A friend warned me: "It can be a lonely undertaking, this writing thing...".
I recently found pure delight in the solitary study of writing; when it was again fresh and long overdue.
Not so much later, I'm starting to see and understand the inevitability and wisdom of his words; but only starting.
Is the loneliness bound in needing to be alone, wishing to be alone, or being made to feel alone? Is it an agent for good, for ill, or simply another tool; amoral and malleable? Should it be released or embraced? Is it a fuel or an abatement? A blessing or curse?
One true statement; many good questions.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The death of me...
...giving life to 4 children. They are the death of pride, privacy. They were the death of creativity for years; and of freedom.
Then, there's the other side of the coin. While they often kill intimacy, they sometimes create it at another level. They sometimes create a unique freedom, because they provide excuses for many things. They force you to be places and do things you otherwise wouldn't; they stretch their parents to the point that they are reshaped, and i don't just mean the flabby mom-belly.
They are the source of constant entertainment and annoyance. Children provide a horrifyingly real mirror that can be most instructive. Their comments can injure like no others, and they can validate as deeply. They reign in the tendencies of the wild and weak, and bring down the empires of kings.
They also give you something to think about, write about, dream about. A frightening but inspirational lot, children. They are the death of the old me; the person I was before. While I gave life to them, mine was being remade. It hurts, no lie. It can hurt a lot. It also inspires and motivates. I realize that now that if I don't follow my dreams, and use my gifts, I can't expect them to use theirs; for themselves, or for me; for the Lord or for anyone. Being all I was made to be is the best way to ensure they will fulfill this one treasured hope i have for them: that they will shine like stars where they are gifted, and appreciate and know the Giver of all good gifts. So, my giftedness still intact, and probably better after years of change, I now venture out against my fears; success, failure. Mostly success. Failure is an everyday occurrence; success, not so much. Or maybe not as easily acknowledged? Either way, scary. I need to shine. It's what my name means!
Anyway, as they slowly mature, I mature. We die, and are remade; we pour ourselves into them, and they are poured into us. And then, one day, it's just time for the next thing. Crawl, walk, run, fly from the nest, play in traffic.
Come alive; live the dream.
Then, there's the other side of the coin. While they often kill intimacy, they sometimes create it at another level. They sometimes create a unique freedom, because they provide excuses for many things. They force you to be places and do things you otherwise wouldn't; they stretch their parents to the point that they are reshaped, and i don't just mean the flabby mom-belly.
They are the source of constant entertainment and annoyance. Children provide a horrifyingly real mirror that can be most instructive. Their comments can injure like no others, and they can validate as deeply. They reign in the tendencies of the wild and weak, and bring down the empires of kings.
They also give you something to think about, write about, dream about. A frightening but inspirational lot, children. They are the death of the old me; the person I was before. While I gave life to them, mine was being remade. It hurts, no lie. It can hurt a lot. It also inspires and motivates. I realize that now that if I don't follow my dreams, and use my gifts, I can't expect them to use theirs; for themselves, or for me; for the Lord or for anyone. Being all I was made to be is the best way to ensure they will fulfill this one treasured hope i have for them: that they will shine like stars where they are gifted, and appreciate and know the Giver of all good gifts. So, my giftedness still intact, and probably better after years of change, I now venture out against my fears; success, failure. Mostly success. Failure is an everyday occurrence; success, not so much. Or maybe not as easily acknowledged? Either way, scary. I need to shine. It's what my name means!
Anyway, as they slowly mature, I mature. We die, and are remade; we pour ourselves into them, and they are poured into us. And then, one day, it's just time for the next thing. Crawl, walk, run, fly from the nest, play in traffic.
Come alive; live the dream.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Heat is On
Ya, i know it's like, zero out, but i just had a radiant experience. I have been overlooking a treasure in my generally-considered-to-be-substandard home. The back door faces south. The screen door is black metal with highly low-tech non-filtering glass. My inner door is steel. Do you see the potential here???
I let the dog out. I leaned against the burning hot door. My hand touched the balmy temperature'd glass. I neither left nor closed the door. I did, however, close my eyes, and suddenly i was feeling mighty summery! I got the blazing red and orange and magenta scenic view that occurs when i look to the sun through my eyelids and unzipped the very high neck of this sweater and was suddenly on temporary vacation. Sooothing. Dreeeeeamy. I think i made some vitamin D! Goody! Hail, the mighty sun and it's power to heal! Thanks, God, for a little spa spot; right here, right now :)
I let the dog out. I leaned against the burning hot door. My hand touched the balmy temperature'd glass. I neither left nor closed the door. I did, however, close my eyes, and suddenly i was feeling mighty summery! I got the blazing red and orange and magenta scenic view that occurs when i look to the sun through my eyelids and unzipped the very high neck of this sweater and was suddenly on temporary vacation. Sooothing. Dreeeeeamy. I think i made some vitamin D! Goody! Hail, the mighty sun and it's power to heal! Thanks, God, for a little spa spot; right here, right now :)
Thursday, November 4, 2010
(un)happy meals?
http://preview.tinyurl.com/2do35as
49 minutes ago @ Healthy Eats - Healthy Debate: Should Happy Meals be Banned?
"Whoever came up with the marketing for Happy Meals toys is a genius. Kids are drawn to popular characters and love the trinkets even more than the food. But this type of marketing comes a with a price: a fat- and calorie-laden meal that leaves many child obesity advocates feeling decidedly unhappy. San Francisco is proposing a ban on toys paired with unhealthy kids’ meals — should it go nationwide?..."
Songbird thinks:
This displays a ridiculous over-use of governmental power, a scandalous misuse of taxpayer money, and the obviously arrogant opinion that some of "the people" know what's best for "those poor wretches who don't know how to make good choices like us". Liberal rhetoric at it's finest. BTW, i seldom purchase happy meals for my kids because they are a relatively poor nutritional and economic choice, and i am opposed to the overuse of plastic Chinese things, (no offence to the Chinese, who are only making money we willing give them.) Although, when the golden arches offer HotWheels, i'm there. Their apple dippers and ok, too; but i loathe the assumption that kids won't eat apples w/out adding sugary caramel. Anyway, McDonald's has the right to market and sell, and most of us have to right and the cash to make food choices. A ban such as this does nothing to impart nutritional education or the decision -making skills one must continually be honing to make informed choices. Let parents feed and educate their kids.
P.S.
The ban has since been passed. Seriously. Now the legal drama begins; which leads me to question, if plastic toys are objectionable marketing, should we be allowed to have plastic teeth, falsely leading others to believe we have healthy choppers, thus supporting the poor health choices we all make at some point? Seriously??? sigh.
49 minutes ago @ Healthy Eats - Healthy Debate: Should Happy Meals be Banned?
"Whoever came up with the marketing for Happy Meals toys is a genius. Kids are drawn to popular characters and love the trinkets even more than the food. But this type of marketing comes a with a price: a fat- and calorie-laden meal that leaves many child obesity advocates feeling decidedly unhappy. San Francisco is proposing a ban on toys paired with unhealthy kids’ meals — should it go nationwide?..."
Songbird thinks:
This displays a ridiculous over-use of governmental power, a scandalous misuse of taxpayer money, and the obviously arrogant opinion that some of "the people" know what's best for "those poor wretches who don't know how to make good choices like us". Liberal rhetoric at it's finest. BTW, i seldom purchase happy meals for my kids because they are a relatively poor nutritional and economic choice, and i am opposed to the overuse of plastic Chinese things, (no offence to the Chinese, who are only making money we willing give them.) Although, when the golden arches offer HotWheels, i'm there. Their apple dippers and ok, too; but i loathe the assumption that kids won't eat apples w/out adding sugary caramel. Anyway, McDonald's has the right to market and sell, and most of us have to right and the cash to make food choices. A ban such as this does nothing to impart nutritional education or the decision -making skills one must continually be honing to make informed choices. Let parents feed and educate their kids.
P.S.
The ban has since been passed. Seriously. Now the legal drama begins; which leads me to question, if plastic toys are objectionable marketing, should we be allowed to have plastic teeth, falsely leading others to believe we have healthy choppers, thus supporting the poor health choices we all make at some point? Seriously??? sigh.
Monday, May 11, 2009
thoughts from April.
The end. At a funeral yesterday, a naval veteran was laid to rest. I didn’t know him well, but all such partings are sad, and fraught with memories of what was, designs of what could have been; thoughts of what should have been. In brief, impersonal services, brought to us by personnel who didn’t know the fellow, assurance was the theme. All of it was sincerely meant, and probably, carefully, tastefully true, yet a bit void. Until that moment…
As two Naval officers stepped forward to present the United States Flag, a third, an angel, I think, stepped out of the mausoleum and began… with the first note, I gasp for breath, then hold it.
The soul in it’s timbre is like the cry of the ages. I think it was her exquisite execution, her command of the instrument; no, something more, something inexplicable, sublime, unearthly. And heart wrenching. There is a finality associated with the playing of “taps” that enervates me, like an angel of light with a devil’s tongue. No one else seemed to even cry, as if their hearts must have stopped; time must have stopped, and left me alone with the mournful melody. I tried to hold my straight face; dared not glance at my husband, while the losses creeping in his memory are being poured out through the end of a horn for all to hear. Would he break down if I looked? I guess I’m more afraid that I am the only one so moved by the haunting strains; I feel as if I could wail, while my chest heaves silently.
It’s not even about an uncle I didn’t know; but rather, another void in the family; opportunities never to be redeemed, endings that can’t be re-written. The pain is about Resurrection Cemetery, a place that holds a coffin for me, full of dead things, things I can’t know about my husband’s family, things I can’t pass on to my children. What I feel is the emptiness of a family I came into too late, after damage was done, division sown, and souls had moved on; one that didn’t share too much, for reasons I’ll never know. Heaven knows their grandmother didn’t raise them that way.
She, too, passed before I became a part of my man’s story, but I know her a bit. I know Grandma because she was a writer. We only have a few pages, and they are typewritten and faded, but oh, so precious. She had a habit of jotting down thoughts to the grandkids, and some made the journey into our possession just before the funeral; I read them when we got home. She knew my husband; really and truly, from the time he was young. She was keenly perceptive. She knew that what you are very early can determine what you are for the rest of your life. I know she loved my husband. I know because her words live, though her throat is silent.
Two voices called to me from across eternity yesterday; one reminding me of the devastating permanence of death. It was clear, poignant, succinct and cruel in it’s perfection.
The second voice is common, astute; it speaks only of the good. It is inelegant and comical, borne on material of such poor visual quality as to give no pause; I can’t believe these pages survived the years. But they did, thank the Lord, and they are the voice of hope, and they speak volumes; causing a symphony of praise in my soul where a perfect melody tried to steal my joy only hours earlier. These few words give, rather than take.
What a blessing, precious words.
There is no ending that is not a beginning. There is no voice louder than that of love. There is no pain that God can’t redeem.
“Day is done, gone the sun from the lake, from the hills, from the sky. All is well, safely rest…God is nigh.”
Rm 2009
As two Naval officers stepped forward to present the United States Flag, a third, an angel, I think, stepped out of the mausoleum and began… with the first note, I gasp for breath, then hold it.
The soul in it’s timbre is like the cry of the ages. I think it was her exquisite execution, her command of the instrument; no, something more, something inexplicable, sublime, unearthly. And heart wrenching. There is a finality associated with the playing of “taps” that enervates me, like an angel of light with a devil’s tongue. No one else seemed to even cry, as if their hearts must have stopped; time must have stopped, and left me alone with the mournful melody. I tried to hold my straight face; dared not glance at my husband, while the losses creeping in his memory are being poured out through the end of a horn for all to hear. Would he break down if I looked? I guess I’m more afraid that I am the only one so moved by the haunting strains; I feel as if I could wail, while my chest heaves silently.
It’s not even about an uncle I didn’t know; but rather, another void in the family; opportunities never to be redeemed, endings that can’t be re-written. The pain is about Resurrection Cemetery, a place that holds a coffin for me, full of dead things, things I can’t know about my husband’s family, things I can’t pass on to my children. What I feel is the emptiness of a family I came into too late, after damage was done, division sown, and souls had moved on; one that didn’t share too much, for reasons I’ll never know. Heaven knows their grandmother didn’t raise them that way.
She, too, passed before I became a part of my man’s story, but I know her a bit. I know Grandma because she was a writer. We only have a few pages, and they are typewritten and faded, but oh, so precious. She had a habit of jotting down thoughts to the grandkids, and some made the journey into our possession just before the funeral; I read them when we got home. She knew my husband; really and truly, from the time he was young. She was keenly perceptive. She knew that what you are very early can determine what you are for the rest of your life. I know she loved my husband. I know because her words live, though her throat is silent.
Two voices called to me from across eternity yesterday; one reminding me of the devastating permanence of death. It was clear, poignant, succinct and cruel in it’s perfection.
The second voice is common, astute; it speaks only of the good. It is inelegant and comical, borne on material of such poor visual quality as to give no pause; I can’t believe these pages survived the years. But they did, thank the Lord, and they are the voice of hope, and they speak volumes; causing a symphony of praise in my soul where a perfect melody tried to steal my joy only hours earlier. These few words give, rather than take.
What a blessing, precious words.
There is no ending that is not a beginning. There is no voice louder than that of love. There is no pain that God can’t redeem.
“Day is done, gone the sun from the lake, from the hills, from the sky. All is well, safely rest…God is nigh.”
Rm 2009
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Disgusting mom duty # 8,765....
I am gone for the evening;
I return.
Not bad, only red marker all over one arm of one couch, a reasonable price to pay for my almost 4 hours of solo time.
Sensing that all is well in my world, i ask the kids how their evening was.
In the flurry of rapid-fire, 4-person verbal attack, child #2 is very geeked to dominate the conversation and presents "the kicker"; that special comment that will most certainly draw my attention to his thoroughly interesting perspective.
Oh, and it does.
"There's a squirrel in the yard, and it's head is off, and they ate out it's butt!!!"
He is pleased, indeed, that my head turns to focus on him and his astonishing revelation.
The finger points eagerly, out the back door, and we all fly down the stairs in succession; barefoot and magnetized;
i am kind of horrified that our loving kitties could down a squirrel;( if you have ever had outdoor cats, you know what i mean; they never get the good end of a squirrel battle, and learn early not to bother trying, usually...)
Oh, what relief, it's not a squirrel! It’s only another rabbit.
I feel bad, I like rabbits. At least I never heard this one screaming for it's little life. (Have you ever heard a rabbit scream??? Not so good.)
It really is in....several… pieces.
No wonder #2 didn't know what it was!
#3 wants really, really, badly to pet it, and dances around the carnage chanting his desire.
#4 declares "ew, ew, ew..." sniffing the air in search of evidence of putrification.
#1 looks on with the studied air of one seeking to strike a mature posture.
Dad only briefly looks’ up from his computer screen, and knowingly makes no effort whatsoever toward the crime scene.
We don't expect him to.
See, dad throws up very easily.
Not wanting to have to clean up a vomit-encrusted dismembered bunny, i know what needs to come next….
“Shoo! Get to bed now..."
Everyone is in the house now, all are happily tucked in and quiet.(all happy, i kid you not! i still can't believe that part myself! True story!)
(Dad is still at the computer...)
I decide to ignore the rabbit for now.
I go for my evening constitutional instead,
Subduing my body into 50 min. of pavement-pounding having instantly been deemed far more desirable than the task at hand, and besides, I NEED that exercise!
When i return, guess what is still waiting for me; (and I ain't referring to that sexy, underwear clad beast in my bed.)
I offer to my husband that since I am still dressed, I should bag the bunny and run it over to the park to trash it.
(Last week, the chipmunk stuck to the bottom of the trashcan...)
Anyway, as his one and only contribution to the effort, he supposes that police intervention would ensue followed by headlines regarding the headless rabbit and the "satanic" cats.
I go to bed.
Of course, this morning comes, and, well, I have no choice.
Not wanting my backyard to become a macabre petting zoo, i scoop up the critter, (in 2 bags,) and put it in the trash. (OUR trashcan, not the city's.) 
I thank for Lord for the beautiful autumn-like weather, also grateful that there are several bags of trash in there already, (so the carcass won't stick! What a relief!)
Ah, life is gross.
I mean, good.
Yeah, that's what i meant to say, life is good...
<@}}><
Thursday, August 2, 2007
kids growing up too fast...
...when my daughter started singing this tune, i not only busted a gut laughing, but also got interesting insight into my own psyche, as viewed by her. Now what in my life could possibly inspire such an, um, interesting marriage of faith and practice????
to the tune of"Jesus Loves Me" sing, if you please:
"I need coffee, this i know
for the Bible tells me so!
little ones to Him belong...."
as she is climbing into the cupboard to get herself a cup down, i was taken by the pure silliness of it at first, and, then i wondered; does she think that i think that coffee is as important as Jesus?
hmmm. these are the times when i can call my children blessings : } and i realize what seriously important growth tools they are in our lives. hard looking in that mirror when you're not prepared for what you see, and you didn't ask for that glimpse...
...a bit of self-examination (and a chuckle!) with that java, anyone???
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)