My power went out yesterday morning due to the snow and cold winds blowing in over the mountains and while it is fun to play in the snow and I love taking pictures of it, some of that paled beside the rest. No gas stoves here, no fireplace down here and no woodstove in my house, just electricity.
It is very cold here without any source of heat at all and the snow was so deep I decided to weather it out rather than trying to make it upstairs. Partly in the hope that it would be a short outage, which it was compared to the winter before last in Illinois where I was stranded behind downed power lines after an ice storm for five, or six, days. Can you believe I no longer remember which?
When my refrigerator started smelling a little off, I took the important things out in containers and stuck them down in the snow, but it froze solid overnight and today when the power came on, I had to chip it out! I dug out my oil lamp and at first it felt very romantic and rustic to be able to read by its light, but soon I began computer withdrawal.
I had one friend on the road and several others I was hoping to hear from, not that any of this really matters I suppose, I just don’t like being out of touch and my computer is truly my window to the world. I survived in spite of myself. I even did some writing by hand, the old way, but the computer deprivation kept stealing my thoughts away.
It finally got so cold I put an extra cover on the bed, added socks and another shirt and climbed under the covers where Chauncey’s doggie breath and my own warmed up my frozen hands and toes.
Then, at last, this afternoon, I heard what seemed like the roar of the refrigerator and it dawned on me, the power was on!
My priorities? First I turned on the heater. Then I booted up the computer while I made a cup of coffee and my own version of MacDonald’s sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich. Yeah, I know, having survived the storm I am now killing myself with food. Oh well, that’s me you know.
Now I’m writing my thots and all is well with my world.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Just Living
We just had the first snowball fight of the season, which was made much more exciting once the dogs were let out of the house and tried to catch all the snowballs in the air, crunching them into nothing before dashing off to catch others. We made a snowman in the Lennon’s image and then went inside to have hot chocolate topped with lots of whipped cream before making cut out Christmas cookies. It was a grand day all around.
Until I tried to come home this evening! In the middle of this season’s first snowstorm, I found myself stepping off the deck into snow so deep I had trouble taking the next step and when I finally reached my yard? I was barely able to push the gate open far enough to get in. Now, inside, I am enjoying the view out my window of Christmas lights down the mountain and huge snowflakes still drifting down all around me. As long as the electricity stays on, I am fine. If it goes off, so does all my heat! That would mean moving upstairs where there is a wood burning stove though, so all would still be well.
Pretty basic living, but that’s what it is out here.
Until I tried to come home this evening! In the middle of this season’s first snowstorm, I found myself stepping off the deck into snow so deep I had trouble taking the next step and when I finally reached my yard? I was barely able to push the gate open far enough to get in. Now, inside, I am enjoying the view out my window of Christmas lights down the mountain and huge snowflakes still drifting down all around me. As long as the electricity stays on, I am fine. If it goes off, so does all my heat! That would mean moving upstairs where there is a wood burning stove though, so all would still be well.
Pretty basic living, but that’s what it is out here.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Rumi’s Wedding Night
Tonight is Rumi’s wedding night. Rumi, a thirteenth century poet, died on this night in 1273, but it is not his death that drew me to him. His death set him free, his life captured me in the ecstatic poetry that poured out of him.
Coleman Barks translated this poetry that speaks to me like my own heart. I read it time and again, amazed that it was written so long ago by a Sufi poet and teacher. I understand the Divine Beloved, it is a concept most of us can understand even if we never find it, but if we find it? Then nothing is ever the same again.
The perfect man. The complete man. The Divine Beloved. A companion who leads us into an understanding that goes beyond comprehension. It is a way of relating to everything and seeing the order and the beauty that lurks in the darkest corners and explodes out of the brightest lights. It is best explained to me in this poem where I could put the name of my own Divine Beloved in place of Joseph.
Learn about your inner self from those who know such things,
But don’t repeat verbatim what they say.
Zuleikha let everything be the name of Joseph, from the celery seed
To aloe’s wood. She loved him so much she concealed his name
In many different phrases, the inner meanings
Known only to her. When she said, The wax is softening
Near the fire, she meant, My love is wanting me.
Or if she said, Look, the moon is up or The willow has new leaves
Or the branches are trembling, The coriander seeds
Have caught fire or The roses are opening
Or The king is in a good mood today or Isn’t that lucky?
Or The furniture needs dusting or
The water carrier is here or It’s almost daylight or
These vegetables are perfect or The bread needs more salt
Or The clouds seem to be moving against the wind
Or My head hurts, or My headache’s better,
Anything she praises, it’s Joseph’s touch she means,
Any complaint, it’s his being away.
When she’s hungry, it’s for him. Thirsty, his name is a sherbet.
Cold, he’s a fur. This is what the Friend can do
When one is in such love. Sensual people use the holy names
Often, but they don’t work for them.
The miracle Jesus did by being the name of God,
Zuleikha felt in the name of Joseph.
I understand this.
Coleman Barks translated this poetry that speaks to me like my own heart. I read it time and again, amazed that it was written so long ago by a Sufi poet and teacher. I understand the Divine Beloved, it is a concept most of us can understand even if we never find it, but if we find it? Then nothing is ever the same again.
The perfect man. The complete man. The Divine Beloved. A companion who leads us into an understanding that goes beyond comprehension. It is a way of relating to everything and seeing the order and the beauty that lurks in the darkest corners and explodes out of the brightest lights. It is best explained to me in this poem where I could put the name of my own Divine Beloved in place of Joseph.
Learn about your inner self from those who know such things,
But don’t repeat verbatim what they say.
Zuleikha let everything be the name of Joseph, from the celery seed
To aloe’s wood. She loved him so much she concealed his name
In many different phrases, the inner meanings
Known only to her. When she said, The wax is softening
Near the fire, she meant, My love is wanting me.
Or if she said, Look, the moon is up or The willow has new leaves
Or the branches are trembling, The coriander seeds
Have caught fire or The roses are opening
Or The king is in a good mood today or Isn’t that lucky?
Or The furniture needs dusting or
The water carrier is here or It’s almost daylight or
These vegetables are perfect or The bread needs more salt
Or The clouds seem to be moving against the wind
Or My head hurts, or My headache’s better,
Anything she praises, it’s Joseph’s touch she means,
Any complaint, it’s his being away.
When she’s hungry, it’s for him. Thirsty, his name is a sherbet.
Cold, he’s a fur. This is what the Friend can do
When one is in such love. Sensual people use the holy names
Often, but they don’t work for them.
The miracle Jesus did by being the name of God,
Zuleikha felt in the name of Joseph.
I understand this.
Where Is Christmas?
I have lots of thots tonight. For one thing I notice that in every My Thots that I email out lately, there seems to be one error that I don’t catch, no matter how many times I read it. Then, the moment it is gone, that little flaw pops up and glows like Rudolph’s nose. I guess that is just the way it is going to be.
I remember doing community theatre long ago and thinking how funny it was that we called each other, “father, or maid number one, or whatever our character was.” Once more I find myself referring to people under those funny assumed names that come along when the need to connect steps over boundaries that would normally separate us. Only now it is “G in Texas, or Bob in England, or Tundra Chile on Facebook.” People I’d like to know better.
Also I just watched one of the most beautiful films that I have ever seen. It is from India and called Jodhaa Akbar.
And last but not least is a conversation I had with Lennon today while we were baking oatmeal raison cookies.
“Gramma, where is Christmas?”
“What do you think Christmas is?”
“Christmas is not presents Gramma. It is love.”
“How do you know that?”
“Daddy says so.”
“What do you think love is?”
“I know all about love! It’s hugs and kisses!”
“So where do you think Christmas is?”
“At the North Pole!”
“Why do you think it’s at the North Pole?”
“I want to go there!”
“What would you do there?”
“About fifty miles an hour.”
I remember doing community theatre long ago and thinking how funny it was that we called each other, “father, or maid number one, or whatever our character was.” Once more I find myself referring to people under those funny assumed names that come along when the need to connect steps over boundaries that would normally separate us. Only now it is “G in Texas, or Bob in England, or Tundra Chile on Facebook.” People I’d like to know better.
Also I just watched one of the most beautiful films that I have ever seen. It is from India and called Jodhaa Akbar.
And last but not least is a conversation I had with Lennon today while we were baking oatmeal raison cookies.
“Gramma, where is Christmas?”
“What do you think Christmas is?”
“Christmas is not presents Gramma. It is love.”
“How do you know that?”
“Daddy says so.”
“What do you think love is?”
“I know all about love! It’s hugs and kisses!”
“So where do you think Christmas is?”
“At the North Pole!”
“Why do you think it’s at the North Pole?”
“I want to go there!”
“What would you do there?”
“About fifty miles an hour.”
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Finding The True Spirit
During a season where most people seem to be looking for the biggest deals, or the tallest tree, or most elaborate decorations, or even those celebrating Chanukah, or Christmas with great religious fervor; I am most touched by those who simply continue on, doing what they do all year long.
These are the people who continually reach out to those around them, offering support in thought, word and deed. People, not touched by the holiday spirit, but by the spirit of compassionate and loving living. People who help out others as naturally as they eat, sleep, or do any of the other million things that come up every day.
Amazing and beautiful people whose example is often lost in the hustle and bustle of people who feel they are busy doing the important things.
Nothing is more important than another human being.
These are the people who continually reach out to those around them, offering support in thought, word and deed. People, not touched by the holiday spirit, but by the spirit of compassionate and loving living. People who help out others as naturally as they eat, sleep, or do any of the other million things that come up every day.
Amazing and beautiful people whose example is often lost in the hustle and bustle of people who feel they are busy doing the important things.
Nothing is more important than another human being.
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Lesson
I just watched Frank Capra’s 1937 film, Lost Horizon. It is the third time I’ve seen it and this time the movie is flawed by lost footage backed only with the audio, still I hang on every word. The first time I saw it was when my Dad allowed me to stay up and watch it with him on a school night when I was eleven years old. One of those rare occasions that seemed special then, but priceless now. I wonder what was so important to him that he wanted me to see it with him that night? I see so much of Dad in Conway and I think how well he would have fit into that mythical place where the main directive for living was be kind.
I am finding myself settling in here after nearly 18 months. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself becoming the stereotypical grandmother, but I seem to be doing that. My hours with the Lennon become the main focal point of my days instead of my writing, and it seems to suit me. Be kind, that is how we live here.
I still don’t know many people locally, but my life is fleshing out bit by bit and I am feeling better than I have in a very long time. Partly the lifestyle, partly because of the friendships I can maintain through my computer, and partly because a friend’s gift freed up some money that went directly into healthcare. Be kind.
That theme comes up again and again. I see it in action, experience it personally, watch it vicariously. This lesson is easy and clear. Be kind.
I am finding myself settling in here after nearly 18 months. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself becoming the stereotypical grandmother, but I seem to be doing that. My hours with the Lennon become the main focal point of my days instead of my writing, and it seems to suit me. Be kind, that is how we live here.
I still don’t know many people locally, but my life is fleshing out bit by bit and I am feeling better than I have in a very long time. Partly the lifestyle, partly because of the friendships I can maintain through my computer, and partly because a friend’s gift freed up some money that went directly into healthcare. Be kind.
That theme comes up again and again. I see it in action, experience it personally, watch it vicariously. This lesson is easy and clear. Be kind.
Rising
Once upon a time, I dreamed of the perfect man, a writer, a musician, a leader whose every word fell on the avid ears of those who adored him. I thought if I could just meet him, my life would be complete. I not only met him, I became his girl friend for a while and discovered that it is harder to be with real people than with dreams. Still, he was a muse beyond imagining. One who still inspires me.
Generosity, brilliance, compassion, sensitivity, these are qualities I love. Wrap them up in sweetness and the inherent cuteness that goes along with it all and you have extraordinary human beings.
I have met several of these in my lifetime. People who become the spark that sets me on fire. People who open the door to my deepest creativity and force me to write.
Words become cathartic. I write because I must, or I will be eaten alive by the passions of my imagination. The steam rising into the ether is filled with hero worship and a knowledge that I must write the imperfections into the story even if I don‘t believe in them, because without them there is no story.
Muses! I don’t even know if you know who you are! Yet you are my reason to rise in the morning and write in the night and if I could give you a fraction of what you give me, you might begin to understand how I feel about you. You fill me so full that I must find a way to empty.
Generosity, brilliance, compassion, sensitivity, these are qualities I love. Wrap them up in sweetness and the inherent cuteness that goes along with it all and you have extraordinary human beings.
I have met several of these in my lifetime. People who become the spark that sets me on fire. People who open the door to my deepest creativity and force me to write.
Words become cathartic. I write because I must, or I will be eaten alive by the passions of my imagination. The steam rising into the ether is filled with hero worship and a knowledge that I must write the imperfections into the story even if I don‘t believe in them, because without them there is no story.
Muses! I don’t even know if you know who you are! Yet you are my reason to rise in the morning and write in the night and if I could give you a fraction of what you give me, you might begin to understand how I feel about you. You fill me so full that I must find a way to empty.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Be Sharp
People can be proud of the craziest things. It usually seems to manifest when something new comes along. Instead of jumping in there and learning more about it, there is a sort of inherent distrust that masquerades as arrogance, or false pride.
How many people have I heard boast about their ineptness when it comes to using a computer? Don’t they realize that people once did the same thing with calculators, telephones, even automobiles?
The world is going to move forward and anything that facilitates that is going to take root in our culture. Some of it won’t last, but some of it not only will last, it is actually good for the world.
Choosing to be stuck at a particular place in time doesn’t really mean you live more simply. It doesn’t mean you live more frugally, or that the world is a better place because you won’t move forward.
On the contrary, anything that cuts down on the trees we use, or the gas and oil we use is a good thing. Being able to contact a doctor faster that jumping on a horse and riding around the countryside looking for help, is a good thing. Using a simple email that needs no paper, or stamp, or gas to deliver it, is a good thing. Not only is it good for the earth, it makes it easier to keep in touch with friends and family. Digital pictures can be shared in an instant. Grandma no longer needs to wait weeks, or months, to see baby Jean.
Progress is no worse than you make it. You don’t have to answer your phone if you are eating dinner with your family, or visiting with a friend. Messages make it possible to do it at a more convenient time. A reasonable person uses technology for their own purposes.
Continuing to learn new things keeps your mind sharp and keeps you involved in the world. Why would anyone not want that?
How many people have I heard boast about their ineptness when it comes to using a computer? Don’t they realize that people once did the same thing with calculators, telephones, even automobiles?
The world is going to move forward and anything that facilitates that is going to take root in our culture. Some of it won’t last, but some of it not only will last, it is actually good for the world.
Choosing to be stuck at a particular place in time doesn’t really mean you live more simply. It doesn’t mean you live more frugally, or that the world is a better place because you won’t move forward.
On the contrary, anything that cuts down on the trees we use, or the gas and oil we use is a good thing. Being able to contact a doctor faster that jumping on a horse and riding around the countryside looking for help, is a good thing. Using a simple email that needs no paper, or stamp, or gas to deliver it, is a good thing. Not only is it good for the earth, it makes it easier to keep in touch with friends and family. Digital pictures can be shared in an instant. Grandma no longer needs to wait weeks, or months, to see baby Jean.
Progress is no worse than you make it. You don’t have to answer your phone if you are eating dinner with your family, or visiting with a friend. Messages make it possible to do it at a more convenient time. A reasonable person uses technology for their own purposes.
Continuing to learn new things keeps your mind sharp and keeps you involved in the world. Why would anyone not want that?
Saturday, December 12, 2009
My Very Late Thots
Once more I sit here in the wee small hours of the morning. Being a night owl is not something new to me, but tonight I am restless.
I went to bed, but it is cold and I couldn’t get to sleep, not even under a cozy pile of blankets and cuddled up next to one sweetly snoring dog, so here I am.
I played through all the Christmas Carols hoping to warm my fingers up on the piano, but ended up only warming my heart. Pictures of Christmas past spent rehearsing for the local theatre’s holiday productions fill my head and make me nostalgic. Finally leaving the piano, I move onto a blank screen, thinking it is past time to start writing, or maybe re-writing, but my mind wanders.
Sweet wanderings, imaginary adventures, but nothing I can use for real. Imaginations are awkward companions, eliciting feelings that have no place beyond this moment.
I am filled to the brim with love. Over flowing and beyond what I should be at this point in my life, but it is what it is and I guess I should just be grateful. I suppose I could be some dried up old crone, bitter and lonely, but that’s just not who I am. I can’t imagine that ever being me.
Passionate? Yes. Angry? Sometimes. But always alive and immersed in love!
I went to bed, but it is cold and I couldn’t get to sleep, not even under a cozy pile of blankets and cuddled up next to one sweetly snoring dog, so here I am.
I played through all the Christmas Carols hoping to warm my fingers up on the piano, but ended up only warming my heart. Pictures of Christmas past spent rehearsing for the local theatre’s holiday productions fill my head and make me nostalgic. Finally leaving the piano, I move onto a blank screen, thinking it is past time to start writing, or maybe re-writing, but my mind wanders.
Sweet wanderings, imaginary adventures, but nothing I can use for real. Imaginations are awkward companions, eliciting feelings that have no place beyond this moment.
I am filled to the brim with love. Over flowing and beyond what I should be at this point in my life, but it is what it is and I guess I should just be grateful. I suppose I could be some dried up old crone, bitter and lonely, but that’s just not who I am. I can’t imagine that ever being me.
Passionate? Yes. Angry? Sometimes. But always alive and immersed in love!
Friday, December 11, 2009
Dreams
Every infant‘s first breath is filled with his parent’s dreams. The swaddling clothes, wrapped tightly around flailing arms and legs, are woven with expectations that might once have been spread over as many as ten, or twelve children.
No longer fostered by wet nurses who hang their charges up in rows along the wall, today’s children still find themselves on foreign ground. The blacksmith’s son is tended to by the music teacher’s wife and the scribe’s child by a dairy maid. Is it any wonder that conflict arises?
Leaving home at the same tender age as Hansel and Gretel, our children don’t even have the benefit of the old stories. It never occurs to them to take along a piece of bread in order to find their way home. They simply wander off into the world, knowing that their parents are too busy to notice.
Over wrought, over worked, under educated in the most important subject they will ever deal with, parents stumble along hoping that nature will succeed wherever they fall short and by some stroke of luck, these tiny creatures they barely know will turn out to be race car drivers or doctors, lawyers or teachers. And the top few percent do, because they will succeed no matter what.
Unfortunately many children simply flounder on desperately trying to impress the ones who gave them life, trying to get their sea legs under them before they even see the harbor, and being eaten alive by the orcas who throw themselves upon the shore looking for unsuspecting pups. Promising new lives are ended before they even begin.
Tough love is not the same thing as neglect and power plays. Saving face and impressing the neighbors is not the same thing as success. Parenting is not a soap opera chocked full of emotional drama that can be turned off twenty three hours a day.
Slow, steady, consistent and kind, the rules for living must be put in place one at a time until they stick and each child is independent, successful and mature. The formula stays the same, but the data changes all the time.
Dreams, or nightmares? It really depends on the parents.
No longer fostered by wet nurses who hang their charges up in rows along the wall, today’s children still find themselves on foreign ground. The blacksmith’s son is tended to by the music teacher’s wife and the scribe’s child by a dairy maid. Is it any wonder that conflict arises?
Leaving home at the same tender age as Hansel and Gretel, our children don’t even have the benefit of the old stories. It never occurs to them to take along a piece of bread in order to find their way home. They simply wander off into the world, knowing that their parents are too busy to notice.
Over wrought, over worked, under educated in the most important subject they will ever deal with, parents stumble along hoping that nature will succeed wherever they fall short and by some stroke of luck, these tiny creatures they barely know will turn out to be race car drivers or doctors, lawyers or teachers. And the top few percent do, because they will succeed no matter what.
Unfortunately many children simply flounder on desperately trying to impress the ones who gave them life, trying to get their sea legs under them before they even see the harbor, and being eaten alive by the orcas who throw themselves upon the shore looking for unsuspecting pups. Promising new lives are ended before they even begin.
Tough love is not the same thing as neglect and power plays. Saving face and impressing the neighbors is not the same thing as success. Parenting is not a soap opera chocked full of emotional drama that can be turned off twenty three hours a day.
Slow, steady, consistent and kind, the rules for living must be put in place one at a time until they stick and each child is independent, successful and mature. The formula stays the same, but the data changes all the time.
Dreams, or nightmares? It really depends on the parents.
The Price
I am watching the Lennon tonight while his mother does open mike. It is really cold out so we opted not to go count the stars, but we did make ice cream this afternoon and now I am watching him eat it.
He eats every spoonful standing at the coffee table, too intent to even sit down and I sit here watching him with grandmotherly adoration. Then the tears come and I have to look away. I am remembering another young family I learned about today whose parents are so poor they often go hungry and their baby, who is nursing, is failing to thrive because of this.
That baby has grandparents too. They talked his parents out of putting him up for adoption because if you get a girl pregnant, according to them, you pay the price.
Adoption, the ultimate sacrifice, the most loving thing a parent can give a child he is not equipped to take care of. This is how we explained it to our adopted children. “Your parents knew they couldn’t take care of you and they loved you so much, they allowed us to love you too.”
Now that the grandparents have stopped the adoption they refuse to share any of what they have with their children who are doing everything humanly possible to make this work. The father was badly injured last year and still is not totally recovered, but he works at any and all jobs he can get. Unfortunately with his skills, he is often the first to be laid off. Now he not only must work when he feels too ill to get up, but he must watch his baby and wife suffer too. Who extracts this price from their own children and grandchildren?
Lennon looks up and smiles at me, ice cream dripping off his chin, "Gramma, are you crying?" I just shake my head and smile at him. Then I have to get up and go hug him.
He eats every spoonful standing at the coffee table, too intent to even sit down and I sit here watching him with grandmotherly adoration. Then the tears come and I have to look away. I am remembering another young family I learned about today whose parents are so poor they often go hungry and their baby, who is nursing, is failing to thrive because of this.
That baby has grandparents too. They talked his parents out of putting him up for adoption because if you get a girl pregnant, according to them, you pay the price.
Adoption, the ultimate sacrifice, the most loving thing a parent can give a child he is not equipped to take care of. This is how we explained it to our adopted children. “Your parents knew they couldn’t take care of you and they loved you so much, they allowed us to love you too.”
Now that the grandparents have stopped the adoption they refuse to share any of what they have with their children who are doing everything humanly possible to make this work. The father was badly injured last year and still is not totally recovered, but he works at any and all jobs he can get. Unfortunately with his skills, he is often the first to be laid off. Now he not only must work when he feels too ill to get up, but he must watch his baby and wife suffer too. Who extracts this price from their own children and grandchildren?
Lennon looks up and smiles at me, ice cream dripping off his chin, "Gramma, are you crying?" I just shake my head and smile at him. Then I have to get up and go hug him.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
One Long Picnic
Once upon a time, a young girl packed up a picnic basket and left the castle she was born in. She only intended to sneak away and go to school in the next castle over and that is exactly what she did for the first couple of years. Since school was considered a good thing in her kingdom, her father and mother did not put up a fuss. In fact they put up a great deal of money so she could continue on.
The money might not have been the best idea, because it freed the girl from having to join the ranks of pot scrubbers and boot blackers in the kitchen. She used that time to hob knob with the court jesters and poet laureates, even the local bard once in a while. The people she met were astounding. She might have stayed there forever, but one day an angel swooped down and carried her off to his kingdom. In order to preserve her good name she married him and spent the next thirty years trying to be happy in a castle called Heavenly bliss.
In his castle they allowed jesters and poets and other entertainers, but one was expected to keep her distance from them and the girl was not good at that. She put on the obligatory balls and spent hours with her ladies in waiting in chapel, but her heart kept walking the countryside with those kindred spirits she missed.
One day the angel brought home a new girl and the old one packed up a picnic basket and left the castle she had lived in for so long. She avoided mirrors and never sang in public, but bit by bit, she found that the people she liked enjoyed her almost as much as she did them. What a revelation that was!
In fact it was almost unbelievable. She forgot she was old and not perfect and began to just do the things she loved. She still could not look in mirrors, or sing in public, but she could tell great tales and because of her schooling, write them down.
Finally she had her own home where there were no jesters, or entertainers, just friends of the heart and she never packed another picnic basket the rest of her life.
The money might not have been the best idea, because it freed the girl from having to join the ranks of pot scrubbers and boot blackers in the kitchen. She used that time to hob knob with the court jesters and poet laureates, even the local bard once in a while. The people she met were astounding. She might have stayed there forever, but one day an angel swooped down and carried her off to his kingdom. In order to preserve her good name she married him and spent the next thirty years trying to be happy in a castle called Heavenly bliss.
In his castle they allowed jesters and poets and other entertainers, but one was expected to keep her distance from them and the girl was not good at that. She put on the obligatory balls and spent hours with her ladies in waiting in chapel, but her heart kept walking the countryside with those kindred spirits she missed.
One day the angel brought home a new girl and the old one packed up a picnic basket and left the castle she had lived in for so long. She avoided mirrors and never sang in public, but bit by bit, she found that the people she liked enjoyed her almost as much as she did them. What a revelation that was!
In fact it was almost unbelievable. She forgot she was old and not perfect and began to just do the things she loved. She still could not look in mirrors, or sing in public, but she could tell great tales and because of her schooling, write them down.
Finally she had her own home where there were no jesters, or entertainers, just friends of the heart and she never packed another picnic basket the rest of her life.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
A Good Egg
Christmas is coming and the Lennon is excited. He remembers last year, but this year is still a brand new experience for him. He carefully explains everything to me as if he thinks it is also a brand new one for me too.
And it is! Because I am seeing it through his eyes, and through the eyes of my child, seeing it through his child’s eyes. It doubles the wonder for me.
Looking at the world from his point of view is exciting and sweet and sometimes very difficult.
Yesterday he must have chewed one bite of scrambled eggs for nearly two hours! I told him he could spit them out, but that if he did there would be no candy. That was in the beginning. I would rue those words later on. He chewed and chewed. Could he go play on the computer? I told him not until his mouth was empty. Could he go lie down? I said not with eggs in your mouth. He drank some juice to help wash them down to no avail. He ate a bite of toast to help make them go down and that only added to the ordeal.
I finally asked him why he couldn’t swallow them (I remember one time when I discovered five raisons in his mouth hours and hours after I had given them to him and he loves raisons!) We discussed this problem at great length without any real solution. He finally told me he had swallowed some of the eggs and now the bite in his mouth was only medium sized.
Eventually I said, “Please just go spit the eggs out.”
His answer? “I am not spitting them out and I am not swallowing them.”
He wasn’t trying to be difficult, at least not any more and I was wishing I had never put that bite of eggs on his plate. He tried another drink of juice and I heard this exultant little voice from the kitchen, “Gramma! I have something to tell you! The eggs are gone!” He’d finally swallowed it!
We celebrated with two pieces of candy! He was not angry, or sulky, just glad those eggs were gone. And so was I! Who can think children are bad at this age?
And it is! Because I am seeing it through his eyes, and through the eyes of my child, seeing it through his child’s eyes. It doubles the wonder for me.
Looking at the world from his point of view is exciting and sweet and sometimes very difficult.
Yesterday he must have chewed one bite of scrambled eggs for nearly two hours! I told him he could spit them out, but that if he did there would be no candy. That was in the beginning. I would rue those words later on. He chewed and chewed. Could he go play on the computer? I told him not until his mouth was empty. Could he go lie down? I said not with eggs in your mouth. He drank some juice to help wash them down to no avail. He ate a bite of toast to help make them go down and that only added to the ordeal.
I finally asked him why he couldn’t swallow them (I remember one time when I discovered five raisons in his mouth hours and hours after I had given them to him and he loves raisons!) We discussed this problem at great length without any real solution. He finally told me he had swallowed some of the eggs and now the bite in his mouth was only medium sized.
Eventually I said, “Please just go spit the eggs out.”
His answer? “I am not spitting them out and I am not swallowing them.”
He wasn’t trying to be difficult, at least not any more and I was wishing I had never put that bite of eggs on his plate. He tried another drink of juice and I heard this exultant little voice from the kitchen, “Gramma! I have something to tell you! The eggs are gone!” He’d finally swallowed it!
We celebrated with two pieces of candy! He was not angry, or sulky, just glad those eggs were gone. And so was I! Who can think children are bad at this age?
Honesty
I am the dream, the biology, and the reality, all mixed up together.
The stories come into my head. I write them down and they change the next day, but the dreams are the same until they are shattered. Then like eggs filled with new life they grow again.
And underneath it all is the force that carries these thoughts and hopes, fears and dreams, my life force. This body with its own challenges and needs, it’s own drives to carry on in ways as ancient as time, shoulders the burden of living as best it can.
I am a whole being. I’ve always been one and I am pretty sure I will continue on this way until the day I die. I am wiser than I was at twenty five, but not really all that different in most ways. My heart still soars and breaks. Only the shell becomes thinner, weaker, opening, I suppose, the way for learning new things every day.
As a child I needed the protection of something heavier and stronger, but now, as the rest of me becomes stronger, I can afford to be less on the outside, because there is so much more on the inside.
The stories come into my head. I write them down and they change the next day, but the dreams are the same until they are shattered. Then like eggs filled with new life they grow again.
And underneath it all is the force that carries these thoughts and hopes, fears and dreams, my life force. This body with its own challenges and needs, it’s own drives to carry on in ways as ancient as time, shoulders the burden of living as best it can.
I am a whole being. I’ve always been one and I am pretty sure I will continue on this way until the day I die. I am wiser than I was at twenty five, but not really all that different in most ways. My heart still soars and breaks. Only the shell becomes thinner, weaker, opening, I suppose, the way for learning new things every day.
As a child I needed the protection of something heavier and stronger, but now, as the rest of me becomes stronger, I can afford to be less on the outside, because there is so much more on the inside.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
My Friend
If everyone reached out as far as he does, there would be no wars, no poverty and no hunger, of spirit, or body. The world would be one of compassion, love and those random acts of kindness that keep people slightly off kilter and in line.
How does one grow a man like this? Intelligent, kind, creative, reasonable? Do we give the credit to his mother, or someone else? Surely he did not get here alone and yet, knowing what I do, I find that quite possible. Whatever the formula, we need to discover it before one more child grows up without it.
Perhaps it was a series of helping hands along the way, each one adding just a bit more to a man who is already generous beyond understanding. He seems to give back to this world with an abandon that would leave most of us fearing for ourselves.
I am hard put to find any fault in him at all. Yet, I know it is there because he is so very exquisitely human. Both his tears and his rants adding to the perfection of his humanity, making him one of the most approachable people I have ever met.
I call him my friend, but the reality of that leaves me in an almost constant state of wonder.
How does one grow a man like this? Intelligent, kind, creative, reasonable? Do we give the credit to his mother, or someone else? Surely he did not get here alone and yet, knowing what I do, I find that quite possible. Whatever the formula, we need to discover it before one more child grows up without it.
Perhaps it was a series of helping hands along the way, each one adding just a bit more to a man who is already generous beyond understanding. He seems to give back to this world with an abandon that would leave most of us fearing for ourselves.
I am hard put to find any fault in him at all. Yet, I know it is there because he is so very exquisitely human. Both his tears and his rants adding to the perfection of his humanity, making him one of the most approachable people I have ever met.
I call him my friend, but the reality of that leaves me in an almost constant state of wonder.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
A Call To Smiles
Absolutely perfect day! First of all a call from someone we’ve all been waiting to hear from. If nothing else had happened, I’d still be smiling.
But something else did happen. We had the Lennon’s birthday party and it was so much fun. Little boys from ages two to five are the best party goers anyone could ask for.
The Lennon Band got together for their first jam session, with Lennon on drums, Indio on small guitar, Swanee on tambourine and the Martin backpacker and Will dancing with great abandon as the Dads joined in too! The paparazzi went wild! Everyone was nearly blinded by the flashes of cameras coming from all corners of the room!
We ate calzones, chicken Alfredo, and ziti. had cake and ice cream, opened presents and finished up by decorating little gingerbread houses. Well, most of us decorated. Will ate his way through his.
Like I said, a perfect day!
But something else did happen. We had the Lennon’s birthday party and it was so much fun. Little boys from ages two to five are the best party goers anyone could ask for.
The Lennon Band got together for their first jam session, with Lennon on drums, Indio on small guitar, Swanee on tambourine and the Martin backpacker and Will dancing with great abandon as the Dads joined in too! The paparazzi went wild! Everyone was nearly blinded by the flashes of cameras coming from all corners of the room!
We ate calzones, chicken Alfredo, and ziti. had cake and ice cream, opened presents and finished up by decorating little gingerbread houses. Well, most of us decorated. Will ate his way through his.
Like I said, a perfect day!
Friday, December 4, 2009
The Wrath Of Khan
I took my first run in a long time chasing Chauncey from the Groomer’s front yard, down a busy boulevard, across the park and onto the trail this morning. I might still be chasing him if some kind woman had not stopped the little beggar and caught him for me! He has no conscience at all. He would stop every so often and grin at me while wagging his tail and cocking his head as if to say, aren’t I just too cute? I alternated between firm commands and embarrassing pleading.
At home he responds to commands pretty consistently (in a Shih-Tzu sort of way.) Out in the world he evidently thinks they no longer matter. It’s funny how scared I can be one moment and how angry the next. Never again will we go anywhere without a collar on.
I have never had a child who did not respond to my super quiet threatening command voice after the age of two, even my teenagers sensed that the wrath of Khan was about to descend upon them at that point. I’m not sure what they thought I was going to do, but no one ever pushed me far enough to call my bluff. Chauncey could have cared less.
I am not generally a slow learner, but it might have cost him his life today.
At home he responds to commands pretty consistently (in a Shih-Tzu sort of way.) Out in the world he evidently thinks they no longer matter. It’s funny how scared I can be one moment and how angry the next. Never again will we go anywhere without a collar on.
I have never had a child who did not respond to my super quiet threatening command voice after the age of two, even my teenagers sensed that the wrath of Khan was about to descend upon them at that point. I’m not sure what they thought I was going to do, but no one ever pushed me far enough to call my bluff. Chauncey could have cared less.
I am not generally a slow learner, but it might have cost him his life today.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Remember
Once in a rare while two people meet who should not have met, good people who appear to have nothing in common, but who find a kindred spirit out of place and time.
In the space of that anomaly, there is a brightening of everything that is and ever was and both of them realize it must be preserved.
Yet it is an anomaly and so far out of step with the rest of the universe that to share it with them would be a tragedy of misunderstandings, tarnishing perfection for no good reason at all.
So an agreement is reached to preserve what is and that agreement cannot be broken by either one, no matter what, even if it is a one sided agreement. It is right and good and important to them both.
Only when a person, whose incredible heart reaches out to both of them, comes along, does this agreement become difficult to maintain. It is important to remember his unfailing generosity and goodness. He deserves to be remembered with the same compassion and love that he extended.
ET phone home.
In the space of that anomaly, there is a brightening of everything that is and ever was and both of them realize it must be preserved.
Yet it is an anomaly and so far out of step with the rest of the universe that to share it with them would be a tragedy of misunderstandings, tarnishing perfection for no good reason at all.
So an agreement is reached to preserve what is and that agreement cannot be broken by either one, no matter what, even if it is a one sided agreement. It is right and good and important to them both.
Only when a person, whose incredible heart reaches out to both of them, comes along, does this agreement become difficult to maintain. It is important to remember his unfailing generosity and goodness. He deserves to be remembered with the same compassion and love that he extended.
ET phone home.
Hold Fast
My thots tonight are caught up in the wild sounds of highland music and the deep, sometimes dark passions that rise out of the rugged mountains and cold winds that make up that forbidding country.
In contrast to the unforgiving nature of the land, the people found their lives like that of the fires in their huge hearths. Lusty, loud, and loving on the outside, roaring through one tragedy after another, unable to yield even the tiniest amount if they were to survive. Soft and sentimental on the inside, so warm and in love and loving that their great hearts broke even as their claymores slashed down with frenzied fierceness upon those who would destroy them.
The women bore one child after another while defending their homes and fields, weaving their plaids and never knowing which man, or son would not come home next. They were a hardy lot, hiding their tears in their work, appearing much sterner than they felt.
And after Culloden, many came to this new world where my distant ancestors, related to Thomas Boyd who died shortly after 1469, but was described by his wife, Princess Mary of Scotland, as “the most courteous, gentlest, wisest, kindest, most bounteous knight and fairest archer, devoutest, most perfect and truest to his lady.“ were drawn by the Highlands of the Carolinas and settled their proud bodies and brave hearts into the city of Charleston.
Just a piece of me, but a piece I am proud to own. Good people with more honor than wealth.
In contrast to the unforgiving nature of the land, the people found their lives like that of the fires in their huge hearths. Lusty, loud, and loving on the outside, roaring through one tragedy after another, unable to yield even the tiniest amount if they were to survive. Soft and sentimental on the inside, so warm and in love and loving that their great hearts broke even as their claymores slashed down with frenzied fierceness upon those who would destroy them.
The women bore one child after another while defending their homes and fields, weaving their plaids and never knowing which man, or son would not come home next. They were a hardy lot, hiding their tears in their work, appearing much sterner than they felt.
And after Culloden, many came to this new world where my distant ancestors, related to Thomas Boyd who died shortly after 1469, but was described by his wife, Princess Mary of Scotland, as “the most courteous, gentlest, wisest, kindest, most bounteous knight and fairest archer, devoutest, most perfect and truest to his lady.“ were drawn by the Highlands of the Carolinas and settled their proud bodies and brave hearts into the city of Charleston.
Just a piece of me, but a piece I am proud to own. Good people with more honor than wealth.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Small Gifts
The smallest moments in my life are some of the richest. I say it doesn’t take much to make me happy and yet, that tiny bit is sometimes more unexpected and extraordinary than almost anyone else could ever understand.
Not knowing is the hardest thing in the world. One adjusts to it, because there are no choices, but when that changes….
Precious moments are meant to be savored and sometimes shared, but promises must be honored too. Otherwise the gift of a moment might truly end forever. I don’t think I could bear that.
Tonight I am just grateful…and joyful…and more content than anyone can imagine.
Not knowing is the hardest thing in the world. One adjusts to it, because there are no choices, but when that changes….
Precious moments are meant to be savored and sometimes shared, but promises must be honored too. Otherwise the gift of a moment might truly end forever. I don’t think I could bear that.
Tonight I am just grateful…and joyful…and more content than anyone can imagine.
Contentment
A young father sits holding his son in his arms. Bone weary, tired beyond imagining, he would not trade this moment for anything else in the world. This baby, this beautiful boy, whose clear eyes stare back at him, makes all of this worthwhile.
The baby clings to his father’s finger, comforted by the strength of the arms cuddling him, lulled by the familiar tones that read to him, talk to him, sing in short little bursts. This is his world, his security, all that he knows.
The father has given up much for this child. He has left the valley where he was born, traveled thousands of miles so that his son’s mother might have a roof over her head and food in her belly. He has left behind the familiar landscapes of his own childhood and the faces too, all in order that he might find work and keep his promise to his own son.
The baby’s eyes close and he nods off, tiny face smiling, sweet little body snuggling against the great heart he is so familiar with.
The father’s eyes close too, his young face smiling quietly as he promises, one more time, never to leave this tiny creature he loves more than life itself. He is content. This is all he ever wanted and he will preserve it at any cost.
And so it is that the young mother comes in a few moments later to see them both sound asleep and gently snoring in a rough old chair on a cold December night.
The baby clings to his father’s finger, comforted by the strength of the arms cuddling him, lulled by the familiar tones that read to him, talk to him, sing in short little bursts. This is his world, his security, all that he knows.
The father has given up much for this child. He has left the valley where he was born, traveled thousands of miles so that his son’s mother might have a roof over her head and food in her belly. He has left behind the familiar landscapes of his own childhood and the faces too, all in order that he might find work and keep his promise to his own son.
The baby’s eyes close and he nods off, tiny face smiling, sweet little body snuggling against the great heart he is so familiar with.
The father’s eyes close too, his young face smiling quietly as he promises, one more time, never to leave this tiny creature he loves more than life itself. He is content. This is all he ever wanted and he will preserve it at any cost.
And so it is that the young mother comes in a few moments later to see them both sound asleep and gently snoring in a rough old chair on a cold December night.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Too Much Of A Good Thing
I can’t honestly say that I feel great, but I am feeling much better than I have in a long time and I have an energy that has been absent for even longer.
For the first time in years, I got out an old picture album to check something out and actually enjoyed going through it! I am making gingerbread houses for the Lennon’s party. I made them for my classes every year, but haven’t done so since. The children can decorate them at the party.
Also, the Lennon and I are making gingerbread cookies tomorrow. I wonder if he will like the taste? I know he will love making them. He’s been making them out of moon sand and play dough for over a year.
I wrapped his present, my way of course. No bought party paper, but lots of imagination and his favorite colors, then hid it away until his party on Saturday. His parents are spending his real birthday with him alone. They both took the day off work to be with him. I think he is one little boy who will grow up knowing he is much loved and valued in this world.
After seeing so many boys in their late teens wandering through this world almost abandoned by the parents who surely loved them too, I want to be extra sure he is never one of those. It is absolutely impossible to love anyone too much. It can be done wrong, but there is never too much of a good thing.
So, tomorrow morning I go shopping and then we spend the rest of the day playing while Mommy performs at the Orange Peel. I can’t wait.
For the first time in years, I got out an old picture album to check something out and actually enjoyed going through it! I am making gingerbread houses for the Lennon’s party. I made them for my classes every year, but haven’t done so since. The children can decorate them at the party.
Also, the Lennon and I are making gingerbread cookies tomorrow. I wonder if he will like the taste? I know he will love making them. He’s been making them out of moon sand and play dough for over a year.
I wrapped his present, my way of course. No bought party paper, but lots of imagination and his favorite colors, then hid it away until his party on Saturday. His parents are spending his real birthday with him alone. They both took the day off work to be with him. I think he is one little boy who will grow up knowing he is much loved and valued in this world.
After seeing so many boys in their late teens wandering through this world almost abandoned by the parents who surely loved them too, I want to be extra sure he is never one of those. It is absolutely impossible to love anyone too much. It can be done wrong, but there is never too much of a good thing.
So, tomorrow morning I go shopping and then we spend the rest of the day playing while Mommy performs at the Orange Peel. I can’t wait.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Reaching Out
When someone I care about is hurting, I have an almost unbearable desire to jump in and try to save them from whatever it is, or might be. Experience, though, has taught me not to do it.
There are times when no action is the only right one.
Mourning is one of those times when it takes as long as it takes. Hearts cannot be rushed no matter what. All of our parts must come together to build the bridge across the emptiness of a space that once held someone we loved.
Transitions are another. They come along, appearing as log jams, when they are simply opportunities for a new awareness to step up and take over. No one else can do it for us. In fact, any attempt to do so only lengthens the process.
The formulas remain the same. Even if we don’t know what they are, or were, eventually, they will realign themselves and all will be well.
I’m here. Don’t think I’m not. Sometimes love comes disguised as space.
There are times when no action is the only right one.
Mourning is one of those times when it takes as long as it takes. Hearts cannot be rushed no matter what. All of our parts must come together to build the bridge across the emptiness of a space that once held someone we loved.
Transitions are another. They come along, appearing as log jams, when they are simply opportunities for a new awareness to step up and take over. No one else can do it for us. In fact, any attempt to do so only lengthens the process.
The formulas remain the same. Even if we don’t know what they are, or were, eventually, they will realign themselves and all will be well.
I’m here. Don’t think I’m not. Sometimes love comes disguised as space.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The Ultimate Gift
Life is so short. Wasting a moment of it seems like a shame.
As this holiday season descends upon the shoppers of our country it puts an unnecessary burden upon many of those already bowed down by unemployment, bills and illness.
I have lived a long time. My children are grown, independent, employed and successful enough for me. But there are a lot of children still coming up. Children bombarded by an world that makes empty promises about buying happiness with an electronic game, or super doll, or new dvd. Promises that are bound to fall through, creating only disappointment and disgust and distrust in the long run. You simply cannot buy real happiness.
It can’t be done. If anything, buying things only adds weight to the problems most of us already have. And children are smart. They know when they tire of a toy. You may fool yourself, but you can’t fool them for too long. Children know when something is missing in their lives even when they don’t know what it is. That is one of the reasons they beg us to play with them.
This year, why not try something new? Instead of capitulating to the American scheme of buy, buy, buy, try something more substantial, something that will last a long time, maybe even a lifetime.
Give your children traditions and the gift of yourselves along with whatever toys you feel are absolutely necessary. Show them that happiness is a personal thing, something that comes from within each one of us. You cannot give them happiness, you can only hope that by finding it for yourself, you can point them towards finding their own.
It is a lot harder, takes a lot more work, a little chutzpah, a commitment to yourself, your family and their future, but what could be more important than that?
As this holiday season descends upon the shoppers of our country it puts an unnecessary burden upon many of those already bowed down by unemployment, bills and illness.
I have lived a long time. My children are grown, independent, employed and successful enough for me. But there are a lot of children still coming up. Children bombarded by an world that makes empty promises about buying happiness with an electronic game, or super doll, or new dvd. Promises that are bound to fall through, creating only disappointment and disgust and distrust in the long run. You simply cannot buy real happiness.
It can’t be done. If anything, buying things only adds weight to the problems most of us already have. And children are smart. They know when they tire of a toy. You may fool yourself, but you can’t fool them for too long. Children know when something is missing in their lives even when they don’t know what it is. That is one of the reasons they beg us to play with them.
This year, why not try something new? Instead of capitulating to the American scheme of buy, buy, buy, try something more substantial, something that will last a long time, maybe even a lifetime.
Give your children traditions and the gift of yourselves along with whatever toys you feel are absolutely necessary. Show them that happiness is a personal thing, something that comes from within each one of us. You cannot give them happiness, you can only hope that by finding it for yourself, you can point them towards finding their own.
It is a lot harder, takes a lot more work, a little chutzpah, a commitment to yourself, your family and their future, but what could be more important than that?
Friday, November 27, 2009
Being Me
Everyone draws strength from something, or someone. I am no different. I have always loved the idea that life can be whole and independent, yet compact and snug in ways that most modern situations do not really allow.
As a young child I imagined myself with a full sized mechanical elephant. Big enough to hold my entire family on top, it would have room inside to carry our bags of rice and flour so that we could live anywhere. I would make him move with levers that worked his legs from the top. As a child being that high up seemed very safe and secure.
Later I lived, for a short time, in the country miles and miles from the nearest town, simply to experience the aloneness and now I choose to live with the barest of necessities because it feels right. I have been experimenting by putting my bed in the living room so that I am only heating that part of my house to see what it is like to live in a cabin. Of course I have huge windows overlooking the most beautiful country around, but it is fun to play at this.
Now tonight a friend writes that he actually lived this way for several years long ago and that fills my imagination with so much food for thought. He too had a piano, an important part of who I am. Even if I go months without touching it, the fact that it is here is important to me. My piano has been my comforter, counselor and best friend more times than I can remember. Now it is battered from being moved so many times during the past five years, but it still plays and it still satisfies a deep and primal part of me.
It’s good to know where my strengths lie and how to access them. It is even better to know that there are good and kind people out there still wanting and willing to talk to me just because I am me. I think that is important for anyone.
As a young child I imagined myself with a full sized mechanical elephant. Big enough to hold my entire family on top, it would have room inside to carry our bags of rice and flour so that we could live anywhere. I would make him move with levers that worked his legs from the top. As a child being that high up seemed very safe and secure.
Later I lived, for a short time, in the country miles and miles from the nearest town, simply to experience the aloneness and now I choose to live with the barest of necessities because it feels right. I have been experimenting by putting my bed in the living room so that I am only heating that part of my house to see what it is like to live in a cabin. Of course I have huge windows overlooking the most beautiful country around, but it is fun to play at this.
Now tonight a friend writes that he actually lived this way for several years long ago and that fills my imagination with so much food for thought. He too had a piano, an important part of who I am. Even if I go months without touching it, the fact that it is here is important to me. My piano has been my comforter, counselor and best friend more times than I can remember. Now it is battered from being moved so many times during the past five years, but it still plays and it still satisfies a deep and primal part of me.
It’s good to know where my strengths lie and how to access them. It is even better to know that there are good and kind people out there still wanting and willing to talk to me just because I am me. I think that is important for anyone.
Mountain Musings
Morning dawns, bright and sunny, here in the mountains and I rise from my bed wondering how Thanksgiving dinner went?
I remember an old priest who once said it is a sin not to feast on a feast day. Funny how many folks are eager to suffer with joy, but not celebrate the same way. It is a rather dark way of being. A left over from our Puritan underpinnings I suppose.
First thing I did yesterday was go to the local grocery store and buy a turkey pan for my son’s family. It seems the sacrificial bird would not fit in anything we had. I was surprised how many others were already at the store, but it was a good day to buy foil turkey pans.
Returning I realized my stomach was making growling sounds and just assumed it was hungry, but a few hours later discovered that I had the Lennon’s flu. So, I spent the rest of the day and night trying to get warm under a pile of blankets, dreaming odd dreams of swimming pools whose currents were trying to pull me out to sea and of a hunt for souvenirs that took me to Maui markets with their brightly colored cloths and carved statues.
Finally, about six this morning, I woke up with water running down my face from my hair, thinking that I desperately needed to get out of the water. Now I sit here, drinking a cup of tea, feeling like I’ve been on the rack for the past eighteen hours instead of in bed.
I remember an old priest who once said it is a sin not to feast on a feast day. Funny how many folks are eager to suffer with joy, but not celebrate the same way. It is a rather dark way of being. A left over from our Puritan underpinnings I suppose.
First thing I did yesterday was go to the local grocery store and buy a turkey pan for my son’s family. It seems the sacrificial bird would not fit in anything we had. I was surprised how many others were already at the store, but it was a good day to buy foil turkey pans.
Returning I realized my stomach was making growling sounds and just assumed it was hungry, but a few hours later discovered that I had the Lennon’s flu. So, I spent the rest of the day and night trying to get warm under a pile of blankets, dreaming odd dreams of swimming pools whose currents were trying to pull me out to sea and of a hunt for souvenirs that took me to Maui markets with their brightly colored cloths and carved statues.
Finally, about six this morning, I woke up with water running down my face from my hair, thinking that I desperately needed to get out of the water. Now I sit here, drinking a cup of tea, feeling like I’ve been on the rack for the past eighteen hours instead of in bed.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
First Get Paid, then do no harm
Imagine a doctor looking at a three year old with a one hundred three degree temperature and refusing to treat him because his mother could not find her current insurance card and she did not have enough money in her checking account to pay up front.
It happened in Asheville, NC tonight and they didn’t bat an eye.
Just a reminder that no one is safe from the rampant greed that is creeping across this country, revealing the true face of one of the richest countries in the world.
It happened in Asheville, NC tonight and they didn’t bat an eye.
Just a reminder that no one is safe from the rampant greed that is creeping across this country, revealing the true face of one of the richest countries in the world.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Birth Days
It took me so many years to become a mother that I began to think it would never happen. Now I am a grandmother and I can’t begin to tell you where the years have gone to.
On Mother’s day, four years ago, I received a Fed Ex package on my doorstep. Opening it up I found a note that said, “We couldn’t afford to buy you anything for Mother’s Day, so we thought we’d send you a little something homemade!” A sonogram was attached to it and that was my first look at Lennon.
Now, as I celebrate my birthday, along with Lennon and Chauncey, I am so excited to announce that my other son, the one in Denver, and his wife are expecting a baby in June.
My oldest grand children, Brooke and Tiffany are in high school and junior high now. How can that be possible?
I adore my children and I’m not ashamed to say so. The years I spent rearing them were some of the hardest and very best of my life. I take parenting very seriously and feel it is the greatest adventure a human being could ever have.
You receive this tiny little creature who is totally dependent on you and are given the opportunity to bring it up to maximize its potential in every way possible. Child rearing is the finest art on earth and the rewards never end.
I have only to think the name of one of my children and my heart overflows.
On Mother’s day, four years ago, I received a Fed Ex package on my doorstep. Opening it up I found a note that said, “We couldn’t afford to buy you anything for Mother’s Day, so we thought we’d send you a little something homemade!” A sonogram was attached to it and that was my first look at Lennon.
Now, as I celebrate my birthday, along with Lennon and Chauncey, I am so excited to announce that my other son, the one in Denver, and his wife are expecting a baby in June.
My oldest grand children, Brooke and Tiffany are in high school and junior high now. How can that be possible?
I adore my children and I’m not ashamed to say so. The years I spent rearing them were some of the hardest and very best of my life. I take parenting very seriously and feel it is the greatest adventure a human being could ever have.
You receive this tiny little creature who is totally dependent on you and are given the opportunity to bring it up to maximize its potential in every way possible. Child rearing is the finest art on earth and the rewards never end.
I have only to think the name of one of my children and my heart overflows.
Growing
Me.
This is where it all starts. For me, at least. For you, it starts with you, but not for me.
Everything I do, think, feel, act upon, or dream, all comes through this thing called me, whatever that all is.
I try to keep it simple, but I’m not really a simple creature at all. I am a collection of experiences held together by a body that is increasingly unreliable and I find that frustrating.
My mind and my feelings are as sharp and tender as they ever were, more so perhaps, but the rest no longer represents who I feel I am. It is like false advertising to walk around in this casing no matter how much I dress it up and deck it out. But I’m stuck with it, that is becoming increasingly obvious.
My first impulse is to hide away and only let out the parts of me that I like, but that is turning out to be a bit restrictive. First of all, there is an awful lot of me to hide away anymore. I’m twice the woman I used to be and that is no joke. I need to just embrace the fact that I am who I am. Slinking around trying to camouflage it just isn’t my style.
I have a birthday coming up tomorrow, November 25th. It is a big one for me, the first one I have ever dreaded, but I realize I could live another forty years. That is a long time if I can’t come to terms with both my age and my body.
In reality, my life is good. In fact, it is very very good. I have had the chance to experience things many people never do and I have a number of awesome people in my life, people I respect and love very much. So I suppose I need to just keep going forward, assuming the rest of my life will be the same. After all, it’s not like I’m a super model, or anything. Nothing in my life really relies on me looking good. It is more important that I feel good.
It is said that discomfort and inconvenience promote growth. Some of us have more opportunities than others. Please let me take advantage of the ones I have.
This is where it all starts. For me, at least. For you, it starts with you, but not for me.
Everything I do, think, feel, act upon, or dream, all comes through this thing called me, whatever that all is.
I try to keep it simple, but I’m not really a simple creature at all. I am a collection of experiences held together by a body that is increasingly unreliable and I find that frustrating.
My mind and my feelings are as sharp and tender as they ever were, more so perhaps, but the rest no longer represents who I feel I am. It is like false advertising to walk around in this casing no matter how much I dress it up and deck it out. But I’m stuck with it, that is becoming increasingly obvious.
My first impulse is to hide away and only let out the parts of me that I like, but that is turning out to be a bit restrictive. First of all, there is an awful lot of me to hide away anymore. I’m twice the woman I used to be and that is no joke. I need to just embrace the fact that I am who I am. Slinking around trying to camouflage it just isn’t my style.
I have a birthday coming up tomorrow, November 25th. It is a big one for me, the first one I have ever dreaded, but I realize I could live another forty years. That is a long time if I can’t come to terms with both my age and my body.
In reality, my life is good. In fact, it is very very good. I have had the chance to experience things many people never do and I have a number of awesome people in my life, people I respect and love very much. So I suppose I need to just keep going forward, assuming the rest of my life will be the same. After all, it’s not like I’m a super model, or anything. Nothing in my life really relies on me looking good. It is more important that I feel good.
It is said that discomfort and inconvenience promote growth. Some of us have more opportunities than others. Please let me take advantage of the ones I have.
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Thread of Our Friendship
Deep inside of me is a thread of thought that goes all the way from my side of the world, to yours. Fragile and invisible as it is, it is a place where I can be myself without any shimmering images to cover up my flaws.
Our name for it is friendship, but I think that this word, like the word, love, can be a very loose interpretation of something very precious.
It may seem as if our connection was damaged when that proverbial egg rolled out of the nest, but I think that is actually when I realized exactly how much I really value it.
Now the thread needs time to stop vibrating, time to settle down, so that I can become comfortable holding my end again.
I just hope you’ll hang on until I do.
Our name for it is friendship, but I think that this word, like the word, love, can be a very loose interpretation of something very precious.
It may seem as if our connection was damaged when that proverbial egg rolled out of the nest, but I think that is actually when I realized exactly how much I really value it.
Now the thread needs time to stop vibrating, time to settle down, so that I can become comfortable holding my end again.
I just hope you’ll hang on until I do.
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