Inextricable

On our recent trip I realized something. Though part of the thrill of getting away is 'getting away', at the same time I tremendously enjoyed my family while I was gone. We were in constant communication and without the distraction of chores not finished and life choices to lecture about I recalled that, Hey, I like these people. I'm glad they're mine. And though we may each in our own ways leave physically we are intertwined. Inextricably linked.

First of all I had a wonderful time. We knew Newfound Gap had collapsed and we couldn't drive all the way across the Smokies but we assumed we could get to a few spots. well. Nope.
The snow and ice shut down the TN side of Great Smoky Mountain Nat. Park.

 

But that's ok. You tell a Grounded they can't drive up there and they say,

 "Oh Yeah? Well screw that."

 We'll walk.

 

and we did.

 

This is the view from my favorite rock on a snowy day.

YAY!

It wasn't a huge amount of snow but it was more than enough to make me happy.

We did some great hiking and my muscles gave me a stern reminder that I'm usually a flat lander but the peace it gave me was worth it in every way.

Like in the Creed it, Restoreth My Soul.

Those are the words.

 

 

 

By coincidence while we gone Biggest and Littlest did a little traveling too. Lit went on a field trip to Sea World with her Science class. She was planning to spend the night before at a friends house and with Middlest being on the watch list we told her not to tell Mid she would be gone all night until the last minute. I figured she's notice Littlest wasn't home on a school night by about ten thirty or eleven, at least before she went to bed and would be looking for her by then or that Littlest would send her a message letting her know around that time, therefore thwarting attempts to break rules. But Littlest didn't send her message. And Middlest came home from work and was really tired and fell asleep on the couch about eight thirty. So she didn't realize Littlest wasn't home until she woke up at two in the morning and Lit wasn't there. Luckily Lit only had to be up at 5 AM so she and her friend were wide awake and able to tell Middlest she was alright. Mid was livid. we apologized. We didn't laugh. ok..not much anyway...because now she knows what it feels like, etc... so anyway..

 

 

Before we left we talked to the girls about getting along. We didn't want the usual calls in the middle of huge brawls and explained there would be no fighting. "Do Not Fight With Each Other!, we said.

and Middlest said, I won't fight with her if she isn't being a bitch..and Lit said..i'm not a bitch, you act like a bitch..and Mid said, You're always a bitch..and Lit said...only when you're acting like a bitch...and...so..yeah...anyway...Despite our worries because of Middlest bad judgement the last time we left, she behaved admirably.  Littlest did not have to put her in a headlock and lock her in a shed. Though I did receive one shrieking phone call, but once I got past my panic and got Mid to make sense, I learned that Littlest had her locked in a closet and wouldn't let her out until she drank spinach smoothie...so yeah...anyway..

 

Littlest went to Sea World. While she was there I received the following texts.

 

Where are the SeaLions?...because you know...I'm in charge of Sea Lions...

 

and 'SeaWorld is a lie, btw. To which I replied, "Don't tell Mid that. She'll jump off a cliff."

 

She sent: There are no orca's. it's a lie. They don't have them open to the public except one show a day. It's all Orca merchandise and no f#%$@ Orca's.

To which I replied, Watch your mouth.

And she sent: THE WHALE IS A LIE.

Later she sent: I yelled at a Sea Lion. I also yelled at a String Ray.

I said, did it yell back? so ok....anyway...she bought Mid an Orca to make up for scaring her...because I told her to...

 

on the same day Biggest suddenly decided to go to Disney World. Unfortunately the little kitty she raised from birth developed a serious virus and despite rigorous treatment for over two weeks nothing could be done. She was devastated and decided Disney might cheer her up.

 

Mid sent a text: Biggest ran away. I don't know if she's coming back.

 

In the meantime Biggest was sending me pictures of herself wearing a wart hog hat and later she sent this:

I'm in storytime with Belle!!!!

I'm the oldest person here!!!!

 

hmmm...yeah. I told Mid. She's in Disney. She'll be fine.

Mid: I know but I think she's lost it.

Me: She'll be fine.

 

Later Biggest told me she couldn't stop grieving and was thinking of adopting a special needs kitty.

 

I told Mid: You're right. She's lost it.

 

Poor Middlest was the only one who didn't have fun that week. On Sunday I told her, The Seamonkey had gone for a walk but I was sitting in front of the fire drinking tea because I felt like someone beat me about the knees with a baseball bat. She replied, "I feel the same way. I sat for 45 minutes in the same position holding an eighty lb. Golden. I couldn't walk for 20 minutes.

I sent: Awww. I hiked for six miles up a mountain in 32 degree weather....and then went shopping.

 

No reply? Of course not. Because obviously I Win...anyway...Middlest was amusing herself by sending me pictures of kitties from work and I was sending her pictures at snow. At one point she sent this message:

 

"Wow. are yall gonna get trapped up there and never come back? I don't think Biggest is ever coming back. And the Marines are gonna take Littlest. and I'll be all alone."

 

*Sigh*

 

No, we didn't get trapped. And Biggest came back. And the Marines might take Littlest but it doesn't really matter. None of us will ever really be alone. It doesn't matter where we go or how long we are gone. We are inextricably linked. We are a family. And we love each other...

 

even if so and so's a bitch...

and spinach juice is gross ..

and some people wear funny hats...

and Shamu is a lie.

 

 

 

In other news, I came home to go to work-go directly to work-and Saturday afternoon when I was finally off and thought I could re-relax, Littlest came home from Jiu Jitsu class and held up a very swollen hand and asked, "Does this look bad? I heard it pop but it didn't hurt so I kept on sparring."

Orthopedics here we come

cause I'm right back where I started from

Work all week there's no more play

Cause I live in a fray-ay-ay!

 

 

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

28 Years, So Far, From the Firsts to the Lasts

Today it has been 28 years since I first met my Husband, The Seamonkey, ( Outside the ladies room of a night club where he could get a good view of the possibilities) and started a string of firsts that we didn't realize were possibilities on that day.

I won't be answering comments this week. I'm still concentrating on and spending most of my time enjoying  a few of our 'Family Lasts' : )


I Wish Everyone a Happy New Year From the First Day To The Last!

And They Shall Call His Name

You know how some words strike us as special? They ring pleasantly on our ear for some reason, often regardless of their meaning. When I was a child I heard the word Emmanuel and thought it was the loveliest sounding word. It flowed like living water and emanated warmth and comfort and strength as well. And then I learned what it meant.

God With Us.

And it took on a whole new level of wonder in my heart. It has always been my favorite Word.

I can say, I Hope you have a Happy Holiday, that you had a lovely Hanukkah or will have a Merry Christmas but this year these words don't seem to be enough. They ring like jingle bells and flicker brightly like LED candles but they don't say what I wish for everyone now and in the coming year. Because this Word is not just good one day a year. I Wish You....

 

 

 EMMANUEL

Every Day. 

 

 

 

 

May the Lord Be With You and Yours This Season and Always.

Ms. G

Isaiah 7:14Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel

Matthew 1:23 “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us).

For Those Most Deserving

Of Honor

Of our Respect and Our Pride and Gratitude

I

Salute and Thank

our military veterans of all generations

 for their

Service and Sacrifice

to the

People of the United States

Our Freedom

And

 Freedom of others across the world.

Including my Daddy : )

Never forget the sacrifices made by our soldiers to uphold Liberty.

From missing families and missing limbs to losing their lives.

For Freedom.

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Chapter 4. The Book of Last.

Over the past few weeks, while I have been gone...I've actually been coming and going some. When I was home my time was exclusively filled with 'what's been going on around here.' It's really a shame because I could have told a multitude of stories but I don't know if I can round up enough details now to flesh them out. But just for the record here is a rundown;

I turned 47. On my birthday we were working out of town. When we arrived at our hotel our room overlooked the cemetary. I found this amusing. Also while traveling, I saw a sign that said:

New Life Cremation and Burial Society
....walk ins welcome...

I found that amusing too : )

while at the same time wondering if I'm getting some kind of metaphoric messages about endings of one phase of life and moving into another, from the cosmos, or beyond, or God or whatever you believe in..because I think they are all the same ...anyway..

Mid quit her job, moved home, talked about going to school for illustration for a couple days, was offered a job working with Biggest, came home the first day with a fever and pain in her abdomen and back, spent 8 hours in an emergency room in the middle of the night to be told she had a kidney infection, is now saving money to get a car and move out again. She fell in love with her new job and loves to discuss every moment of it in detail and it's a possibility I will now be responsible for 2 crazy cat ladies.

Biggest is very pleased because now if Mid tells her, "You're not the boss of me." she factually can reply, "Yes. I am. "

The Littlest has been very busy. She stepped aside from her usual sense of responsibility and borrowed a page from Middlest, for a morning,  by arriving to take the SAT without a calculator. What's 60 bucks and a college future mom? At least she stayed and winged it. Her writing and reading score usually save her from the math when it's all averaged but this one would have to be a miracle. Luckily her ACT score was alright. All she really cares about is the ASVAB and that's next week. She joined the boys wrestling team at school-which we all find amusing- She was Grounded from going to her jiu jitsu class for a short time due to charges of 'aggravated mouthiness' but we put her on probation and she went on to win three first place medals at her last Brazilian Jiu Jitsu tournament. We will be taking her out of town next weekend for another event, in order to support her in her quest for the girl or woman in her division who can seriously kick her ass. Haven't found her yet.
 Her father finally agreed to talk to her recruiter and we had a long and very interesting meeting with him. From time to time I hear a voice softly crooning a rendition of the Marine Corp Hymn wafting through my house. It flutters in my ear for a second and passes on. Sometimes I follow it and stand nearby, unseen, just listening. Sometimes I think someone left the TV on and I run in hoping Gomer Pyle is on...but it isn't. Because though it sometimes feels like one, this isn't a TV show.

It's very real.

Time is ticking fast. And this is the year of Last.

The 15th is my Three Year mark for beginning this blog. My blog that is mostly about raising these girls. I have 10 1/2 months left to get the last one to adulthood. This is my last year as the mother of minor children/teenagers. The last year of teenagers and high school, ever. The last year of supplies and signing forms, teacher conferences and report cards.  The last checks for yearbooks, photo's and shopping for prom. The last year of homework, check ups, and of course, senior year activities and graduation. This will be the year of the Last High School Graduation.
Last year of rules, curfews and of course, Groundings ; )
The last year I Ever Have To Deal With The PTA!!!!

The last year I have any say or control. This is strangely frustrating and liberating at the same time.

So, all of you who have joined and stayed on this journey with me, thank you for hanging in there. I still haven't figured it out yet and apparently never will. But knowing you're out there somewhere has helped me make this trip and I will be thankful for you over the fourth year too.

So. Are we there yet? Not yet. But this is the last mile. Fasten your seatbelts please. Snacks will not be provided but you're welcome to bring your own. Hopefully oxygen masks won't be needed. But, these are the Grounded Girls. And I'm not finished.....not yet.



© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

A Quarter Century of Parenthood

By chance this year Fathers Day and Biggests Birthday will coincide exactly. What makes it even more special is that it will be her 25th birthday. Making this The SeaMonkey's Silver Father Anniversary : ) He will tell you that the strands of silver weaving through his hair were absolutely put there by being her father for 25 years ; ) Twenty five years since he kissed us goodbye at the hospital and came home to fall asleep with his head in a closet, nestled among newborn kittens. Because while I labored our cat did also. He has been a wonderful father for girls. He's tough when needed but is always there trying to provide everything they need to accomplish their goals. He has supported them and made it clear that girls can do as much as boys and more and that his girls...are stubborn...and opinionated...and frustrating...and...the people he loves most in this world.
So on Sunday, I will wish the SeaMonkey a Happy Fathers Day- 25 Year Dad Anniversary!
We can get some kittens to celebrate if you want to. No? ok, just checking...

And my Biggest is a grown woman.  A Wonderful One. That's the strangest part for me. Because even though she is a quarter century old she will always be my girl. For a long time it was just the two of us. I was still a child (21) when I had her. We were playmates when she was small. Constant companions. And I will still young enough to go down the slide at the park. This child changed my life in every way imaginable.  All for the good. When I was pregnant I was given an AFP test. Very common and useful for finding birth defects like Spina Bifida. It also supposedly could show a chance for Down Syndrome. And that's how my levels came back. Talk about scared? We were sent to a geneticist. They were very pushy about having amniocentesis, which was still relatively new. After over an hour of questions and prodding she admitted that, at my age,  the chances of my child having Down Syndrome were much lower than the chances of the test prompting a miscarriage. Talk about mad?  When further questioned about whether anything could be done to improve the situation if the amnio confirmed Down Syndrome,  the only thing she could offer was that an abortion could be done. Talk about more Mad? I was 22 weeks pregnant. I was already feeling flutters. I remember the moment. I was sitting at work and literally felt...butterflies. And what the hell is wrong with Down Syndrome?  Harder certainly but so what? The doctor was lucky My Mama (Because I wanted My Mama there with me) didn't slap her before we marched out in indignation. And worried a little for the rest of the pregnancy. But only a little. Because I had already changed my lifestyle for this child. Already determined that even though it would be a struggle I would remain home with her. Already determined that the world revolved around this baby. And nothing could change that. When she was born the first thing I asked was, Is she ok? There was No Sign of Down Syndrome. She was perfect. Except for her heartbeat, which was not. And so she spent her first hours in the infant ICU. More fear. But all of this taught me something very quickly. What it meant to be a parent. I was introduced to that powerful love, but also powerful fear very early. Maybe that is what gave me the strength to fight through her teenage years, when it sometimes felt like life was just conspiring to take this child from me. Even before she was born  I could illustrate myself with eyes wild and teeth bared, my arms crossed tight across my body holding her close to my heart and snarling...MINE...Mine. 

I had to learn to share of course and she is very much grown up and her own person..but all the same..my child.

Happy Twenty Fifth Birthday to My Biggest Girl! ....My Sunshine : )
Though you share the revolution with your sisters you are shining brighter than ever : )

Got Kittens?...just checking...


I've used this here on your birthdays before but nothing says it better for me.

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

The Sweep Stakes Were High at My House

I was laying on the couch watching television in my usual posture. On my side, arm bent to cradle my head in my hand, top leg bent at the knee and held in the crook of my elbow. I was eleven. It was Saturday morning. I don't know what I was watching but I'm sure I wasn't really interested in it either. I was avoiding. The voice called from somewhere in the house, yet again, "Clean your room." I remained silent. My mother appeared. Each day of the week she left a messy house behind, impeccably dressed and coiffed for work,  and came home to the same clutter to sit on the couch and throw her shoes off, unhook her bra and magically remove it, draping it over the couch. Weekends were usually spent escaping the mess.  My mother was always ready to get out of the house and go somewhere rather than deal with it. Then suddenly she would be overcome with a cleaning frenzy. But. As happened every so often without warning my mom was fed up. It was a Capital Letters Cleaning Day. She stood before me in ugly gray stretchy shorts and old t shirt. Her hair haphazardly pushed back with a band.  "Get in there and clean that room!"
I will, I answered flatly, staring at the TV screen and making no move beyond rocking my bent leg a bit. Now! she yelled. I will in a minute, I repeated, for about the fifth time that morning. I was being a brat. My mother swooped on the room picking up handfuls of clutter in a whirlwind. Thrown into sudden and full onset raging menopause by a hysterectomy, she had already in recent weeks, broken  dishes in the sink, shockingly used to F word, and her reaction to my dads Christmas gift of new pots and pans guaranteed something gorgeous under the tree for her the rest of his life.

I should have known better.

My room was a daunting task I wished to avoid. With the exception of my neatly arranged bookshelf, everything was chaos. I don't remember exactly what was in there. I do know I couldn't see the floor. I recall making an Olympic medal worthy jump from the door to my bed at night to avoid injury.

She threatened again. "If you don't clean that room I'm going to throw everything in it away." I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes. "I'll do it! ...later...."I resumed my concentration on...I don't know...probably Wild Kingdom...it was getting that late in the morning.

A short time later, I heard a lot of noise coming from the back of the house. "Geez, what's she doing now? Cleaning out the closets? It sounded rather violent. Due to recent events,  I decided it was wise to stay out of the way. Besides, if she wore herself out she'd forget about my room. Then a bizarre, long swishing sound on our wooden floors,  followed my clanking and bumping noises, began to descend the hall. "What the heck?" It would stop for a moment and then resume, louder than before.
 And Then...

Suddenly a mountain of clothing and objects came pouring through the door to the living room. MY clothing and My Stuff,  like lava exploding through a crevice and flowing freely over the living room floor. The mountain continued into the middle of the room, being propelled by the huge push broom we used to clear the driveway and front walk. My mother pulled back, gripping tight,  and with a forceful shove cleared the doorway.  She walked to the front door and opened it wide. I stood up from the couch, finally distracted from the TV.  "What are you doing?" I cried out, full of righteous indignation. "You can't do that! I said I would do it!" My mother ignored me. With a mighty heave she pushed the entire contents of my bedroom out the front door across the porch and into the front yard.

I was speechless.

She Was Grand.


The moral of this story being, of course, that I then had to pick up everything and return it to my room neatly. This incident created a lasting impression on me as a child, no doubt, but it has evolved into a fond memory. It created respect and admiration and awe. Even though I've been a mother for a long time, Mothers Day for me is still about my mother.  She died in 2008 but I still feel like the title belongs to her.  I may get some perks on that day but the throne is reserved for My Mom.


I wish all of you moms out there a HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!

Relax. Have Fun! Collect Your Due Regards. Be Grand : )


© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

It Has Arrived

I soon will spend days longing for rain, to take the sting out of the onset of the heat. It will be 90 degrees this second day of April.  Spring,  always heralded by the blooming Ligustrum, the scent reaching into the farthest corners of my brain. Tiny white blossoms blasting their damn poison in to every pore of my body, a plant that drives me to depression.  It only took me to the age of eleven to realize it. Each year as they flanked the front porch of my childhood home and sneakily popped into bloom my head would ache. My limbs feel heavy and encumbered, my thoughts becoming fuzzy and unfocused. Then the sadness loomed, overwhelming and all encompassing.

My mother would ask, "What’s wrong?"

  "I don't feel well". “My head hurts.”  “I'm tired."

"It must be the Ligustrum", she would say.

One day as I sat on the brick steps feeling like I was drowning in the thickness of my own lethargy, the sweet smell enveloping my head, I spied my fathers hedge clippers propped against the iron railings and the solution was as clear and immediate to me as breaking the surface of black water to find pure oxygen waiting.

When she came home, my mother eyed the bruised white carcasses strewn across the walkway and asked sharply,

"What did you do?"

I braced myself. Willing to accept my sentence to uphold my principles I looked her straight in the eye.

   "I killed them."

She stared for a moment at the hacked hedge. Her mouth seemed to twitch ever so slightly and I waited.  I waited for her eyes to narrow in anger.  Waited for her to grit her teeth and begin the tirade. Waited for her voice.  Her  lash of choice.  I stood waiting and then…..

She simply looked back at me for a moment, then turned nodding her head, and without another word walked up the stairs and into the house.

He said: I bought eight of these bushes to plant out front. They get about ten feet high so they will make a great privacy hedge. They grow fast and they are supposed to get little flowers on them in the spring.
When he saw my face he said: They aren't Ligustrum. The tag says something else.

I said: They look like Ligustrum. That's just a general name. There are different varieties.

No, he said, They're not Ligustrum.

Ligustrum (Japanese Privet)

Sometimes I miss the hell out of my mother.

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

a Walk, a Beating Heart and Time..

walk in to a bar  A Valentine

He would ask if I wanted to go. Yes. That winter I wanted to go. The year I turned eleven had been long and boring and lonely. Sitting in hospital waiting rooms. Lounging in the snack bar eating my fill of candy and chips. One soda after another. Waiting. Not allowed in.  I would grab my shoes when he asked and head out the door. We would drive a few blocks and park. Walk to the access and climb down to the sand. His zipped jacket covered the violent looking vertical scar bordered by reddened dots in a trail.  Like a railroad track bisecting his breastbone. The frightening gleam of the row of staples from a few months before was gone but they left behind...these tracks. They couldn't be seen but from time to time his hand would gravitate to the center of his chest gently brushing back and forth with his finger tips. An unconscious habit that continued the rest of his life. He walked before me in brand new running shoes. Something he had never owned before, gleaming white. The paunch recognizable my whole life gone and replaced by bone thinness, the face just beginning to lose it's pallor of the past months and return to a living shade of beige. The sharp edged cheekbones revealing a character alien to me with only a faint resemblance the full cheeks and rounded nose of the face I recognized. But when he rolled his sleeves, even on this twiggy canvas the faded hula girl etched on his forearm still gracefully raised her hip in the air,  her grass skirt flying,  pale flowers ringing the blurring edges of the blue black locks of bouncing hair.  We would face south and begin, our feet crunching companionably on the coquina.  Jeans swishing in unison. Sometimes the wind blew soft from the south. Quickly warming us until I removed my jacket, tying the sleeves around my waist. Flapping around my legs, spreading like a sail as we turned back, gently steering the return. Most days it came from the North and West. Misleading by the easy journey out. Bundled up it pushed us effortlessly forward, fast paced because we had no choice. Already I would be dreading the moment when we looked up to see the row of pylons that marked our miles as halfway.  The return trip a tortuous fight against the wind roaring in our ears, freezing the lobes and the tip of my nose and tears running from my blinking eyes. Leaning forward in to the wind slowly we trudged our way back. The water too cold for swimming rolled to one side. Beautiful elegant homes on the other. Sometimes he would break the silence.  "I like that house". I might nod to agree. Wait to pass the one I liked best. Wondering who was the fortunate family to fill it. Their view at the moment a father and his daughter walking on the beach. I would keep my head down watching shell fragments fly past beneath my eyes. Focusing between my sneakers in the event something caught my eye. A sharks tooth. A twirled brown sea snail shell like a fish eye staring back at me. Broken fragments of sand dollar. The riches of the deep shattered on this shore. Mostly coquina crackling, crunching, mixed with sand. He never broke his stride and if I spied a treasure I would bend and swoop to grab and double my steps to catch up, holding it up for him to see before shoving it deep in pockets to be forgotten until laundry day. We did not dawdle. We kept a brisk pace,  maybe remarking the passing of a porpoise in the waves but not stopping to watch it's antics. White and gray seabirds swooped in escort demanding a handout in shrewish screeches but we marched purposefully over the gray sand hardened by the receding tide or struggled valiantly through collapsing ivory humps like the Coty loose face powder spilled on my mothers vanity. Our feet keeping a consistent beat. Our hearts doing the same.
We had a purpose.

My father was told to walk. Walk so that he would continue to walk this earth. So when I was eleven we walked together. We walked to make up for time we had lost. Months of recovery in the mid seventies. He walked me down the aisle nine years later. Walked to the kitchen with all ten grand babies at some point holding his hand to see what cookies he had hidden there. Walked beside my mother for 53 years total. He walked among us for 23 years after his heart attack and quadruple bypass surgery at the age of 52. He changed his lifestyle completely to make sure no more time was wasted or lost. He also started wearing a silver chain with an eagle pendant and bought a Camaro but that's a whole nother story ; )

February is American Heart Month

Visit the National Heart Association website to learn more.

You can take your risk assessment test here.  Find out your score for a start.

I am 46 years old. My score was 17%.  A 17% chance of dying from a heart attack within the next ten years. This puts me in the same age frame as my father. Would you be surprised if I tell you that my weight is exactly where it should be and that I have perfect blood pressure?  There are many factors in the risk for heart disease.  My father passed down some of his risk factors to me through genetics. He also passed down what he learned to help combat it. Even with all I learned from my dad I haven't been careful enough. So, to my family this Valentines Day I give the promise to try harder. Step away from the chip bag ma'am. If you're good you can have a low salt Triscuit with .02 ounces of reduced fat skim milk cheddar. But that's ok.

As Moms we tend to put ourselves last. Taking care of yourself,  Taking care of your heart, Is taking care of your family. Heart disease is the number one killer of women but my message is for everyone. Wives, mothers, husbands, fathers, sisters and brothers.

This Valentines day don't just give your family your heart. Give them a healthy one. 
Give them the gift of a long walk with you beside them.



Have a Happy and Healthy Valentines Day!


© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

And Merry The Twain Shall Meet

I Wish You Joy


I Wish You Peace.

I Wish You A Merry Christmas!

and/or

Happy Hanukkah!

too. If that's what you do.

And

Much Happiness

in the

New Year

The Christmas lights on my bookcase display exploded and one of the toilet flushers is busted. I now feel relaxed and perfectly safe commencing with celebration.

For more Christmas fun please visit Really Bad Hokey Christmas Poetry on my other blog.

The Week Before Christmas


or listen to Miss Judy.
There is a commercial but it's the Holiday Season so I guess it can't be escaped.
But, Nobody does it better : )


Judy Garland - a merry little Christmas
Uploaded by Alexander_Band. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more. © 2011 All Rights Reserved

Peace It Together

It can be hard to find.

How do we achieve it? What is it to you?

Quiet? Tranquility? Stability?A Goal for the world? 

Peace of Mind? Peace at Heart?

Peace.

On a regular Wednesday afternoon.

I suddenly have nothing important to do. My knees hurt and I'm a little tired. No one is around. How peaceful. A perfect occasion for a nap. I stretch out full length, a luxury at my house, a couch to yourself. I tuck my plush throw snugly around  my legs and set the pillows up 'just right.' I turn the TV on and flip through the channels. I can't rest in total quiet. I need some background noise to still my thoughts and keep them from running riot and disturbing my peace. I find "How To Make An American Quilt." Hmm, that was a good book. I don't go out of my way to watch movies from books I've enjoyed because of possible frustration but if I happen on one I might give it a try. Besides, I like Winona Rider and trust her judgement and interpretations of some others I enjoyed without disappointment. So I settle in and close my eyes occasionally popping them open when something piques my curiosity. This is nice.
  Then I hear footsteps approaching and inwardly groan. Crud. I peek from the corner of my eye as Middlest settles in to the easy chair and pulls up the coffee table to set down a bowl of soup. She's not supposed to be eating in here but she is going out of her way to be quiet so I let it be. Relax. She isn't going to bother me. So I rest,  listening to the dialogue of the movie and the gentle tink of Mids spoon rhythmically hitting the bowl. But after a time she breaks the silence. "What are you watching?"

"How To Make An American Quilt." It's a good story. The book's downstairs on my shelf. Fourth row."

I hear her get up and pad her dishes to the kitchen and then she is back.

"Scoot over. I should be finishing some things before work but this is good."

"Sigh". I bend my knees.  Oh well. I've lost a third of the couch but at least she doesn't want to change the channel. I hear more steps entering the room and Littlest plops on a stool beside the table with a bag of chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk. I slit my eyes open, watching as she throws the cookie in the milk then eats it with a spoon. Disgusting and also forbidden in here but I'm sleeping so I don't see it.  I drift on sound waves from the movie, in and out. "What is this?" Littlest asks.

"How to Make An American Quilt. It's a good book too. I have it downstairs in my bookcase if you want it."

"Scoot over."

"No", whines Middlest. "There isn't enough room. I'm comfortable."

"Sigh". I bend at the waist and pull myself up to a sitting position.

"Move over Mid. There is plenty of room."

So we sit. The semi silence of the room broken now by questions brought on by the parts they missed. "Who is that? Why is she doing that?" It's a good story. About stories. About women. I sit with my two young women and fill in where I can. Wonder out loud myself on the parts I can't remember. The room is no longer still and quiet but it is peaceful. When the movie is over Littlest asks, "Where did you say the book was?" Middlest follows with, "I want to read it too."

It's in my bookcase. It's been there for years. Waiting. Waiting to share. Unsuspecting I set it there waiting for this moment of Peace of Mind. They are smart and remarkable young women. Peace in my girls because,  though they aren't always peaceful, they are so truly mine and nothing in this world can change that. As I sit in my kitten pile of daughters I know these moments are fleeting and precious. My family and my love for them are My Heart.

I Wish You Peace.

Do you think it can't be found? That it is so big and huge an undertaking that it never lasts,
 at least not for long. We may not always see it. There is work and school and mess in the house and strife in the world. Where do we find it?

Peace at Heart.

Let It Be and it Will Be.



© 2011 All Rights Reserved

Just Joy With It

It's just there.

I don't know why. Bubbling up while I vacuum. Snuggling into my blanket while I relax. Swelling to a crescendo when I walk across a room. It can't be stopped.

There is no exact reason for it. When you look at the big picture there would seem to be every reason for it to not be present at all. True, though there have been the usual share of stresses, lately things have not been a train wreck for me personally.  I imagine that helps.  All the petty worries that chip away slowly are there as usual. All the huge worries than can overwhelm are present as always and conspire to make us lose hope. But the joy overtakes them like a tidal wave drowning them in delicious tingles of content and ripples of laughter.

I have habitually distrusted joy, always waiting for the event that crushes it.  Felt guilty with joy. Why should I have joy when there is such a lack of it for others? Felt foolish for joy. This world is a serious place with serious problems. Do I not see the trouble everywhere starting from right next door and spreading across the world? Yes I do.

Yet I feel Joy. Unbounded all consuming Joy.

And
maybe events might crush it.
I try to find ways to bring it to others.
I am aware and do what I can and what I think best.

So I have decided,

To Have My Joy and Be Joyful Too.

I Wish You Joy!

Will you stick it in a drawer and wait for a better time to use it?

Don't do that.


© 2011 All Rights Reserved

Life Is But A Dream

Sometimes we are given little gifts in this life.  Tiny stitches looped far apart are pulled together and the fabric of our lives gathers around us in a snug finished piece. A gift homemade with memories and still warm from the arms of a loved one,  pressed into our hand as we say goodbye as a token to remember them by.

My mother loved a sing along. My closest brother in age was nine years older than me and the brother that I lived with at home the longest. We were the ones who sang. A recurrent theme through my childhood was my mother asking us to sing for her and with her. And we did. From my earliest memories I can see her, mostly in the kitchen, dancing and singing away. Old songs, War songs, Children's songs, Silly songs most of all. When I was still very young, I remember her stopping and saying to me, "Come on, I'll teach you to sing a round." "Sing, Row Row Row Your Boat", she instructed. I began and shortly after she followed. It took me awhile to get it. But before I knew it we were singing a round and having a grand time. The first of many times we would do so. Any chance she got she would ask me to 'round' Row Your Boat, with her. No matter how old I was I never tired of hearing her repertoire and joining in too as we would happily

Row Row Row...


September 2008
She never had any idea who we were when we visited but she was always happy to see us. She was eighty years old. She would smile and chat nonsense with all of her social graces intact. She had come to the point where most of the time it was a string of words rather than actual sentences. But one day, when I came in she was sitting motionless in a chair. Lethargic. This was unusual. I braced myself for reaching the next level. It was just so sudden. Then the nurse called me over and told me she had been getting ready to contact us. Something was wrong. Physically. This was the cause of the change, not the Alzheimer's. After tests were done we found she was having internal bleeding from the colon. My mother had a "No Heroic Measures" Directive but the gastrointerologist said they would check it out. There was no cancer. A small tear. It was repaired. It went very well they said. No problem but they couldn't be sure it wouldn't happen again.  But when I visited her back at the nursing home the next day,  she was lying in bed and did not wake at all during my visit. She was so pale and still. You could barely see her breath rise and fall. Her arm was swollen. The skin stretched tight. She had developed a blood clot. She was being given blood thinner but we were told to be prepared. I realized then I might never see her up again. Might possibly never see her open her eyes. It could be over at any time. They told my brother he needed to sign some papers. Even with my mothers instructions already in place they wanted back up paperwork showing that the directives were understood by the family. I could tell he did not not like this job. All I could do was be there with him for support.

The next morning I met with my brother in the lobby. After he  finished the paperwork we climbed on the elevator to go check on our mom. At the end of the hall I entered the room, expecting to see my mother lying there, much like the day before. There was no one in the room. Panic immediately set in. I turned to my brother, "She's not here!" Where is our mother? We hurried down the hall to the nurses station with frightened thoughts flashing through my brain. Had it already happened? Did they forget to tell us? What did they do with our mom?

"Mrs. --?, said the attendant, she's right over there in the common room, we got her up today."

You What?

I turned and my eyes frantically searched the room. There she was. My brother and I looked at each other in confusion and disbelief. What the heck was going on here?  Our mother was dangerously ill.

 "Hey mom", we came to see you".  She seemed perfectly fine physically. There was no swelling visible in her arm at all. The clot was not there. I don't know who we were that day, but she was glad we came. Her bright blue eyes were shining and clear. Her smile quick. We did the usual, asking how she was, telling her what was going on with us and she answered politely even though she had no idea what we were talking about. Her hair was a mess. My mother was always extremely picky about her hair and I couldn't stand to see it that way, knowing how upset she would have been if she was aware of it. I  stood, pulling my brush out of my bag to try to smooth it down. She loved having her hair brushed and now she did as she always had, closing her eyes and leaning her head back to enjoy it.  My brother and I kept exchanging glances of bewilderment.
  This was an Alzheimer's unit and the elderly people who were still mobile began to congregate near the front of the room where a young woman with a camp counselor voice boomed out that it was time for everyone to gather around. My mother was distracted from our visit. It had been a very long time since I had seen the mother I loved and the woman who was my dear friend. She had been confused, sometimes incoherent, angry, in tears, like a child and serenely polite, but never my mom anymore.
  My brother and I whispered that it would be a good time to go. We both had kids to pick up from school soon. The camp counselor for the aged called out in a rousing tone, come on everyone, it's time for sing along! My mother looked toward the others lined up in their chairs ready to clap and sing.  Her eyes lit up and she smiled, " Oh Boy!" We told her, "I guess we will go now,  mom. You go have fun."  She turned to us her eyes alight, No, you don't have to go yet do you?  Come on! You sing too! I flashed through the years to our old kitchen. "Come on. You sing too."  My brother and I shrugged and sat back down. Just like a preschool class the gray haired children around us clapped their hands and raised their voices. Children's songs. They all still knew the words. "Okay, it's time for Row Your Boat" their leader cried.
I watched my brother, the one who all our lives had been lively and musical and full of fun. I watched him change from the posture of stress and sadness, and grin. My mother sang, she tapped her feet. We laughed. We sang. Loud and clear we joined the boisterous choir rowing in our chairs. We rowed along our mirth and our mothers joy and memories and miracles.

Merrily Merrily Merrily......

It was time to go. "You have to go now?" my mother asked politely but cheerfully as we rose. "Yes. Do you want to move up closer to the others?"  "No. I'm fine here."  Hugs and kisses. I love you. I love you. I love you too. I will see you soon. She forgot we were there before we even reached the end of the room. We got on the elevator and as we waited for the doors to close, I turned to watch my mother. Framed in the opening, she sat erect in her straight back chair. For a moment she frowned,  rubbing her hands together nervously. She looked lost. I felt as strong a pull as I have ever felt in my life. I want to go back. I want to stay. I want my mother. The doors began to close and I almost reached to push the button and get off again but at that moment the next song began and she perked up with a smile. As the doors closed over my view she once again began to sing along. I decided to let it be. We had a nice afternoon.  And my children would be waiting soon, for their mother.
 It had been a very long time since the three of us sang together. I have no clear memory of how the room around us looked. It was full of people who are a background blur. I hear the voices. Like when we were children, our world in that hour revolved around our mother. We sang with our mother that day. We had a good time with her.  Best of all, so did she.

When we reached the parking lot my brother and I were fit to be tied. She was doing great! We were totally confused. We could not believe what had just happened. He would need to call the doctors and see what was going on. "I don't know what to do," he said. Our sister had moved to England and had already purchased her plane tickets to hurry home and see our mom.  "I don't think she can get a refund, he said, and I don't know whether she should still come back now or wait." I didn't know either. But it looked like maybe we had all been granted a reprieve. We had certainly been granted a lovely visit with mom.  My sister decided to come home anyway in the end. That was good. I was glad she did. Perhaps my mother could sense somehow that all of her children were close by. Because in the middle of the next night, shortly after my sisters plane landed , with barely a ripple my mother peacefully drifted away in her dreams.

Gently down the stream.


© 2011 All Rights Reserved

A Silent Unmarked Sky

This post can be found on my other blog. Service Unavailable Error 503.

MOMDROID

 Before she even planned on having children she knew exactly how they should be raised. The moment she found out she was pregnant she knew what to do. First of all she should be a stay at home mom. She read everything she could get her hands on. Before she felt the first kick she knew that breast feeding was the only way to go. She knew when to start solids and sippy cups.  She knew how to safely set up a crib and that the best nursery decorations were a soothing cream and peach with a very tasteful Peter Rabbit theme complete with Beatrix Potter Bumper pads. She knew the safest way for the baby to sleep. She knew natural childbirth classes were a must but that an epidural was what she wanted. Best of both worlds.
 Her day was planned perfectly with each activity in its own time slot. Her babies wore soft gowns washed in Ivory soap and bathed in the safest infant tub followed by careful massage with lotion and a sprinkle of fresh cornstarch-because baby powder was dangerous. She held them. She sang to them. She did everything she was supposed to do. Her life revolved around her little ones. They were perfect.

Have you met her?

 She was always well groomed.
Roots never showing.  Makeup done. Always dressed right for the occasion. Her husband was handsome and they really loved each other. He does well in business and everything they touch turns to gold. She drove a shiny big Limited Edition SUV in the latest model. They live in a big house they renovated themselves in a wonderful neighborhood. Kept clean and carefully OCD organized. The walls hung with original art by family members. It is decorated in an eclectic style that always receives compliments. She designed it herself.

Have you seen her?

 Her children had limited television and mostly educational programs. Disney movies and worthwhile classics were fine as a treat. She dressed her kids in carefully coordinated, classic outfits of good quality. Cute plaid skirts and knit tops. Outside play was expected everyday because fresh air and exercise are good for them. They had the coolest outdoor playset in the neighborhood. Creative indoor play is also encouraged. Building sets, arts and crafts. She bought her children mostly educational toys and old fashioned playthings to pique their imaginations. She read to them every day.

 She packed homemade well rounded lunches with 100% juice and an ice pack to keep food temperature safe. She left notes in them. She cooked every night and always included vegetables and made sure they had fruit available. She did not buy junk food and refused to buy brightly colored sugary cereals. Her children snacked on carrots because they liked to.

They sat down to dinner as a family every night.

They took cool family vacations where they did things like hiking and camping and kayaking together.
They were perfect.

Do you know her?

When it was time for school she found the 'best pre-school.' A very small Christian school that those 'in the know' frequent. She arranged playdates. She always reciprocated. She planned special birthday parties.
 When they started elementary school she knew what teachers to request even though it was against the rules and knew she would get them because she was in the loop. She never missed open house and had meetings with the teachers. When it was time she had her children tested for the gifted program.  They were accepted of course. They studied hard. They always had their homework and she spent hours helping and checking their work. She encouraged them to think, to imagine, to know that they could be anything they wanted to be. When they showed a special interest in something she went out of her way to give then every opportunity to explore it. She carefully balanced time for study and play so that everyone was well rounded.
 She volunteered at school. Baked cookies. Helped with class parties. Read aloud in the classrooms. She belonged to the PTA and helped with fund raisers and would send in something for events but the planning committee for that wasn't really her thing,  so she chose to participate as a board member on a separate Advisory Counsel for important issues like school budget spending and curriculum. ( ok, she refused to be a sheep and sometimes voted against the grain on purpose when she thought it was being fixed ) anyway..


They were involved in sports because it teaches kids teamwork and responsibility as well as being fun and healthy. They never missed practice. She went to every game. Her husband helped coach. She never forgot snack. When they showed an interest in music lessons were provided. She went to every concert. Art supplies were always in stock and creativity encouraged. She let them paint pictures on the walls in their rooms. An artistic impulse should not be thwarted. Damn resale value. A little bit of freedom. A touch of individuality.
Perfect.

Do you like her?

They attended church every Sunday. The kids were in Sunday School. They participated in Christmas Pageants and youth activities. She made sure they attended instruction to be confirmed. She fed the homeless at the local shelter. Her kids were taught compassion. They were taught to treat all people with respect. They talked about their faith at home too,  didn't just leave it to Sundays.

Two years before each child began Middle School began she would carefully research. She included the children in looking at the choices,  making sure it was what they wanted. Then meticulously made sure they had all the resources they needed to accomplish these goals. They did. They were shining stars. They excelled. They had friends. Things were going perfect.

She was careful with what they read. What they watched. What they wore. She knew who their friends were. She knew where they were. She had strict but fair guidelines on what was age appropriate. She carefully tried to balance her value system with what the children encountered and wanted in order to fit in and gave careful and educated thought to what was best. She paid attention. She talked. She listened.

In every situation she knew exactly what to do.

Do you recognize her?

Then one day she didn't know what to do anymore.

 When she looked around she realized that a line had been there all along. She had all the trappings of being on the other side of that line but in fact she had never crossed it. She had actually stood a few feet back from it because she recognized this deep inside. And the world outside her family did too. Which was why she had never become comfortable with the other side of that line and remained standoffish. And the world around her did too. ( So she said screw it. I can't stand these people anyway.)When she turned away they never even noticed. It was like she had never been there. She realized then for sure that she never had.

She was functioning on how she thought things were supposed to be. She thought if she followed the instructions carefully things would run perfectly. It fell apart. It wasn't real. It couldn't be programmed. She was only human.

Life isn't perfect.

And real life had just come up and slapped the crap out of her.

She used to be me.

I like her much better now.  Her husband is still handsome and they still love each other. Her kids are compassionate. Her closets are all still organized by style and color but most of the clothes are in a laundry basket somewhere.


© 2011 All Rights Reserved

Rinse and Repeat.....

Ms. G does not like July. I didn't post another tribute to my father this year because that memory, once written, is now neat and tidy and well maintained. But...this one still has some split ends and damage that need a little extra care and conditioning.  This is a Re-Post of my tribute to my eldest brother from 2010.  I finish the countdown. Four days left in July. The 31st is a day for goodbye. Perhaps August will improve my disposition.
 For now, once again ....

I'm Gonna Wash July Right Out Of My Hair!

Fly Bye Originally posted July 29 2010.

I was 5. It was so early it was still dark and I was awakened quietly to say goodbye. Groggy, I stood on the bed and reached my arms out. All was darkness. I could not see you, but I felt the rough fabric of the uniform beneath my hands and the warmth of your cheek. Your hair no longer sweeping my face as you bent for a kiss but shorn beneath a cap. The low rumble of your voice beside my ear....I love you, goodbye. I carried this in my minds eye waiting patiently as was wished, until you were safely home.


I was 9. Suddenly you were Home! And you picked up where you left off.....being my hero.

I was 24. I fully understood the problem and was saddened and helpless about it. I was used to the drinking but now sometimes your eyes were lifeless. I stop by. You are laying on the couch. You are cold and clammy and sweating profusely. I say "whatever you are doing stop it". Please. Just stop. I kiss you goodbye. Whatever it was seemed to stop and the you that had a soul came back but the drinking never stopped. The damage to your body from the years of alcohol was done.

I was 30. When the call comes in the middle of the night, just by chance I am not at home but out of town and actually closer to where you are than the rest of us. I would get there first, I would be there. As we drove through the dark I prayed, in time, in time, please.

As I was walking in a cloud of unreality, through the front doors, you were leaving. They would not let me go farther. I stood there, waiting patiently as they wished. And moments later they said, "we're sorry, we're sorry, no."

And you were alone. I could not reach out...how could this be?

As we drove away that morning the sun was rising over fields of green going gold. The light rising in tandem with our forward journey. I saw the rays light up their wings like sparks shooting upward as they circled and soared and I smiled. At that moment I heard the first notes of the song burst through to me and I reached to turn the knob up until it engulfed me, carrying me with it for awhile and opened the window to fly along through the morning because I knew...

God had allowed you to pause and soar just long enough

To say goodbye.









Google Video
pinkfloyd.com

The lyrics to this song, which I have included at the bottom of the page, were so appropriate to my brother and the situation that I am still stunned by this experience and it is the single most painful but powerfully spiritual moment of my life.

John
my brother
There for me
All of the things
big brothers should be
Johnny my brother
Ten feet tall
Or so it seemed
when I was small
Dec 1954-July 1996

My brother loved nature and had great admiration for birds. He was very quiet and none of us ever really understood why he was the way he was. He was different. He did not seem cut out for this world.
He made terrible mistakes. He was an alcoholic from his teens.

We loved him.

© 2010 All Rights Reserved

Learning To Fly

By David Gilmore for Pink Floyd

Into the distance, a ribbon of black

Stretched to the point of no turning back

A flight of fancy on a windswept field

Standing alone my senses reeled

A fatal attraction holding me fast, how

Can I escape this irresistible grasp?

Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies

Tongue-tied and twisted Just an earth-bound misfit, I

Ice is forming on the tips of my wings

Unheeded warnings, I thought I thought of everything

No navigator to guide my way home

Unladened, empty and turned to stone

A soul in tension that's learning to fly

Condition grounded but determined to try

Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies

Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I

Above the planet on a wing and a prayer,

My grubby halo, a vapour trail in the empty air,

Across the clouds I see my shadow fly

Out of the corner of my watering eye

A dream unthreatened by the morning light

Could blow this soul right through the roof of the night

There's no sensation to compare with this

Suspended animation, A state of bliss

Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies

Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I 

Release My Breath And Smile.

This has been a very busy, long, tiring, and wonderful week.

Full of stressful and sweet moments.

I watched my beautiful Middlest walk out of the house a high school girl, looking classy and gorgeous in a tasteful dress that made her look like a real grown up. Which was weird. I was amazed at the stuff some of the girls showed up in to graduate. I saw dresses that looked like they belonged on stage in a hootchie review and 6 inch heels that they could barely walk in. My child looked like a dark haired Grace Kelly in a dress she chose herself. (Am I bragging? Damn Straight.) And walk back in with a diploma in her hand.

I saw her walk in a cap and gown that hid every bit of her. Except her face which glowed with a smile that couldn't be missed and moments after taking her seat she had found us in a giant arena. A skill learned from years in an orchestra. She beamed up at us keeping her eyes on her family. Except when her walking partner, who is a childhood friend--turned boyfriend--turned back to friend--was teasing her. Her comment was -"I started school with X poking me with his elbow and I ended school with X poking me with his elbow. Very Appropriate."

I sat with my husband of 25 years and watched her graduate from the same high school we attended. I sat with Littlest who will be there herself in 2013 but was more concerned with the toddler sitting in front of her and spent most of the pre-ceremony smiling and watching her. I sat with my son-in-law DecentGuy, who messed up when he was a student at this school and has been encouraging and fussing and Actually Bribing Middlest to do it right. He's been with Biggest too long, figures it works with that one, why not?...In any case, she has a bass guitar coming her way now. I sat with Biggest who also threw it away when she was there and who cried when Middlest told her she made it, because she was so proud. I sat with this daughter who will be 24 next week. Who stood next to me during the pledge but whispered 'sell out' in my ear and then redeemed herself by laying her head on my shoulder as we sat and watched. It always surprises me when they do that. I freeze in those moments to hold tight to every second of them. We've had several this week. Meeting Middlest on the half way point of out stairs and her reaching out, "I need a hug really bad." Littlest leaning into me as we sat on the porch, at home afterward, celebrating.

I watched the pre-ceremony show. Two families in the row in front of us almost get in a fist fight over the row. Between the family with 3 people who showed up early to save an entire row for the rest and the second family who decided to sit there. The first saying, "These were saved, we have more coming." The second saying, "No they ain't, there's no one sitting in them, they ain't saved." So the first family eventually settled on death glares and loud comments when their other family members showed up. What is wrong with people? The Groundeds' are split on who was right. One side says you can't expect to just show up early and keep that many seats. The other says, That was rude. Get there early yourself instead of stealing seats someone else showed up early for.

I saw the during the ceremony show. Which was people who were solemnly asked to observe decorum. No yelling, cheering, or horns please. After all, a family may miss their graduates name being called. Yeah right. This is a school that prided itself for years on being the only one that allowed flip flops as part of the dress code. The Teachers working Security did remember to look mean as they whispered "not yet, wait till the end" to the kids with the beach balls they were surreptitiously blowing up under their gowns during the final speech. Oh and for some reason the announcers kept pausing in between names ; )

This event marks another milestone in this journey I know will end before long. There will be change. But for now I hold on to this in the same way I hold on to those impromptu hugs and gentle leanings into my shoulders.


Last night I had my favorite. My family all together and enjoying our own company. The noise and ruckus they create as a group always makes me happy.  My three daughters talking and laughing together. They are all big but I still hear the sound of running, laughter and shouts as they tussle. Middlest threatening Biggest to stay out of the corners on her cake, they were hers. But letting DecentGuy have one because he gave her a bass. Biggest and Littlest having a showdown between kick boxing and Jujitsu to see who was toughest. Middlest finally wondering, "How come I never learned to fight?" It's a good question. She answered it herself. "That's ok, I can just disregard situations until they go away". True. I think the fact that this situation not only did not go away but reached completion has floored her. She looked dazed as they handed her the diploma and she looked lost for a moment meandering off the stage. I felt a little lost myself. How did I get here? Where will we go next?
 
I guess it doesn't matter where or how. We will go together. Even if someday we are not physically in the same spot. I know. Wherever they are they I will feel them lean in and rest against my heart.


© 2011 All Rights Reserved

Sometimes I Wonder, Where Did We Go?

Bit by bit nature encroaches upon our dwelling. The same way time seems to encroach on our family's lives and change us. In the spring we look about and decide it's time to clear back a little. Create some space before we become swallowed up.  Over the years pieces of our individuality fall away and we move on and begin to forget. Time moves us forward and our view shifts.  Each spring in our yard we are like archaeologists within our own lives. In the way our memories buried deep within  sometimes spring forth and take us by surprise, sometimes when we least expect it the earth yields up



OUR PAST



When was the day they hit it into the bushes and decided not to retrieve it?
What was the day they walked away?
It slipped by so fast I never caught it. Didn't know I missed it until it was long gone.

© 2011 All Rights Reserved
 

The Sandman

I am so small all I see are their legs. Eight posts surrounding me as we walk. From time to time one of them will pick me up so they can get there faster. On the way home, sticky and tired, they will bicker about whose turn it is to carry me. I keep track of them by their hair. Two girls. The elders. A red head and a brunette. Two boys. Another dark head and one as pale as my own.

They are teenagers. They want to have fun. This appendage is a nuisance but they try. I am swooped up in snug arms and we head for the water. I am safe. I know I am. Gentle swells appear as mountains overtaking me. "It's alright," I hear. A girls voice. "I've got you."

"See we are floating over?" "Weee!"

I am terrified. No. I want to go back. To the sand.

It's hot and humid and no one wants to leave the water. "You take her. No, you take her."

We sit on the white sand. It sticks to our damp legs as we dig a hole. Like in the Robert Louis Stevenson poem my mother reads to me,

"In every hole the sea came up till it could come no more."

Grainy and wet we take handfuls and drip them slowly through our thumbs and forefingers in grayish clumps. Like melted wax they build up in a pointed tower. A medieval castle dotted with tiny flecks of lavender shell. Bits of coquina that scratch our fingers. My feet sit in a squishy puddle that feels heavenly on my toes. I wiggle them around to make it mush more.

After a time the tide recedes. The puddle dries up. I am bored and tired and hot and sandy. The recipe for a tantrum. They are back and forth to the water. They are teenagers. They don't want to leave. I am crying. He says, "I'll watch her." We sit against giant black boulders where the sand is softest. It sifts and blows through our fingers in the wind. They came unarmed with toys beyond a large kitchen spoon. "Do you want to go swimming?" No. " Do you want to make a castle?" I do.

He tries to create a fortress in the dry sand but it won't work. We don't have the tools. Spindly, early teens, limbs and sunburned ears sticking out from beneath his hair. His head, whiter than the sand itself, is bent with determination. And finally frustration. "I can make you a snow man," he says.Yes. Snow is as foreign to me as my world might be to a Siberian but I know what a snowman looks like. He digs a little to the cooler, slightly damp sand below the surface and grabs handfuls. He stoops,   carefully shaping the ball. I am enthralled. Smoothing his fingers along the surface he props them on top of each other, about a foot tall, leaning against the boulder for support. I am delighted as we search for bits of shell and sticks to complete him.

I sit.  Gritty, sticky and tired but happy and overcome with love and hero worship.
When it is time to go I don't want to leave my treasure behind.

My big brother was magic.

He made a Snowman out of Sand.




This post is inspired by The Red Dress Club   RemembeRed Prompt : Sand




I love this memory and couldn't resist. But participating in anything makes me feel like I'm gonna throw up, so I'm going to push publish as fast as I can now and then run!

© 2011 All Rights Reserved

But Does It Define Me?

Surprise! I'm back again already. Which may mean I have a remarkable amount of free time on my hands. Or that I'm not doing other stuff I should be doing. You decide : ) Besides, it wouldn't be a Special Holiday if I didn't mark it with some Really Bad Hokey Poetry!

I am twenty one years
From my body she pours
With a smile they lay her upon me
Take her. She is yours.

A short time freed daughter
A fifteen months wife
Twenty one years of  myself
Now A mother for life

I have done many things. I have not done everything. When I look the choices I have made and ask myself, how have you done? I have to say, Ok. Which as you may know works for me : ) If I ask, what  have I contributed to this world? What is my masterpiece? Did I win a Nobel prize? Did I secure world peace? Did I save the environment, lead a nation to greatness, create art found in the great museums, write the book that defines my generation? Well, hell no.


As some time passed
I considered the choice
I listened to the multitudes
But chose my own voice

I am twenty seven years
When my life I define
Reach for this burden of love
I take her. She is mine.

But I can say to the world, Look, I made you these human beings. The glaze is a little cracked on my first try but it gives it amazing depth and character and I think I completely missed a piece on that second one but it's so beautiful and exceptional the way it is, no one notices and the small one seems like just an adorable trinket at first glance but is so intricate and complicated you can stare at it for hours and never completely figure it out.

I am twenty nine years
Sooner than we thought
But we have no less joy in this
blessing We wrought
 
Snatched at first breath 
I invoke the divine
Battle the fates for this prize
And win. She is mine.
 
It still remains to be seen what my actual contribution to the world will accomplish.  Some may say that it is a waste to feel that motherhood is all you have to offer. Well. I don't think it is all I have to offer. But out of everything that I have done and plan to do it is what has real meaning for me. And really,  even if I did change the world, or define my generation in some way, or even just did a kick ass job at whatever I do for a job, all of it is just "something I did."  Anyone else could have done just as well if they had a mind to.
 
My days and contributions to the world may be transient and whether my accomplishments are unremarkable or remarkable to others,  wordly awards and accolades mean nothing to me.

Whatever they may give,

I am a mother as long as I live.
 
 
 
Besides, who needs a Nobel prize.
 

I Got A Spatula !



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HAPPY MOTHERS DAY TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD SPATULA!!!!!!!

© 2011 All Rights Reserved