since I was thirteen. Reasons abound, but what good are reasons?

My skin is fragile. The slightest bump can tear it apart, but the rest of me is strong now.

I am a fast healer.

When I was younger

I have two different groups of women that I get together with socially, but this is still a difficult time of the year.

When I was younger we always had the biggest house and a dining room, but no one in our family wanted to drive two hours to celebrate with us and see our decorations, so we always packed up the children and dog and went back home for holidays. That way we could all be together.

Up until about four years ago my sister and I were still very close, but then her children and grandchildren starting moving into her house and her life; and now her great grandchildren have joined in, so there is seldom any time for just the two of us to be together.

My daughter who has had no car and no real steady boy friend for a number of years used to spend Sunday afternoons with me.  Now she has a boyfriend and a sixteen year old step son-to-be that she spends all of her time with. The only time I see her is if she needs a ride somewhere.

One of my sons has decided that I am the devil incarnate and the cause of all his problems, (along with a laudable group of other people) so we no longer spend Thanksgiving together. His ex-wife, thank goodness, still lets me see my grandchildren, but they live in Seattle.

My other son and Bestest call me quite frequently and that is the best part of most of my days.

It's not that I am not busy. I volunteer, get together with friends, and workout at the gym, but those things don't replace having someone come into my home, admire the Christmas tree, play with the dollhouse, bake cookies, whatever.

Today

Today while volunteering in the children's library.

I shelved all the books even those that were scary.

The children were working on the computers in back

Writing little stories about old Santa's sack.

When I entered the room, my arms full of books

Renewed for the ones who needed second looks

My eyes they were wary. My feet they were fast.

I was being efficient, this class was my last.

But as I was leaving my arm hit the door

Jarring my brain on pain level four

I exited the room then  looked at the floor

Where blood drops were landing from an arm that was sore..

The nurse was efficient, she bandaged me up and filled out the forms . . .

Attacked by a door!

One gray and foggy day

Today the world was wrapped in gray fog.

Seeping in through the walls.

Muffling the cars.

Drowning me in isolation.

But as soon as the sun went down the lights inside seemed brighter.

My son called and then Bestest asked a question.

My imagination kicked into gear.

My hands got busy.

That is always when I am happiest.

Playing

Everyone knows that play means doing something we enjoy, or find amusing.

What I wonder is why we find something enjoyable, or amusing?

Obviously it is not the same thing for everyone.

Many people play video games and most of the ones I have found involve shooting something. I suppose the instinct for hunting might be in our genes as a survival need from the past, but does the joy come from developing a skill that could save our lives, or is it the satisfaction of doing something well?  Would we be just as happy playing a game where a bird swoops in to eat bugs, or arrows hit targets, or does it have to be a human killing something?

How can the horrors of war be converted into the joy of war? Why does a book entertain us with stories about evil, or treachery, or things that cause pain? What is it about soap operas that amuses people.

Why do we find pleasure in breaking the rules, or watching people commit crimes via games and movies, or books?

What is it in our psyches that finds the "shalt nots" so intriguing?

What is it that finds repetitive things like playing catch so compelling?

Playing or entertaining ourselves is a pretty complicated concept.

Grown-ups

A need for security makes children believe adults know everything. I couldn't wait to grow up and be one of those people.

Years passed. I grew older, but I didn't feel as if I were really an adult and that frightened me. What would happen when my Dad died? Who would I turn to for advice, or help? Who would be the grown-up in my life then?

I thought something must be wrong with me. I didn't feel grown-up. I was afraid to trust myself. I wanted someone who really knew.

Now, when I find someone who thinks he, or she, knows everything, that is a red flag.

There are lots of ways to grow up, but becoming static is not one of them.

I am most comfortable around people who appear to have a process for assessing the facts, for trying to see the whole picture, for making decisions based on as broad a base as possible.

That's the kind of grown-up who finds commonalities and peace in places others only find discord.

In my older eyes, these are the real grown-ups no matter how old they are.

A moment

The lotus sways in the light
Ephemeral moments
Highlighting in an instant
The glancing truth
Sliding through the pond
Making sunshine
Where none exists
Creating beauty
Where the mind falls.

The modern old person

Today I tried coloring my own hair and getting a realistic salon version of my color. I think it worked, but as my hair grows out that could change, so I'm not holding my breath.

I also set up my lights on Alexa, so all I have to say is, "Alex, turn on smart socket, or smart socket 2."  Now if I can only remember that my life will be so much simpler at bedtime, or in the middle of the night.

The unfortunate news is that it took me so long to do it, that I keep remembering all sorts of complicated names for it that don't work. Like Smart Life bedroom socket one!

Ugh! Sometimes I am my own worst enemy.

But I do learn and eventually I will not have to look that up every time I want light. Right now it might be simpler to turn them on by hand, but I will not capitulate.

Every time I have learned a new trick, like using the Garmin, or my iPhone, or a new computer, or camera, or all the Alexa possibilities, it is a challenge.

So far I have been up to the challenge, but I remember adults in the past who had trouble with stoplights and cell phones and even calculators. I keep wondering if there is a saturation point and if I will reach it.

Silent night

Sometimes I think I'd be better off not going to the doctor at all.

I spend more hours than I care to think about -- thinking about going to the doctor.

My shelf life is getting shorter every year. Mightn't it be better to just really enjoy the time left and stop worrying about what could be?

Of course comfort comes in there too, but how do I weigh worrying about what MIGHT be with dealing with what is.

I have high blood pressure.

If I lost enough weight I would not have that, then maybe I'd stop going to the doctor altogether and get on with living instead of contemplating dying.

Just thinking.

Smiling

It took me a long time to really understand love.

I love my children. I don't think I ever realized how much I could love someone until I had a child. I honestly would do anything that I thought was important for my children, but that is a selfish sort of love, in a way, because whatever I give my children I am really giving myself.

Then there is romantic love, but I think the idea of romantic love mixes everything up, especially when we are young. We are so inculcated by tales of romantic love that we forget that there are other kinds. But romantic love began in order to propagate families, to make little copies of ourselves and that is wonderful, but it is selfish too.

I am trying to describe those indiscernible feelings that are stronger than the strongest super hero, gentler than the mildest spring breeze, infinitely warm and sweet . . .  All encompassing. Incomprehensible. Better than food, or drink, or even maybe life itself. Something that must be experienced, because there are no real words for it,

Perhaps it happens all the time and we just don't recognize it, but I don't know how that could be because I know it and not recognizing it would be like not seeing the sun blinding me in the east as it rises, or not noticing it filling me with an indescribable warmth right out of the blue, or hearing it whisper to me and discovering that the merest thought of it makes me smile like I have been told the greatest secret there is.

Because.

I have.

Common

Why do people pick and choose the facts they choose to remember and observe and hold true?

There are probably as many reasons as there are people, but mostly because we like what we know. It feels comfortable to believe and do the same things we were first taught by people who loved and cared for us. It also feels comfortable not to rock the boat, so we go along with those nearby.

Cherry picking. Nit picking. Picking, picking, picking and choosing which words, or lines we like and ignoring the rest is pretty common.

It doesn't make it right. It just makes it convenient -- for the people trying to prove some incorrect point.

It is possible to prove just about anything -- to ourselves -- and to the uneducated.

Keeping people ignorant is not a trick, or a ploy. It is a legitimate way of controlling them.

Don't let that happen to you or those you love.

Interesting

Today my oldest grandson turned thirteen.

Yesterday my youngest grandson turned seven.

In June my youngest granddaughter will turn eight.

The next day my oldest granddaughter will turn twenty-five..

Then I have a little redheaded granddaughter who was born in August.

Funny how life goes.

From sea to shining sea

The Autumn ice storm that left me stranded in my apartment was no fun, but what a year this has been.

One of my friends and her pets had to stay inside because of unbreathable air due to the Camp Fire.

My cousins in Alaska just lived through an earthquake and fear of a tsunami.

My home town had a horrible tornado this week. Everyone survived, but the town is severely damaged.

The world is starting to look like the beginning of a terrible horror movie.

I wish I thought it was all coincidence.

All I want for Christmas

I have spent the past few days decorating for Christmas.

Earlier than usual, but it feels important to do what I am doing.

Today my back was killing me. I must have pulled a muscle when I tried to hold that door for all those people. Pride often goes before a sore back, but I was out looking for present shapes to wrap.

For the dollhouse of course. I needed very small things like wooden blocks and erasers, then I needed a paper with a small, or series of small, pictures, or patterns, and of course a few tiny bows.

I found four earrings that were perfect bows and a great paper and even six little prewrapped foil packages to fill in. Then I went home and wrapped my packages, put them under the tree, set out the gingerbread house, let the puppy into the living room, and allowed the baby to fall asleep on the couch.

After that I taped some moonlight outside the window so it could shine in and it was beautiful!