Tuesday, March 31, 2009

What am I supposed to be doing?

Throughout the ages, people have asked themselves, why? Why am I here? What is expected of me? Different societies and religions have answered this question in different ways. The most basic humans probably had a different viewpoint on what was expected of them then the rest of us. Of course that is if you believe that there was such a thing as a basic human... naturally though there have been differnent viewpoints throughout history.

Think of the serfs, those poor laborers throughout all time. Who lived in grass huts, lived simple lives. Did they wander about dazed sometimes as I do, wondering what they should be doing each day? Obviously they had to work, they planted their gardens and lived their lives for the most part according to the seasons.

Then the nobles, I guess nobles (people with money) have always had a sense of entitlement about what they have in their lives. They have better things then surfs and that's just the way things are.

Think about the nomadic tent dwellers throughout history. What do they think about life? Can I go live with the nomadic tent dwellers of Mongolia? What would they think of me anyway? This white girl, who dosen't know anything about anything.

There are so many cultural differences out there. Woman in some arab societies are not allowed to reveal any part of their bodies to men, men choose who they will marry... I just finished a book called "The End of Manners," by an Italian lady, though I can't remember the name because I sent the book back to the library. Wait, it's Francesca Marciano. She details the struggle a journalistic photographer, Maria Galante, has while travelling with another lady journalist, Imo Glass, through Afganistan. (I think she's giving us a hint to the characters, attitudes through their last name). They are doing a story on women who try to kill themselves because they don't want to marry someone they are being set up with... naturally they have a hard time getting any pictures of these women.

One of the interesting points that gets made in the story is the difference in viewpoint between westerners and "arabs." Hopefully I will get the sense right in relating this... they encounter a remote tribe of arabs and in trying to speak with the women find that they are allowed little access, only in the school. They almost take a picture of some of the women, despite the mens forbidding it. Maria thinks though of the remote chance that the picture could be recognized by one of the woman's relatives, thus getting them in trouble. (Whipped, beat etc...)So she doesn't take the picture.

What is interesting though is the exchange between one of the men of the tribe and women journalists. He say's that in their society women are held sacred and are repected with age... where as Western women are obsessed with staying young and are considered less valuable with age... How western women torture their bodies, have surgery, breast implants... all in the name of youth.

It kind of made me think... Yes we judge them becuase their women are not allowed to vote and are kept in strict order. Yet we are some times more barbarious in our treatment of women (well we don't beat women right? Hmmm actually some people do, I know to many battered women). Near the end of the story, Marciano puts Maria in a difficult situation. She is stranded in Afghanistan and ends up in the hands of some throughouly "Western" men who treat her with disrespect... and she actually feels to some degree a kinship with the Arab women because she gets treated in much the same way... Interesting, food for thought.

I am reflecting upon this because of my past and partially my current situation. Heck I have felt powerless as a women, stuck in my situation, can't really expound on that. Yet what is hard for me right now is defining what is expected of me.

I was gearing up to go to work... yet I am still a mother, I would have had to go into mother survival mode (my own mom is still in it). I wouldn't have had time to develop my writing talents and might not have even thought about doing it.

Then I wonder, how much time I should devote to writing? Is it a worthwhile thing to be doing?

Right now, coming off of a horrific year where I was questioning everything and nothing was settled, I am still trying to define what I am supposed to be doing each day. I know that I need to care for the kids, but I am not sure if I need to bake all of our bread and make every meal... breakfast, lunch, dinner etc. (I hate what they feed them at school, but I am not prepared to send them food from home, they don't like feeling different. Chalk up another plus to homeschooling kids). Please be better a better year... don't ever let what happened last year happen again...

How clean should our house be? How much do I need to make the kids do around the house? I have finally gotten out of whatever funk I was in where I wasn't able to laugh with the kids and play with them... thankfully.

So now... don't know if I will ever get a job... Sam's going to school to become a personal trainer, it's going to be a tough year but it will be good for him to do this... if I do get to stay home with the kids I will really, really be grateful for it.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

For My Grandma C

Grandma, I am told that I look like you. For a long time I couldn't see it, my mom's features are so strong in my face, but as I have grown I can see your imprint upon my features as well.

I'm sorry that I couldn't accept you when I was four. I didn't understand why you were there and not Grandma D., they didn't tell me that she had been killed by a drunk the day after my fourth birthday.

You tried to replace the blankie that Grandma D. gave me, since I had lost it. To my young mind I thought you were trying to replace her as well. Thank you for trying so hard, I still have the two yellow blankies that you bought me though the silky edge is missing.

I still remember riding up in the elevator at ZCMI's to pick out one of them and riding down the escalator on the way back. I remember many trips to ZCMI's with you, and the way I made you explain to me the difference between elevators and escalators each time we went.

You took care of me Grandma, you made me tuna sandwiches with potato chips and occasionally gave me Yoplait yogurt, the expensive kind of yogurt. My favorite was Pina Collada.

You always broke the butterscotch candies with the back of a knife, I suppose you did it so we wouldn't choke. To me it became a habit, butterscotch candies taste better that way.

You understood little kids, you always had tubs, saved from the margarine, for us to go out to catch bugs with. You painted my finger nails, explaining to me that I should push back my cuticles to make my finger nails grow faster.

We played Bingo and pickup sticks.You always had me make the Bingo game, I guess it was good practice. Plus you had me make Cowboy's and Indian's, for Thanksgiving, from tracings out of a book. I found that book after you died, but I don't know what happened to it now.

I also remember walking down to the bakery on the corner and buying raisin cookies and sugar cookies with you. You were always trying to get me to eat the raisin ones but they made me sick. Plus you always had tick tacs in your pockets and bought me pink peppermints.

I still remember the rhyme you sang when giving us Tic Tacs "open your mouth and close your eyes and I will give you a big surprise." Then you would ask for a kiss, for you and for Grandpa. It always made me mad that I had to give grumpy ol' Grandpa a kiss too.

You took care of Jonathan a lot, to give my parents a break. Plus you used to watch Kelsey after school, though I think it got harder for both of you as you got weaker.

On the way to our family Reunion every year you would have us count cows, horses and we niggled you into sheep as well. Why? Because we got a dime for each of them, if we spotted it first.

Thus travelling the hour ride out to Opher wasn't as bad as it could have been, in fact we looked forward to it. Bumping around in the motor home sitting at the table because there were only two seats up front.

You always made the french toast at the reunion and even up there you always managed to look dignified and lady like.

I didn't notice that you were getting older. Every year you brought us to the Lady's club fashion show. We dressed up and got door prizes. It was always so much fun to have my own little bottle of perfume, Channel No. 5, just like you wore.

Then one year we didn't go. Mom explained to me that you were too tired. I asked if we would go next year, she told me that we might. But we didn't go the next year, I was disappointed, but I had gotten older as well and was busy with my cousins anyway.

You were changing, getting more worried about money, getting weaker. I didn't see you everyday so I didn't know. At my Sixteenth Birthday party you gave me a little necklace, it was a little gold A. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that and I was disappointed, a little ungracious as well.

You really pulled through for me though when I got married, you bought the invitations, bouquet, the cake and payed for the catering. Too bad I was such a childish little girl because I wasn't nearly as grateful as I should have been. Perhaps I still expected that a kiss on the cheek and a thank you would suffice.

Then not many years afterward your health started to decline. Though you still brought by cookies for the kids, Grandpa drove. I don't know why you did it? Ate so much sugar when you always told us you were diabetic.

I remember that your feet hurt. You would lay in your room with your feet on a pillow and the ceiling fan on. Your hair was still perfectly coiffed by the stylist every week.

Then the trips to the stylist started to lessen. You lay on the couch often watching the shopping network, though you didn't buy anything. When I came to help out and clean you would have me sit with you for a while. I didn't mind, though it made me sad.

As you got sicker you started to have me sing for you. I sang the most beautiful hymns that I could think of as I rocked in the sturdy wooden rocker in the living room. That is until my voice gave out and I got too sad, then I would have to go home.

Dad had me come up and make breakfast for you and Grandpa quite a bit. Cream of wheat with five salt shaker shakes into it, with milk and sugar. Plus dad prescribed grape juice for you, for the antioxidants. I would give you this with your morning pills and you would squeeze my hand and tell me "bless your heart."

I remember the first year that you were in the hospital. It was over Thanksgiving and Christmas time, your favorite time of year. I recorded the kids telling you about their lives, and I brought you a CD of Christmas music "The Little Drummer Boy," was your favorite.

You got out in the spring, but went back again the next year. Then you were out again, all the time becoming less and less like yourself.

Dad asked me to help give you a bath, I thought I could do it. But to see you like that, frail and with all of the scars on your back, it was too much. I wish I could have returned the favor for all the baths that you gave me and all of the lotion rubs that you gave me afterwards.

Then as Fall came you were back in the hospital again, this time was different, you had been slowly fading away for a while now. As though you had tired of trying without all of the things that had made up your life before, lady's club and service, dressing up and socializing. I guess it just didn't seem worth it anymore.

I remember that night. I went in to take a bath and while I was sitting there I had the strongest impression to go and see you. So I finished and dried my hair, put on my nice clothes and went on over to the hospital.

You were laying there, amongst tubes and wires, looking so unlike yourself, your hair lay flat against your head. When I came up to the bed you opened your eyes, blue as ever, and looked at me with recognition.

Suddenly you tried to speak, to tell me you loved me? I don't know. But your heart started racing, the monitor started beeping and I didn't want to get you worked up. So I stroked your forehead and hair. I told you that it was OK, that I loved you, then you closed your eyes and went to sleep again.

Dad called me the next morning, I knew that he would. They had called him very early that day and he had gone over there to be with you as you passed away. I was prepared, but I was also shocked at the news.

Your funeral was a bit of a blur, I remember seeing you all laid out, hair done and make-up applied, technically done like you would have. Yet there was a certain "plasticness" about you. The most overpowering feeling that I had was that it was not you. I was a bit angry about it actually.

I had felt that you wanted us to sing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," at the funeral. The impression came and wouldn't leave, plus the song kept repeating in my mind over and over again. To my surprise my parents had the same feeling and had already put it on your funeral program. I didn't know it but it had been your favorite hymn.

It was hard for me to cry, I don't know why. But I did afterwards, when I drove up into the mountains, alone in the car.

Afterwards, and I guess at the funeral too, I felt your presence near mine. It was as if you were trying to get me to do something. Mostly I felt that you were worried about Grandpa, didn't want him to drink and you wanted my Uncle Mo. to read the scriptures... maybe that was just me, worrying about them. It felt like you though, it felt like your voice and heart speaking to mine.

Now when I look in the mirror, I can see your imprint upon my features, and I am glad. You were a true lady, a patriot, and a champion of good. My Grandma C.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Homage to Yard Work

I've had a beautiful day, out digging a border around the garden...

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh digging as the sun is shining. Digging though my hand hurts, the endorphins soon take care of that.

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, che, che, che in the dirt to break up a clod and mix in scraps from the kitchen. The smell of citus permeates the air from the orange peels being broken by the shovel.

Move the square board back that I am digging into the ground for a border. Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, shoosh as the dirt piles cascade towards the hole that I am creating, gravity's draw never ceasing to work.

I hear my daughter, gathering rocks and see her out of the corner of my eye. Gathering them into a marvelous pile, right in the middle of the garden, I'll chase her out later.

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, I put the board into place and back fill it with the loose clay, when I tamp it down, it's not going to move again. Wryly I think of my dad and helping him with the border around the garden at our old home. Perfectionist, it took forever, with his strings and level.

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, back to work again as the neighbors arrive with their kids who they shoo to their back yard to play, next to ours at the right. Suddenly the chirups of the birds cease and the amusing sound of little boy's discussing, teasing, and playing takes over.

A couple of them stare at me as I am digging and filling. Then they run off and I hear one of them repeating "Will you marry me?" to no one in particular. While the others shout a frustrated "gah!" Aparently he say's that a lot and I think wryly at how well he will be prepared to ask the question when his time comes around.

"I am Spiderman!" says the middle one. The older one decides to answer the random marriage proposals "Nope, yeah, OK, no way!!, where are the flowers?"

I continue with my digging, while Roxie excitedly points out the stray kitties next door. "Kitty!! Kitty!!" She points then chases them, under the rusty old abandoned Jeep near the edge of the other neighbors property.

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, whoops!! My boards look a bit wobbly, perhaps dad with his string wasn't so off after all. So I go back a bit and kick at the boards, trying to get them to move into place, except I hurt my toe so I quit it and ply them up again with the shovel.

Roxie kicks off her shoes and walks though the loose dirt, too bad I need my shoes to dig with the shovel.

I spy the board that caused all the trouble and wiggle it into its hole straighter than before. Then hold it in place with my foot as I back fill the dirt and stomp on it a bit to make it stay.

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, nearly done, then I notice that the last board has a few screws sticking out of the end, it will have to wait for another day. I gather up my tools, then go search for Roxie, up on the rickety wooden stair case of the neighbors.

I glance appreciatively at Johns secluded back yard, what does he do anyway? He's not home much. I know at one point he was a landlord. He has random toilet replacement parts (I gleanned this bit when he was talking about being a land lord). There are bales of hay stacked in his carport, trays for the stray cats (a very motley bunch of cats if I may say so), a little rabbit hutch, a canoe, a bar high up that is good for pull-ups (thinks back to her twirling and hanging on pull-up bar days), tall grasses, assorted trees, actually a backyard straight out of paradise...

I think of the fence that I would like to put up to block off the right side of the yard. There is a parking lot there, then a little fence coming towards our house.
It encloses the little yard to the right but it dosen't block off the openness, not enough privacy. I could hide in the wildness of the abandoned yard next door for a long time.

Of course, fences, take time to put up - they are so much work... well, if I had a fence I could plant a bush. A bush!! Too much work. Sigh, I digress. (What about the chainlink? Nope too much work!! Well I will tackle that later and plant a bush.)

After all of that digging I came in to find my kittens sitting in the window, paying homage to the outdoors, I don't blame them I feel bad really but they haven't had their shots and Stripes isn't neutered yet.

So I drink a glass of water, it tastes so good. Meow at my cat, who is rubbing my leg. Then I go up stairs to lay down as my body releases endorphins, a thanks for the work, and I relax down into my pillows, now soft, not lumpy at all (for the moment)...

Fun Writing Stuff...

Well guy's I guess you have noticed... I like to write. ;p

I think that sometimes it's hard to know what to say about stuff, like my piece on my Grandpa and Little Sis. Those pieces are enjoyable to write because I can bring to mind my love for them and share them with others. It's a sort of history for my family. I also did a piece on my brother Jonathan who can be hard to explain and hard to understand. He is a piece of pure beautiful soul. He can get annoying sometimes, he asks the strangest questions. Like "Do you think Satan can repent?" Um, I don't think so Jonathan... Plus Jonathan doesn't understand what a sin really is so he is always repenting for... forgeting to bring his water bottle with him... or slamming the door too loudly, normal human stuff, poor guy.

I will try to write a little more newsy stuff, cause it's easier to relate to sometimes. But I do like writing little word paintings and memories as well. Thank you all for your thoughts and comments.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Illness Strikes (Though not too serious)

It had hit suddenly, like a bolt from the sky, though it was not without warning because your sister has been languishing from some form of this illness as well.

But the suddenness of it, you were one moment chasing the kitties and the next laying hot on my lap, willing me to make it all better. I have held you though I too have been dizzy. My cool hands have been pressing gently against your face, your forehead, willing a bit of comfort and relief from the heat, into your fevered brow.

You have lain against my breast as I bathed your head with a cool cloth and now my darling my own shirt is wet and uncomfortably warm. I feel a bit grubby and a bit irrational as you wake yet again crying "mommy, mommy."

How can I ignore the plea, even though my own rest has been dazed and wakeful. I realise that I am thirsty and carry you with me downstairs, stumbling over the blankets and toys, to get you some medicine and a drink of water that you half heartedly sip.

I drink a full glass, quickly, then stumble past the sleeping kids on the couch who are downstairs where the monster furnace can't touch them with its irrational heat. I try to readjust the furnace with you slipping, a dead weight against me, then go back upstairs to lay uncomfortably on the lumpy pillows.

I lay with you lying hotly at my side. I lay in a half waking discomfort and finally feel your tense little body relax under a deep sleep. So I shimmy out of the cramped position that I have been laying in and find that I cannot sleep.

I recalled another time, another baby girl. Once so small and I so young.

I had paced with her too in the cramped room of my parents home, dizzy and feverish then as well. I kept walking back and forth until my arms felt like lead, and my torso ached. I thought ironically of all the sit ups that I had done to feel the burn in my stomach and wished I could be doing those instead.

She worried me, her little body so hot, not willing to nurse, I had been trying to squeeze water from a dropper into her little mouth. Yet she was too listless to even gulp at it. I tried nursing again and her hot mouth seared my skin.

I called the doctor, I got a message with the number of another doctor to call. I felt uncomfortable with the idea of sitting in the after hours clinic, waiting as others are called, waiting as her body rested limply against my shoulder, the thought did not appeal to me.

So I laid her in her car seat, in her little white onesie shirt, her chubby little legs lying bowlegged and flat against the seat and I wrapped her up against the cold of the night. I got into the car and drove her over to the hospital, where they asked me to hold her as they prodded her.

It was obvious that she was lying there, unresponsive, with the remarkable fever of 103. So they decided to give her an IV. We waited and then a few nurses entered your room, they had me lay her on the table and started looking for veins to poke. She cried weakly as they poked her, and I tried to hold her hand, and to rub her arm as comfort against the onslaught.

They couldn't find a vein so they poked her again and again, her veins were so tiny. Finally they wrapped tape around a tube sticking out of her arm and I gathered her tentatively up in my arms, she was still so hot, so dry.

I tried nursing again, again her little hot mouth seared me and I withdrew, I felt inadequate and uncomfortable at the same time. Finally others arrived, to take over her care, so I escaped out into the waiting room with it's hard vinyl chairs.

I paced back and forth taking in every detail, but processing nothing, passing time, a feral madness had invaded my mind. A nurse entered quietly and told me that she was starting to show more awareness, that we have staved off dehydration.

I closed my eyes in gratitude that we live at a time where you can be saved from such horrors. I made my way back to her room, where she lay in grandmothers arms and I collapsed on the chair nearby to finally sleep.

(HOM Was in Tonga at the time)

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Water torture or Two Year old

and the great debate begins... I have a dream, where I walk through my clean home and everything stays where it should. Where when I get the urge to sit down and write, I can do it... but alas, I have a two year old and she is growing every day and saying things that astound me. So unless I pay attention, it will all be gone. Yet... it is one of those things, you have to live, and life hands you challenges all the time. Mine is typing while being poked, or jumped on (my legs or my back) or having my hair pulled or... Plus, taxes, dinner, baths, exercise, cleaning a lot of these things I would happily wave a magic wand to blink them done.

Could you actually see children, (or actually lots of us) methodically going through their day, picking up after themselves, making dinner, then cleaning up after themselves. I guess the little girl from Matilda comes to mind here. Ha, children run rapidly through the house, grabbing stuff out of the closet, skates, or shoes, bats and balls. They deposit such later in the middle of the floor. They make themselves messy peaunut butter sandwiches leaving the PB & J, bread crumbs and the bread open to the air. Plus they leave splashes of milk on the counter and the messy knife sitting on the plate. My son, makes himself a miniature cake every other day, mixing up flours and sugar, and baking it in tuna fish cans that he has cleaned out for the pans. They yell random things at each other, get bloody noses, come crying over owies and want kisses on them. Roxies hair stands on end constantly because it is curly and a bit kinky and it gathers fluff and dust and little bits of leaves when she plays outside. My little boy, Sione, is always walking around fighting imaginary bad guys, whether as Master Sione, a karate kid, Spiderman, or any other superhero that he has recently watched a video of. My daughter Angie is constantly hoping, practicing her clogging or hula... My kids have a master key... which they use to unlock my bedroom door...

My kids have been sick for the past couple of days so I have had a little more clingy and whiny "Mommy, mommy" whines from Roxie and bring me water, bring me a wet towel, buy me cough drops, make me a sandwich whines from Angie...

I'm not even going to start on the joy's of clothing strewn all over the place by messy people (you know who you are...)

As for trying to find a job... I have been treading water on it, Sam's going back to school to become a Personal Trainer. We are on foodstamps and unemployment... I have a lot to be thankful for, but a lot to think about as well...

Writing or...

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Exhilaration

Unsure, tentative, testing the waters
Treading lightly, floating a bit
Watching others, trying things out
Kicking off of the shore
Jabbing arms, rotating torso
Sensing things, fighting against the pull
Gliding against the drag of the water
Refusing to stop
Hitting my stride
Exhilaration

An exercise in self awareness

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

How did you think when you were younger...

These first few were my original answers, kind of diary answers...

How did you think when you were younger (0-12)?
I was afraid of basements and places that were cluttered. (But fascinated as well)
I liked to curl up in my closet either on the floor in the far corner or on the top shelf, when I was afraid or hurt or sad.
I used to have a hiding place for my money or candy
I was always trying to think of ways to make money, when I was 5 I tried to sell “washed potato bugs” around the block.
I was kind of a jealous kid, if my brother had more money than me, it would make me mad and I wouldn’t spend any money until I knew he had spent his or I had earned more money than him. (I did this with Halloween candy too...)
I was really sensitive, I thought that other people were talking about me a lot. If I did hear anything, like my Aunt making a stupid comment or my cousins, it would throw me into crying hysterics, this mostly around the ages of 7-10. (WAY TOO SENSITIVE, YIKES!!) Afterwards, 11+ until about 19, I just thought people were talking about me and did'nt like it. I hated to be kept out of places, I remember the child gate that my Aunt had to keep us out of the hall, I remember the hiding places that my Aunt and mom used to have for their stuff. (Yummy Andes Mints...)
I also liked to climb, I climbed out of my cousins window into a large bush that was by it and down. Plus there was no tree too high...
I hated to be told what to do, esp. when I thought that I should have my own time, like summer. My mom used to sign us up for summer school because she was working, I would always escape with my brother. (Ha beat it summer school ;p)
We also used to run away from our church meetings and wander the halls and find empty class rooms to play around in.
We also used to run away from school, I legitimately had a really good reason not to be there since there were so many mean girls that I wanted to avoid. Of course we (my brother and I) always had to watch out for my Aunt who liked to travel on the main road from her house (which was about a block away from ours) to the school, or to the store. She would catch us and bring us back to school. (I would also rather be studying at home anyway... maybe one day I will tell you about completing all of the work from the math book just to get into a higher class... oh I just did ;p)(<- Hmm, does that make me look like I have a double chin?) I loved excitement The world was so vivid, and I felt sorry for things and animals and people when I thought they were being neglected. Did you play imaginary games?
My brother and I had very vivid imaginations, we thought of the empty lot behind our house as the “Snake Pit,” so named because very soon after moving in and exploring it we found some worms under an abandoned plastic swimming pool and thrilled to think that if there were worms there might be snakes too. There were snakes, but they were harmless garter snakes. We also designated other areas of the lot as “The Sand Dunes,” “Fairy Valley,” “The cat’s grave yard,” and “The domain of the mean old guy (you didn’t cross him, man).”
I used to play games such as “duck, duck, goose,” “red rover, red rover,” etc.
I liked to pretend to be an Indian with my girl cousins, we gave ourselves funny names like “light feather” or “dances with the wind.”

More exciting tidbits about me to come... ;p (I'm sure your all dying to hear them right?)

Monday, March 23, 2009

Hampster Wheel

I have thought it all before, I have gone through it all before. Yes there are differences but for goodness sake how many times do I need to see the same film, review the same book, read the same page?

Except now, I am tierd of dealing with it, the trials have become stale. How come I haven't learned from them yet, how come am I still running around in the hamster wheel?

Well I guess that's just what happens when you review your old journal writings and can see that you were thinking about the same things 3 years ago... that you are thinking about now. Maybe I just haven't found the answers yet.

Here's something from my journal...

Nov. 26, 2005

This is from a book I was reading I think it's beautiful:

And this is the comfort of the good, that the grave cannot hold them, and they live as soon as they die. For death is no more than a turning us over from time to eternity. Death then being the way and condition of life, we cannot love to live if we cannot bear to die. They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it, death cannot kill what never dies. Nor can spirits ever be divided that love and live in the same divine principle, the root and record of their friendship. If absence be not death neither is there’s, death is but crossing the world as friends to the seas.

~ William Penn


This is some reflecting upon my childhood: (It is not a finished or a perfect poem, I break with it, but don't feel like fixing it right now)...

At times my soul aches, from poetries loss, how poetic the soul, how pathetic the heart. Longingly I search for the balm of my soul, Giliad hides the cure. Poetic my life, poetic. As a child all life was poetic, the fairies and friends of the forest where mine. With fanciful names and fanciful fears we played many games and shed many tears. The trees held our secrets like the tree old as time. Under that tree we held as a shrine, a place for our pets beloved and true, Spooky and Precious and even fish too. In other times our childish ways, led to great battles that lasted for days. My brother and I would fight many crimes, with our guns that had caps and our brave police hats. Round fabulous piles of rubble we played, we sometimes built forts, and sometimes found caves. The bushes we played in were overgrown, but at times, they served a good purpose in our nursery rhymes. Sailing along, in a ship made of wood, we were out to find treasure, it was going to be good. We had many things brought along for the trip, all the accoutrements for a good pirate ship. A picnic, some plates, a table for two, but wait I don’t want to play house with you. Then came the snow and away we shall go. Out come the skis, then hats, and boots if you please. Our fairy land is transformed it is true, down fairy hill, first me and then you. We ski till our noses are red, and snow covers the hair on top of our head. So into the house, we march along, singing Jingle Bells our favorite song. Hot cocoa is called for we prepare it with ease, then suddenly feel a cold winter breeze. Quick shut the door, you forgot it! No you! But quickly forget our cold and fight too. Down falls the snow, we snuggle in bed. Beautiful snow dreams soon fill our head, childhood, childhood where have you gone? My soul will miss you, then to sleep, then to dream, in memory my soul will long.



This is an unfinished poem:

The dark of night, the soulful cry. Cry my love, cry. When hours have passed, when days are gone, we shall find that we once were wrong. Not love as lovers, but love as friends, sister and brother from heaven amends. How oft’ are we gathered as chicks? How oft’? Yet we turn away, our own thoughts, our own way, stubborn, foolish, ignorant. Can I accept a good life, can you? Can we leave things as they are? We must for time will see us fools, so we must read the book as written. Once penned can a mere reader change, what was written there? No man is an island, no not even we. A life lived, a life changed, it's as heaven decreed. . .

Grandpa

My gruff old grandpa, sometimes I still feel a bit sad about how much I misunderstood him. But when your a kid you don't understand a lot of things.

Grandpa, he was a mean old cuss, or so I thought. He shuffled, always seemed to anyway. He usually wore golf shirts and some type of old guy jeans that always seemed to be sagging in the bottom. He wore a belt and leather shoes, his hair was always combed and he shaved with blue disposable razors. He wore Allspice cologne/aftershave in fact my dad does as well, mom sticks it in his sock every year at Christmas, he's probably got about 10 bottles in the cupboard.

Grandpa was always looking out for us, "Get down from there, ya hear!" It always made me mad, I thought that it was perfectly safe to be climbing up ladders leaning high against the house, or to walk along the cement wall that bordered the stairs to the basement. The 30 foot drop just made it more thrilling, didn't he notice my terrific balancing skills?

We would keep away from Grandpa because he would pinch sometimes when you passed, he would grab you in the Bear Trap and you couldn't get out unless you repeated a nursery rhyme, my dad did the same thing except we would purposefully mess up the nursery rhyme to get tickled.

Grandpa had a beautiful boat at one point, I loved to sneak up on it and look under the blue tarp to smell the commingling of fish and leather and imagine myself driving the boat. This was done under the extreme threat of being caught by Grandpa which made it all the more thrilling.

We got to go out on it once, Grandpa bought beautiful child sized life vests for us. I sat in the middle, away from the edge, guarded by my mom and dad lest we got too close to the water. Grandpa sold the boat after that, I always felt jipped by this.

I had wished that Grandpa was different, one of those Grandpas that played games and hugged, but Grandpa was dealing with his own private scars. He was a veteran from WWII, he received two difficult wounds, two purple hearts and kept a souvenir of shrapnel in his hip for the rest of his life.

After Grandma passed away he was left a shell, a lifeless empty person. He sat at the kitchen table everyday, spat on the floor, soiled himself, his house stank after that. The only thing that he would perk up about was his cat, he would talk about his cat, he was afraid to lose his cat. Poor kitty, Grandpa wouldn't let him out, although strangely enough though the cat escaped several times he would eventually come back again, it made the cat a bit wild to be cooped up like he was.

I used to go up to Grandpa's to clean, it was hard for me. Grandpas spirit permeated the house, though he stayed at the table. I could almost feel the spirit of my Grandmother crying over him, over his palpable depression. It was hard to know what to say to Grandpa, how to deal with him, I was so young anyway and formerly scared of him, like I said.

Eventually though I just came to a point where I decided to just love him, despite it all, despite my fear, despite the smell of his house. I started to give him hugs and a kiss on his rough whiskery cheek, I told him that I loved him.

Eventually, not too long before he died, his eyes teared up for me, he hugged me, he looked at me sincerely and told me that he loved me, words that I never thought to hear. I sat in my car and cried afterward grateful that the miracle had happened.

Dad took him in that week to have surgery on a hernia that had been hurting him for so long, that's partly why it was hard for him to make it to the bathroom. The operation was too much and he passed away, home to Grandma.

The loss meant a great deal to me, I felt it profoundly where I might not have if I had not been more involved with his care. I felt in my heart that he wanted a certain hymn to be sung at his funeral "Our Saviors Love," it kept repeating through my head over and over. The same thing had happened with my Grandmothers funeral, she wanted "The Battle Hymn of The Republic."

I cried, and I laughed because I learned that my Grandpa had a wry sense of humor. One story from a good friend of his "Pat (his nickname) and I worked at the steel mill together, he would bang the steel as it rolled off the belt, we sat to lunch together every day. Well one day he just up and threw his sandwich up against the wall saying "I've had it no more bologna for me." Well one of us told him to just ask his wife to make something else. So Pat says 'I make my own (darn) lunches.'" Grandpa was a character to say the least.

I never knew growing up that he cared anything about me. Mom told me that he sold the boat because he was afraid my dad would take us on it and one of us would drown. Now I see that he cared a great deal over us and worried a lot. In fact I was watching an old home video with us kids doing the circuit on our trikes around the driveway and as I pass he patted my head... Grandpa, not like those other Grandpa's who play games and do cheery things with you, but the old cuss loved us. I love him too.

Little Sis.

Growing up I was the only girl, I had three brothers, one older two younger. When I was about 8 or 9 I remember my mom being pregnant with my youngest brother, I hoped so hard that she was going to have a girl, I wanted a sister so badly, but it turned out to be a boy. I do love that funny little brother of mine though, I used to mother him, read him stories. Then when I was about 13 or 14 my mom became pregnant again. I went with her to the hospital, I still remember hopping along the path to go into the ultrasound technicians office. I still remember seeing that baby up on the screen and the suspense the technician held us in, when he told us that it was going to be a little girl a sweet happiness stole over me and I skipped along as we left the hospital. The pregnancy was a little bit difficult for my mom near the end, she was about 40 at the time and had a history of late coming babies. Little sis. was due about the same time as girls camp and it made me so nervous, I didn't want to go. Mom and dad made me go anyway, and I was miserable. I couldn't stop thinking about it, I wanted to go down with my dad when he came up with the other leaders to visit, but he wouldn't let me. I cried myself to sleep and woke up early the next day to pack. The bus ride home took forever and no one was there at the church to pick me up when we got back. Fearing that she had had the baby I picked up all of my stuff and walked home. Backpack, sleeping bag, another bag, and my pillow, it was if the weight of the world was on my shoulders, everything was heavy, especially my heart. I dropped my stuff in the living room when I got home and immediately went to the phone to call around, there was no one at Grandma's, I couldn't reach my dad, I checked the caller ID, no calls from the hospital... no cell phones back then so I was out of luck. I felt abandoned, lost, like no one cared about me. So I went up and had a shower, using lukewarm water because I had a terrible sunburn. My hair had turned a bright blond, my face a bright red and I felt sun sick, so I went to my room and collapsed on the bed. Finally, about an hour later, my dad came in to find me. I was so relieved, he said that mom hadn't had the baby yet and that the others were with my Grandparents. He was so excited about the baby... he brought me up to my grandparents and then went back to the hospital. He kept calling with feverishly happy updates about the whole process, I will never forget how proud he sounded when he told us about the birth of my little sister. Black hair and blue eyes, an anomaly in our family. Her hair was so beautiful, long and soft. I remember holding her for the first time in the hospital, how happy I was, I wanted to help so I fed her a bottle of sugar water. I didn't want to share her, she was my sister, I had waited for her for so long. My brothers couldn't understand, they already had a sister, but she was my first. I had dreams of showing up at her school when she was in kindergarten, diving a car, bringing her to the mall, I thought she would be popular because she had an older sister. I was a little bit delusional in my ambitions. There was a big get together after her blessing, she looked so beautiful in her long white blessing gown. I think she actually spit up on that gown and it had to be dry cleaned. Everyone wanted to hold her, all of my aunts and cousins crowded around and I was so jealous that they were paying attention to her, no one wanted to talk to me, plus I had to share my sister with everyone, it was all too much. As she grew, she was the cutest little thing. That jealousy that had started at the blessing kept festering in me. My mom must have thought I was more grown up than I was because she told me all about how wonderful my little sister was all the time in that bragging grown up way that people use with other adults. She would say stuff like "the lady in the store stopped us and kept telling me over and over how beautiful K is with her pretty brown curls and big brown eyes (her hair turned brown then blond and her eyes lost the baby blue and turned brown, go figure)." Mom didn't know how jealous I felt, and I hated myself for it. All of a sudden everything was about my little sister, my dad, who really doesn't get teenagers any way, became more and more distant with me. My grandparents were always talking about her, my grandpa spent hours filming her. My cousins were obsessed with her, and I was spoiled, a really jealous, spoiled girl and no one understood that about me so no one tried to help me or maybe they didn't know what to do about it. Suddenly I just didn't like to have a little sister around, who got into my deodorant and used it to color on my brown door. Who got into my stuff, who's changing table was put into my room with her stinky diapers. I look back now at myself and I really feel sad that I had that attitude, K was such a fun little girl and I missed it. What bugged me the most was that K somehow picked up on and copied every bad attitude that I had, even when she was really little, I hated being an example when I felt so messed up myself. I wanted to change so much about myself and wished that I could stop time and be a better person before she started picking up my bad habits that I was trying to get rid of. K really loves this video of my 16th birthday, 16, I was so insecure. I was so unsure of myself that I said stuff to try and cover it up, it all came out sounding snotty. My beautiful cousin Shany valued my little sister, she could see how wonderful she was. I am so mad at myself that I missed that!! It really makes me cry. I don't like to watch my 16th birthday tape too much because the difference in my attitude and my cousins is so clear. But then it is interesting to see myself then as well because I remember that period so vividly, it was one of the best times in my life. My cousin and I were so close and so crazy together. After that year though, my life changed. Little sis. was only 3 years old when I got married, only 4 when she became an aunt. We lived with my parents and it caused a lot of stress for my mom. My dad generally did little mean things to pick on me for my bad choices, he would always say belittling remarks about how poorly I took care of my baby. Maybe I did, but I was depressed. My mom was depressed too, it was hard for her, it was hard for K. She was the littlest before and then suddenly there was a baby. I worked at the local store, my husband worked for his uncle, who generally paid him slave wages if at all. It made me mad but I was powerless because his family still held a lot of power over him. For about a year and a half that's how things went, then things got difficult with my husband. We were both immature and not ready for any of what was going on. We had big problems, big indecision's, other interests. It ended up that his family sent him back to Tonga because they thought that it wasn't going to work out with us. I was so confused but couldn't work it out because he was gone. Then the plan was to get him a VISA to come back. So I filled the paperwork, and we caught deadlines just before they changed the law, we sent off forms, and I waited and waited. My life was on hold at this time and it held everyone in my family in this sad suspense. I was pregnant with my second baby, 5 months when he left, she was two months or so old when he got back. I continued to work at the store even though I would sometimes black out for who knows what reason. Still we waited, K got ignored sometimes because there was so much stress in the process. It was a nightmare we would get a letter and have to go through the files again, pull out certificates again, go and get things notarized, mail off money and pictures, fax things to the consulate. There was one time, little sis. was 6 years old and we had to fax something right then, the store bank that we had found a fax machine to use from was going to close and so we had to get there. Little sis. was watching a TV show and minding her own business and besides my dad was going to be there any minute and the store was only a few blocks away so we locked the baby, my oldest in his car seat, and left her on the couch to watch her TV show and ran over to the bank and just in time. When we got back we found fire trucks and policemen and the house was filled with smoke. K was sitting on the lawn in a big white blanket, naked. Apparently I had left a pot on the stove because I had been boiling a yam. K had decided to go take a bath, who knows why, the water boiled out and the house filled with smoke. K got scarred and ran outside, someone called the fire department. The firemen found the pot and placed it on my moms new kitchen table burning it and ruining the finish (still feel bad about this), and K was hurt by it. I felt so guilty. They gave her a little bear and let her keep the blanket, my mom had to explain to child services that she doesn't usually leave her 6 year old alone. K was attached to the bear, I hated it, it was a reminder of how I had failed her yet again. I eventually hid it, I know, I was so mean. Eventually HOM came home and we moved out, I had bought stuff at yard sales and such so we were prepared right? Nah we were still playing house. It has taken a long time to get where we are now. Things got better and they got worse for K. Mom was still depressed, and K went to school in the next city up from ours because my grandparents were there to watch her after school and that's where mom worked any way. The school was supposedly better than the one down by our house, supposedly nicer kids, but it turned out to not be that way. We foolishly thought that K's outgoing attitude and aptitude for making friends would make up for the fact that she didn't live in the neighborhood. We were wrong, and she had a hard time of it. Then somehow she missed some things in school and the teacher sent her to resource, and the teachers said stupid things insinuating that K was dumb. It all made me so mad, K is so smart... but anyone is going to feel dumb when the class leaves you behind and keeps going because they got the material that you missed and each year it got progressively worse. Whats funny is that this scenario happened to me as well. When I was a sophomore I was in a black depression and would walk home after second period and cry on the church lawn begging for answers. I didn't get answers, I got challenges, I got mistakes to learn from. Right now, at this very moment in my life I have finally come to grips mostly with who I am and I am working on things that I enjoy. Back then I was confused and didn't like myself. Right now, I see my beautiful little sister, she seems depressed. One of my great inabilities is in knowing what to say to someone that would help. I think that it is partly what happens to my dad as well, except he gets judgemental and everything he says comes out sounding self righteous and sometimes, often, mean. As for me I look at my little sister and I know she is depressed, really depressed, school is just not working for her and I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I want to spend time with her, then don't, because I am lame... because I don't know if she will accept it from me. I hate myself for this as well... But I do want to go around with her to take interesting pictures, I think that would be fun... I see so much about her that is so fun and fantastic, she is a writer, and an art type as well. She was amazing the other day when my little girl needed someone to do her stage make up for hula, K did it quick and it made a big difference because we were late already and I wouldn't have known what to do... So that's my little sister, and I guess a big part of my life as well. She is a part of me, and I love her a whole bunch.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Flower Essences

Beautiful book on "Flower Essences." I am not really into the belief that flowers can convey some kind of power to you, but I do like them and the sentiments (may even write them a bit into my stuff). :D
































Friday, March 20, 2009

Donkey For a Day

We used to listen to this version of the opening song on "The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh" every Saturday... this is one of my favorite episodes.



This is the full episode...

Becoming

Out of silence, as we all hush, a cry. Oh beautiful sound a new life is born.

Feel the beat deep down in your soul, the pulsing realness of life, the throbbing of the earth moving through celestial lights. Gaze up into the atmosphere at the blues and reds, the undulating waves of the universe.

Taste the sweetness of fresh viberant food, of strawberries picked from the sun warmed earth. Of an apple just off of the tree. Can you taste it, it is the living energy of the earth.

Dance!! Pulsating beats awakening the spirit in you, the spirit that has been crying out for release. Your body moves, you close your eyes and feel.

Remember the most sincere hug that you have ever recieved, the spirit of another reaching your heart, taking some of the ache away and sharing it as their own.

Remember caring, remember a good cry, remember feeling so angry that you wanted to hit your pillows and bed in frustration, remember laughing until your sides hurt.

All are part of you, as you become.

Where is the Love?

This was posted by my friend Clone Girl, I usually don't like rap (this is a loud song) but I like the message...

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Can you see your possibilities?

I was contemplating the universe on my walk today, again...

I was thinking about what your posture and manner of bearing does for you. It seems that when I feel down, my posture is more downturned and if I make an effort to lift up my posture then I feel better and people respond to me better as well. It is interesting to note the way that people respond differently to different attitudes, and people. There are some people that can look dignified no matter what they are wearing (I am not one of them, not usually. My grandmother was though and I admire her). The difference is in the approach, in how much umph that is showing in your bearing and countanance.

There are different way's to approach almost everything, every situation, every life... For some people self confidence comes easily and naturally, self awareness, spirit. For others its not so easy... and it's not just the way that some people are snobby and self centered where others are nerdy or whatever the case may be. Some people are confindant and kind, some are nerdy and mean.

As for myself, I am a bit of a geek sometimes. Sometimes I get down, down on myself, and I look down on life. But I fight that attitude!!

Lift up your shoulders, look on straight, look people straight in the eye and smile. Listen sincerely and thoughtfully. View yourself as a worthwhile person, its hard sometimes, and sometimes and I have to tell myself to just be. To stop looking at others talents and beauty as somehow diminishing my own. I remind myself to do things just for the sake of doing them, the enjoyment, because I like to do it and refuse to compare with others with the eye of jealousy...

You are someone special!! Whatever you do, put your soul into it and love it. That is a tip that got me through many classes that I didn't start out thinking that I would like. I sometimes tried to read my text books like they were a novel, savoring the words, the thoughts and ideas.

Lift up, lift the world up. I hate it when I get into negative moods, I know that people respond differently to me at those moments, and its usually not good.

Sometimes it is hard to keep the judgements and negativity out of your mind, but when you do it, you can see a lot more of the good in others. Even those that others automatically shun, they can suprise you sometimes...

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Very Busy Day...

Today has been so full, with time to think and drive myself crazy with observations...

First of all we went up to Salt Lake to see my brother in law get sworn in as a citizen... that is always an amazing and eventful experience. I haven't seen my sister in law for quite a while but it always seems like we just pick up where we left off in an easy sort of way. What is so facinating to me is to see so much humanity in one place, so much diversity. There were 159 (or so) and about 59 different countries being represented. It's like being thrown into the middle of the world, so fascinating I could spend a lot of time trying to analyze it (and I did on the way back).

On the way up I was reading aloud from The Jungle Book... it is so fun to read such exotic words and ideas out loud.

On the way back I was contemplating the universe and sketching the mountains off in the distance, the air today has been so clear and fresh. It feels so good to think that spring is on it's way.

We ate at a restraunt, the kids had fun with their cousins (Sione and Roxie, the other two were at school, they've been to the citizenship ceremony when their dad was sworn in). The place was a buffet, i've never liked buffets that much...

I have been munching on these georgous organic carrots, fresh picked with their tops still on, plus local organic apples... I have had lots of energy and I have felt so good. ;p

Then the highlight of my day really was seeing my daughter pass off her hula dances. Hula is a lot more involved than you might think. I started my daughter in classes a few years ago and at first she hated me for it, and fought it for the longest time. But we kept telling her that it will be important for her to know it, and it will be a good thing that she does have some background in dance when her cousins put together shows... she will know what she's doing. So she has finally embraced it and she's absolutely amazing to me. She works hard at it, this and clogging, which is funny because I took clogging when I was about her age. But it was hard because I had to ride my bike to the studio (my dad's bike which was too big for me), down the stairs of the underground passageway, up the stairs, down four or five blocks, then back again to my school then another 5 blocks home. When it rained or snowed... it just got to be too much. Angie is doing it through her school, there is a professional teacher that vollunteers and she is a good teacher, makes dance fun. It's partly why Angie is embracing hula now...

I love these kinds of days...

Fabulous Award...

I just received an award from John at Smoke Rings and Matterings, a really talented guy and a great read, especially when you feel like appreciating the world just a little bit more... go check out his blog. :0)



To keep the good vibes going the award is passed from blogger to blogger. You link with the person who sent the award and then pass it to 5 other bloggers...

Plus you must list 5 of your fabulous addictions...

1. Dark Chocolate - This kind of goes without saying, I love the way that chocolate from different parts of the world has different nuances of flavor.

2. Health - After surviving the SAD (Standard American Diet). I woke up and found that fresh, non microwaved food tastes so, so good. Plus it enlivens your body from deep down in your toes right up to the top of your head.

3. Writing and thinking way too much. I have always been this way, though I didn't know how much I loved to do it until just recently. (No I am not staring vacantly off into the distance, I am thinking about the lady bug walking along the back of your shirt).

4. Standing out in the wind, or running through the rain... appreciating life.

5. Cooking - When the inspiration hits I scavenge through my cupboards looking for flavors that would work well together and cook up a storm. ;p (Though it's one of those things I am hot or cold about, I cook a lot or I don't)

Now the fun part, passing the award on to some of my most favorite people.

1) Ecogrrl- For being a kind and supportive friend who loves good food, the environment and life as much as I do. (Thank you again for helping me learn some interviewing skills, I was clueless)

2) Sonja - A really good friend, from the moment I met her I admired her spirit. She is an excellent photographer, a smart lady and a caring, thoughtful homeschooling mother.

3) Clone Girl - One of the most motivated people who I have met. She is also a thinker and sometimes people her age get her down.

4) Sunny - Who is also a good friend and neighbor. She has a beautiful little daughter with down syndrome who is about the same age as my little Roxie. She is a mama bear protecting her little cub and even when her little girl was keeping her (and hubby) up at night, she always seemed to have it all together. (Plus she is an excellent chef, thanks for sharing your recipe for Chicken Tikka Marsala it is so yummy!!)

5) Naran - For sharing with us what life in India is like, for capturing the beauty of India through his excellent photography and the fact that he knows about and loves Holy Basil (or Tulsi) tea is fantastic as well.(one of my most favorite herbal teas, revered in aryvudiac medicine)

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Leprechaun Story

I have written a little leprechaun story... I hope you enjoy it.

http://creativelywritten.blogspot.com/

New direction with homeschooling...

I am a planner, I like to write things down and PLAN to do them... but I am not so good on the follow through. I wasn't raised that way, it's really irritating to me. Especially since I am usually late, well actually I have gotten better on that one. In the case of Homeschooling, I tried it over the summer. I had a CD with all of the basics that you should cover on it, I printed off things and had the kids do them, but more often than not I bored them to death and they hated it. I am trying to just have a library day every week where everyone gets certain types of books and also a simple requirement to work on math facts, spelling and handwriting. Just 5-10 min. on each thing, but that has not worked out yet... I think I need to be more persistent with it because my kids are really behind in spelling and their handwriting is terrible.... Since my two oldest don't want to be homeschooled, what more can I do? In the case of Sione, I read with him 100 Easy Word Lessons and we are reading the Jungle Book. Plus I am doing Singapore math workbooks with him. But on other stuff I am kind of stuck. I don't know what it is, am I afraid to try? To be lame? To compete? I think that is one of the general weaknesses of my life, that I don't want to compete... Is it that I don't think that I can be anyone of value or worth? Sometimes that is what happens to me when I am looking at other women and thinking, they are so beautiful... I devalue myself. It's a hard habit to break, sometimes when I am thinking straight I just feel good about myself and accept that everyone looks different, and that I like myself the way that I am... But sometimes I get in these moods where I look at others and I don't feel so good about ME.

So I am going to give myself a break, do the regular stuff with Sione and then go into their room with their shelf of books and just read to him and Roxie and then do stuff with them when the mood hits (like gardening).

Anyway, I need to go out and get some sun... been stuck in the house too much. :0)

Happy St. Patty's Day!!

The evil Leprechauns have been out making changes on my blogsite. Don't quite know what they did to it. ;p

Monday, March 16, 2009

Living Life With Passion!!

Alright I've been in a rut. I am going to put more heart into life, dance, sing, cook, study, live... with more passion than I have been.

I have let life get me down, but not anymore!!

Time Banking...

I just saw an interesting idea on Yahoo news. They were talking about time banking, I really like the idea. It's a fair and beautiful way for people to help each other (not to mention unselfish and a whole host of other descriptors).

Here are some links.

http://www.timebanks.org/how-it-works.htm

http://gmy.news.yahoo.com/v/12500735/abc/20090314/av_abc_gma/_goodmorningyahoo_abc090314_gma_weir

:0)

Sunday, March 15, 2009

A little Wisp of Love

Once upon a time there was a little wisp of love that came off of a mother looking at her new born child. This little wisp knew who she was, she had a way of getting into peoples hearts, just when they needed it the most. She travelled in groups, for more often there than alone were people willing to bring her along. She had a collection of hearts that she kept in that seemingly empty space between people. One day she was out looking for those who would accept her. She saw a father helping his son ride a bike and she got into his eye as he watched his little boy petal. She saw a neighbor shoveling snow and she got into the neighbors eye as she found her car clear. She was passed from person to person as a family gathered for dinner and each told of their day. She met others of her kind as she walked down the street with a young mother who greeted her neighbors with a smile. She fought to be heard over the messages of hate that were freely being passed around in a riot, on the TV, in a school when a young boy fell, in a bar when a group of rowdies started a fight, in the people who just thought they were better than everyone else. At those times she retreated into kind hearts and waited until they reached out and found others who held love in their hearts as well.

She was easily hurt, for her heart was not guarded. She sometimes despaired, when she thought too much of negative things. But she was persistent, and some days she found that there was a lot of love that she could smile at and hug and be with. She touched many hearts, and she grew many times. Until she had linked herself with many others who cared and they linked their arms together and flew over the tops of the mountains and all over the world until they had sent enough caring into each heart that people everywhere were healed and people everywhere started to care about themselves and about others. This little wisp had become the air that we all breath, and didn't have to hide anymore.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Feeling the Spring

I don't know about anyone else, but the spring cleaning bug always gets into me and I feel antsy and yucky until the house gets a good cleaning. Plus the whole, getting the back yard ready for a garden gets on my mind as well. Fortunantly we have a large back yard, unfortunantly we don't have money to get a rototiller and buy peat moss, cow manure or other type of manure, and other soil additives. We do have a compost pile and we do have the soil that we added last year to a part of the garden, plus we have some fish in the freezer that would be good to add to a part of the garden that we plan on using in about a month. My dad said that he would get one, but, I will have to listen to him complain, about the expense, about the time... and it will take forever for him to get to it and this will lead to the garden getting in late. GRRR I also wish we could put in a drip system, but, furrows and such will have to do.

One thing that I think that is going to always bug me is the general disarry that the house gets into with the kids running around being kids. But I have been on a campaign to get them to help more and it seems to be working, so far.... I keep getting the feeling that I missed some class on how to do all of this. :0)

What is also frustrating is that I have been working on our taxes. It wouldn't be so bad except for the generally frustrating way in which I am not in control of what has happened in our business, and what has happened is still slightly a mystery to me. So I am going through the past year trying to sort it all out, a task which is generally distasteful to me so I have been avoiding it, but I need to do it to file our taxes. So I have gotten some of it done, but... Grrr. I hate not having control over big things like this, sigh...

So putting off our taxes has been a bad thing in other ways. I keep getting on the computer, with the intent of working on our taxes, getting frustrated by it, avoiding it by endlessly doing other things and I don't get stuff done that I need to do elsewhere.

But I am making some headway on it at last, i've gotten our bank accounts up to date, I have started to go through them categorizing things (yeah!! Sarcastic), and I have been out in the real world getting the kids to do their work and pondering the garden (I know lots of help).

Well... back to taxes. ;p

Friday, March 13, 2009

Skating Rink

Our friends invited us out to the skating rink today. So we all went and had a blast. This is the skating rink where I officially "met" my husband, this is the rink that I struggled to walk in as I was pregnant with our youngest and in labor (it was my husbands niece's birthday and I had Roxie the next day). This is also one of the greatest sources of frustration, that I had when I was younger because it was so difficult to do anything when I had all of that brain fog and dizzyness from celiac disease.

I want to describe this experience to you all.

As you're walking in through the big metal doors, you pay at the glass covered booth. The music is pumping, and people are bumping most of them only but youth.

You hand over your shoes and get skates that are used, and you hope that they fit as you try them. Take them out on a run, but it's not so fun cause' the skates are a slipping and sliddin'.

Ouch down on the floor, yet you get up for some more, cause' you only just got there you see. One, two, three, four circle round, then no more cause' your ankles are aching, owie!!

Bring the skates back to the booth, get size five (for the youth?) and hope that they help with your gliding. Then back to the floor, you are back for some more and find that your suddenly striding.

Watch out use the brake, there is no way to fake that you know what your doing. Around and around and around then sit down, cause' your finally tierd of crashing.

As you sit, feel the beat as you sit feel the heat, your feet start itching for more. Jump up from the bench and rush out on the floor,your body feels sweet recognition.

Of spinning, of dodging, of rushing of rocking and dancing with great intuition.
Around and around and around once again, till' you know you can't go any more.

Get off of the floor, your done, there's no more though the music and lights are still flashing. Then give up your skates as you walk through the gates, then go home where you soon will be crashing. :0)

Running

Running, running, down the sidewalk, by the river which is rushing.

Rushing over stone and cascading over falls.

Running in a careening, loose sort of way feet falling over feet bringing emotions to the surface, joy and sadness mixed together.

Limping, limping down the sidewalk unsure of where to go, with the lights of the street sitting dimly in their orbs, no inspiration. Just turn around and make it work.

Balancing on the railroad tracks, listening for the train, the echos sounding in the distance as though trapped by the trees and the fields which hold many lost sounds.

Running away, being chased by the sadness, the anger, questioning why? What now? What should I do?

Running in the sand dunes, each footfall causing the sand to cascade down with gravitational attraction to the earth. Each footfall causing your muscles to ache with the effort until you reach the top where you collapse panting for breath.

Walking, carrying the weight of your burdens on your shoulders, shrugging to loose them, shrugging with self doubt, you look only briefly at a strangers face and paste on a smile that you are sure they know to be fake.

Carrying your little one home from the store, wondering how they did it in days of old, how their arms held out as they were driven, driven from their homes out into the snow where there footprints were seen as bloody shadows of their beaten owners.

Watching as the powerlines glide over the night sky, between the stars out in the open field as you drive trying to find that lost place where no one will hear as you ask the questions that no one has answers to, no one but God.

Then you run, run by the lake as your emotions run out and you gaze out at the moon on the water, highlighting the ripples as the wind blows.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Notebook Beasties

Well, I have just about had it with clutter!!

This is how it starts... I get a notebook, give it a title "Educational Goals," "Kids Schooling," "Bills we must pay (darn it)," "To Do..." So I have my nice little notebooks all lined up and I will pull one out to work on stuff. Inevitably I will start to write; to do lists, stuff I want to learn how to cook, random books I want to read, song's I want to download, phone numbers, e-mail addresses... on which ever notebook is out until I have 5 or 6 notebooks, all with different purposes, yet all sitting about demanding my attention (why haven't you looked at me, what so great about ol' red notebook that you keep writing on him and not me?) So Right now I am sitting in the midst of 5 notebooks, and they are all annoying me. Along with 3 filing cabinents which are full of something... that all need to be cleaned out. The trouble is, whenever I start to clean out filing cabinents, I attract attention monsters, Roxie and the cats. Roxie will stomp and spread all the papers that I throw in a pile to recycle and the cat's will either sit on top of the papers, fight on the papers, or they will sit on the papers in my lap that I am trying to sort through. Actually Roxie does that as well... "Mommy, mommy..." But it's hard to mad at someone who comes up and gives you great big slobbery kisses, throws her arms around your neck and say's "I luf you." Even if she tears everything out of everything.

Plus I have this other problem, I have a lot of people that are my favorite people. Who I want to visit, but don't, for various reasons; time, guilt (I always feel like I should be giving people something when I visit, especially if they have been sick or laid up),

So I have decided that I need to do two things, visit even if I don't have anything to give them but friendship, and/or write them nice little cards and send them off in the mail. I used to be better at the later, and people really like getting thoughtful cards in the mail...

Well I am going to conquer my notebook beastie problem and get to bed, I hope you are all well. :0)

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Exhilaration!!

First an Eco-Plug:

I don't know about where you live, but where I live, the garbage piles up unmercifully along the side of the road during the winter. I plan on getting out and picking some of it up as soon as it gets dry out there again (we've gotten another several inches of snow). So that is my plan, to pick up at least 10 pieces of garbage, or more, every day that I can and hopefully make my little bit of world a better place.

As for now I want to write a bit about some things that I remember about riding through the mountains.











Lay back in your seat as the wind blows past the window, in fact roll it down and feel the air make your hand rise and fall and your hair whip around in the wind, until it gets too cold to bear.

The towering walls of the canyon rise on either side of you, you glance a bit uneasily at the debris of rocks and stone guard rails. The magnificent rock, cut out by dynamite shows the stratus layers of silt and granite, Lyme stone and sandstone, all alternating in prominence as you travel rising steadily upward. The incline so gradual that you hardly notice it, yet you notice as the car yanks your body this way and that as it makes its way over the windy road.

There is a turn off, by the falls. Your body is so used to the yanking and turning, the bumps of the road, that when you slow down to turn the feeling of sudden cessation creeps in.

Slowly you find your way to the road that turns off and up onto the rocky cliff they call Squaw Peak.




The feeling of rising, yanking and bumping begin a new. Rise, yank, bump!! Except this time the guard rails and the edge of the cliff are right outside your window. As you rise the distance between you and the bottom steadily increases. You glance down for a moment then quickly turn away as you realise what it would really be like to topple over the edge.

Rising, rising then suddenly dad decides to do something crazy, he speeds up and runs the car towards the cliff. The shoulder of the road rises up the side of the mountain, and he is speeding full throttle at it. You grip the door handle, you grit your teeth, through clenched jaws you yell at your dad, who has a wicked grin on his face. The wheels of the car bump as you hit the sandy shoulder of the road, then they rise in a circular pattern as you are tipped up and into the side of the car.

Then you come back down and head back towards the lane you were in again, but still anxious because you are temporarily on the wrong side of the road. Suddenly the cliff and the edge seem a lot better than the tipping and speed of shoulder buffing.

But then you remember, your in the car with a maniac who runs towards cliff shoulders and you grip your seat again. Still steadily climbing, higher and higher, until you reach the precipice where other cars are parked.

Feeling relieved, you get out with your road numbed body and walk to the edge that you have been avoiding. At least here the mountain rounds down in less of a steep incline and people are sitting out on the slight hill. To get a better view of the valley you cross the parking barrier and carefully tread your way on the foot path.

As you gaze out, you can see for miles, cities upon cities, emerge from the mists. Gradually the light begins to fade and you can see the homes lighting up, the stadium, the hospital, the magnificent lake. Spread out before you is a sea of sparkling jewels.

A gentle breeze stirs the leaves on the tree's as a reminder of the cliff's and you feel a bit uneasy sitting out there, so close to the edge. But you can't help it, it is fascinating to identify roads and to view the cars, as if ants, driving along them.

After a time, you start to feel a bit chilled, so everyone somehow mutually decides to climb back into the car, with the maniac. You tease him about his driving, poking fun at the anxiety, goading him a little. Then you find that you are descending down, down, round, yank, round. Until you come out onto the main road and the car speeds up buzzing along the road, until you finally get home. Numb and tired you go off to bed.


Monday, March 9, 2009

Learning about the cosmo's

Two of my most favorite classes in school were about Meteorology and Astronomy. Both were absolutly mind expanding and answered a lot of questions about how the world and the universe works. It was amazing to envision the stars in their various sphere's and realms. Different types of galaxies, red giants (stars), white dwarfs (stars), black holes, black matter. The differing moons of Jupiter, what makes up the rings of Saturn. I had a couple of good friends in my Astronomy class who I collaborated with on homework, it was great fun. Our teacher was a really uptight Russian with a thick accent, she would give us these "worksheet packets" to go through the book. However she was using the new version of the book and she had assigned us to buy the old version, so we would pick out all of the errors, reconcile them and bring them to her. It really made us study hard, actually it took forever to do the homework, but we ended up learning a lot. The teacher really liked us because we bothered to do the homework, and we liked popping probing questions at her. I think she used to work at a space agency, she really enjoyed what she was doing. I took Meteorology online it was great learning about air masses, cold front's, warm fronts, inversions and what the meterologists were talking about on the television!! I still have my book from Meterology, I sold back the astronomy book, but bought a couple of other ones at yard sales. (I am way to sentimental, I even have my old accounting text, goofy!! Like I will ever really sit down and read it again, exciting!!).

Anyway, I think I would like to study Astronomy more, it was such a fun topic to think about. :0)

~Strawberry Girl

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Soul Gathering

The cloud, suspended as if by nothing, aloft in mid air. How can a collection of mists, of moisture stay suspended in the earths atmosphere. How does moisture gather anyway? One particle of water recognizing itself in another particle, suspended up in the air. Apparently empty air that moves around us, it's motion directed by the sun, and the rotation of the earth. The elements, particles, matter each are living in a way. They bring life, they move through space and time, they move through us and in us and with spring the pulsing air fills us each again. Soul matter recognizes soul, particles of spirit. Truth recognizes truth, love gathers love, light attracts light. Negativity also and hatred gathers it's own, you create your own hell. Live so that life and love and light flow into you. To me these are all a part of what God is. Live so that your heart, body and spirit can recognize and appreciate the goodness of God and all he gathers and gives to us.

Wellsprings of Life

Hello out there!! I am bumping up an old post so to speak because I like the sentiment...

How many people out there really enjoy their lives? How many people on Wall Street get up each day with a feeling of well being, that their lives matter, that this world is good?

When you focus on those things that are important like, good health, good friends, good music and family. Then no matter how much money you have you will have a good life.

Good health, I want to postulate that it is very essential. Yes if you have other things then you can try to enjoy them, but view my world for a minute when I eat the wrong foods. . . I am dizzy, half awake, my logic is disrupted because my mind is cloudy, I am grumpy, and I feel a general sense of malease.

Good friends, family and music can also come and go but I find that without them my world is not as exeptional.

I also like a good herbal tea, Roobios (Roy Boss) tea or i.e. red tea from Africa is absolutely my favorite right now.

Also, how can you enjoy life if you have no one to talk to? Friends and family are the spice and color to life. Sure I am an artist in my own mind, I enjoy solitude as much as the next person, but I also enjoy cooking with my friends and good conversation. My good friend Tanya moved away and I miss her deeply because we were able to cook and talk together.

Enjoy Life, even if you have poor health, no friends or family. Even if your world is bereft of music, there is a way to have meaning to your life. Viktor Frankle a survivor of a Nazi Concentration camp, endured the worst conditions to life in human history. Yet he said that even under these conditions there were people who went around lifting others, giving up there last piece of bread and showing that they could choose to find dignity, even in suffering. Then there were others who's spirits were broken, I don't know that my own spirit would stand up to that test. But it gives me hope that there were people who did rise above their conditions, how inspiring. If they died, and most did, even then there lives had meaning. They, through the eyes of others, have given us all a glimpse of the better way of being. I am so grateful to have learned about them. The Nazi Concentration camps seemed to me only places where broken people were made, but even Viktor Frankle shows me that you can survive and change and have a better attitude then you had before.

One of my favorite things about this book is what he wrote about love. His young wife was killed, though he didn't know it. During some of the hardest parts of his internment he imagined her, and talked to her and felt her presence there. He had a beautiful love for her. Not the crass baseness of the physical, (for that drive disappeared under the unique stress they were under)but he loved her essence.

Oh to be so loved!!

~Strawberry Girl