What does it say...
What does it say about me
that I have a secret longing to enter every single
sweepstakes that I see
and in my heart believe it's meant for me to
win
almost feeling the heavy ginormous check
tipping and slipping out of balance while
I smile and the cameraman points and clicks?
What does it say about me
that I love those little word things
that you sometimes have to enter to
legitimize who you are
or why you are visiting a site
that I am so easily made to feel
brilliant as I read the smudgy fonts
and so deftly type in the letters that
somehow make sense of Seuss-like
juxtaposition?
What does it say about me
that I woke my sleeping teen
the other night because
I absolutley had to have
an ice cold coca-cola and
chips and french onion dip
but was afraid to drive to Redi-Go
to get it by myself
the hour being so late
and the Redi-Go crowd so
typically creepy?
What does it say about me
that I know what I need to do
have every logical reason and ability to do
that one big or million little things
and yet I inevitably find
another load of laundry
or a (potential) threating invasive weed
in my flower bed that MUST COME OUT
before I step into the need
that I would for some reason rather
ignore
even though I typically like to be
needed?
What does it say
that I apparently
care about what IT
says or who THEY
are even though
I've never seen IT
or met THEY
and at the end of the day
(which, really, where is
that--the end of the day?)
the only one faced with
any question or any
decision
is just
me?
Monday, May 16, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Do you shop at Marcs? I suppose it's somewhat like a Big Lots. The one in our town right now just re-located and so has brought a new flurry of anti-union protestors scattered around its perimeter, drinking coffee and holding signs and waving at cars and standing up for what they believe in. My dad would be at least slightly annoyed at me for waving and then continuing to park. My budget told me to do it.
Yesterday, I went in with a long list, and three toddlers dangerously close to nap time, and my alarm set on my cell phone to get me out in time to get us all checked out and to a doctor's appointment on time. It drove me crazy as I dashed about and picked up list items and corraled my troops.
Finally I made it to the checkout. The experience of the check out lines at Marcs IS probably worth at least a small protest sign, as we usually experience at least one meltdown moment as we wait. And wait. And....wwaaaiitt.
Eventually, I began to load items onto the conveyor belt, and my four year old seized the opportunity to catch a passing by manager. "Excuse me," she asked politely. "Would you please make that piano go?" She has seen the player piano at the front of the store, staged with photographs of famous musicians' tunes recorded on its rolls, inquired of me, attempted to sneak up under the cord that surrounds it to make the piece a Played by Her Piano. And today, her precocious self had reached her limits. The manager chuckled and said she hadn't ever seen it play, but she would get the store manager to ask him to turn it on.
I continued to load groceries, slightly damp with I'm-going-to-be-late for our-appointment sweat, one eye on the register, one hand on Mac who was trying to leap out of the cart (his turn for melt down) and one eye on the exchange going on with my child and the store managers. She's very direct.
Soon, the player began twinkling out tunes, and Ellerie and Connor were both startled and transfixed.
I was stopped mid-load. The tune was Karen Carpenter's "Top of the World." Do you remember it? Tears filled my eyes. No longer did I stand in the grocery store, sweating and unaware of the flat on my car that would need addressed before I reached the doctor's office to find out Mac needed another antibiotic.
No, I was once again a little girl, about the age of Ellerie. Surrounded by sunbeams, warm and safe in my Granny's living room. We were dancing and laughing as the mellow 45 spun about, sending the charmed words on the charmed notes into the charmed world of a precious moment between a grandmother and her granddaughter. I can see her smile, and I could feel my own remembered laughter in my chest, tickling my heart. My hands clutched reflexively to hold her thin, strong fingers. Happy-sad tears filled my eyes and spilled over my cheeks. "I'm sorry," I laughed to the cashier. "I haven't heard this song in over 30 years." I shook my head, but I couldn't clear the reverie. The lyrics, the love, the dust speckles of sparkly memory, swirling in the slanted shafts of that long ago, right here, sunshine-y day.
I went 33 cents over the cash I had. She spotted me. And I gathered up my brood. But bits and pieces of memory and joy and bittersweet scattered all around the check out aisle, and as I glanced about, I half expected people to sort of start floating up in the air, kind of like when the little Michael shakes Tinkerbell's dust on the Nursery dog Nana, and her bumm floats up in surprise. But they didn't float, and instead went about as usual, not realizing the gifts of yesterday had just hugged today.
Top of the World, Karen Carpenter
Such a feelin's comin' over me
There is wonder in most everything I see
Not a cloud in the sky
Got the sun in my eyes
And I won't be surprised if it's a dream
Everything I want the world to be
Is now coming true especially for me
And the reason is clear
It's because you are here
You're the nearest thing to heaven that I've seen
I'm on the top of the world lookin' down on creation
And the only explanation I can find
Is the love that I've found ever since you've been around
Your love's put me at the top of the world
Something in the wind has learned my name
And it's tellin' me that things are not the same
In the leaves on the trees and the touch of the breeze
There's a pleasin' sense of happiness for me
There is only one wish on my mind
When this day is through I hope that I will find
That tomorrow will be just the same for you and me
All I need will be mine if you are here
I'm on the top of the world lookin' down on creation
And the only explanation I can find
Is the love that I've found ever since you've been around
Your love's put me at the top of the world
Yesterday, I went in with a long list, and three toddlers dangerously close to nap time, and my alarm set on my cell phone to get me out in time to get us all checked out and to a doctor's appointment on time. It drove me crazy as I dashed about and picked up list items and corraled my troops.
Finally I made it to the checkout. The experience of the check out lines at Marcs IS probably worth at least a small protest sign, as we usually experience at least one meltdown moment as we wait. And wait. And....wwaaaiitt.
Eventually, I began to load items onto the conveyor belt, and my four year old seized the opportunity to catch a passing by manager. "Excuse me," she asked politely. "Would you please make that piano go?" She has seen the player piano at the front of the store, staged with photographs of famous musicians' tunes recorded on its rolls, inquired of me, attempted to sneak up under the cord that surrounds it to make the piece a Played by Her Piano. And today, her precocious self had reached her limits. The manager chuckled and said she hadn't ever seen it play, but she would get the store manager to ask him to turn it on.
I continued to load groceries, slightly damp with I'm-going-to-be-late for our-appointment sweat, one eye on the register, one hand on Mac who was trying to leap out of the cart (his turn for melt down) and one eye on the exchange going on with my child and the store managers. She's very direct.
Soon, the player began twinkling out tunes, and Ellerie and Connor were both startled and transfixed.
I was stopped mid-load. The tune was Karen Carpenter's "Top of the World." Do you remember it? Tears filled my eyes. No longer did I stand in the grocery store, sweating and unaware of the flat on my car that would need addressed before I reached the doctor's office to find out Mac needed another antibiotic.
No, I was once again a little girl, about the age of Ellerie. Surrounded by sunbeams, warm and safe in my Granny's living room. We were dancing and laughing as the mellow 45 spun about, sending the charmed words on the charmed notes into the charmed world of a precious moment between a grandmother and her granddaughter. I can see her smile, and I could feel my own remembered laughter in my chest, tickling my heart. My hands clutched reflexively to hold her thin, strong fingers. Happy-sad tears filled my eyes and spilled over my cheeks. "I'm sorry," I laughed to the cashier. "I haven't heard this song in over 30 years." I shook my head, but I couldn't clear the reverie. The lyrics, the love, the dust speckles of sparkly memory, swirling in the slanted shafts of that long ago, right here, sunshine-y day.
I went 33 cents over the cash I had. She spotted me. And I gathered up my brood. But bits and pieces of memory and joy and bittersweet scattered all around the check out aisle, and as I glanced about, I half expected people to sort of start floating up in the air, kind of like when the little Michael shakes Tinkerbell's dust on the Nursery dog Nana, and her bumm floats up in surprise. But they didn't float, and instead went about as usual, not realizing the gifts of yesterday had just hugged today.
Top of the World, Karen Carpenter
Such a feelin's comin' over me
There is wonder in most everything I see
Not a cloud in the sky
Got the sun in my eyes
And I won't be surprised if it's a dream
Everything I want the world to be
Is now coming true especially for me
And the reason is clear
It's because you are here
You're the nearest thing to heaven that I've seen
I'm on the top of the world lookin' down on creation
And the only explanation I can find
Is the love that I've found ever since you've been around
Your love's put me at the top of the world
Something in the wind has learned my name
And it's tellin' me that things are not the same
In the leaves on the trees and the touch of the breeze
There's a pleasin' sense of happiness for me
There is only one wish on my mind
When this day is through I hope that I will find
That tomorrow will be just the same for you and me
All I need will be mine if you are here
I'm on the top of the world lookin' down on creation
And the only explanation I can find
Is the love that I've found ever since you've been around
Your love's put me at the top of the world
Saturday, March 05, 2011
The house is quiet. I am quiet. The gentle hum of the dishwaher and the high efficiency swish of my washer tell me it's either early morning, or late evening, as it's the only time my house is typically still with me in it. I need to get upstairs, spoon against my husband who is warm and sure and probably softly snoring. But the house is quiet. And I am quiet. It's good.
I've been reflecting so much lately on time, which is really an oxymoron, as, for each moment I'm looking backward, life is just moving along, sidewalk square by sidewalk square. Quietly. Steadily.
Today, I am:
Sure.
Forgiven.
Forgiving.
Content.
Optimistic.
Focused.
Relaxed.
Open.
Opening.
Happy. I am Happy.
Loved.
Loving.
With song.
Silent.
Without nightmares. (It's been almost a month for me! This is huge.)
But, Dreaming.
Remembering.
Remembered.
Joyful.
I'll tell you this: What I can remember about my yesterdays is probably both not quite as beautiful or horrid as my memory recalls. And I cannot assure anyone else of the beauty of tomorrow in any terms other than my own. But today, today was beautiful. My days are made of beautiful. From baby shampoo to oreo kisses to first job jitters to warm, soft pillows... From tears of having to try again to tears of having to say goodbye to voice changing squeaks to forgotten uniforms... From having grown up LIVING The Pain and the Great One to carting around love in my arms in one form or another since I was about, what 12? From dishes to laundry to business to pleasure... Today, my days are made of beautiful.
And my house is quiet. And I am quiet. And it is good.
I've been reflecting so much lately on time, which is really an oxymoron, as, for each moment I'm looking backward, life is just moving along, sidewalk square by sidewalk square. Quietly. Steadily.
Today, I am:
Sure.
Forgiven.
Forgiving.
Content.
Optimistic.
Focused.
Relaxed.
Open.
Opening.
Happy. I am Happy.
Loved.
Loving.
With song.
Silent.
Without nightmares. (It's been almost a month for me! This is huge.)
But, Dreaming.
Remembering.
Remembered.
Joyful.
I'll tell you this: What I can remember about my yesterdays is probably both not quite as beautiful or horrid as my memory recalls. And I cannot assure anyone else of the beauty of tomorrow in any terms other than my own. But today, today was beautiful. My days are made of beautiful. From baby shampoo to oreo kisses to first job jitters to warm, soft pillows... From tears of having to try again to tears of having to say goodbye to voice changing squeaks to forgotten uniforms... From having grown up LIVING The Pain and the Great One to carting around love in my arms in one form or another since I was about, what 12? From dishes to laundry to business to pleasure... Today, my days are made of beautiful.
And my house is quiet. And I am quiet. And it is good.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
I can hardly believe, REALLY, that it's been since November since my last post. But you know, I've lived a whole other lifetime since then. REally. Thanksgiving was crazy--had a minor surgery (which aren't they always a little more major than minor indicates?) the day before, so I'd done all the dinner prep the day before that, and then on the day of little Connor reached across a votive candle (he had snuck up to the counter to snatch a cinnamon roll that wasn't done cooling), and his sleeve caught on fire. Terrifying. Jason beat the flames out barehanded, and I raced across the kitchen to tear away the shirt, ignoring bandages, stitches... Isn't that the way when moved with great passion and intense desire? I needed to rescue him. That was my only goal.
So then Christmas rushed in with the Holiday Shopping that I had SO determined to be SOOO prepared for that I would completely avoid it... AND, I stayed up wrapping all Christmas Eve. But HEY! I promoted to DM for Arbonne, amidst holiday bazaars that didn't turn out as I'd expected, and the UPSdownsUPSdownsUPS as I tried to measure success and failure.
New Years Eve at Mom and Dad's. The edgy ache of sorrow that Uncle Mark was not there. The sad place in my Dad's eye. My dad is so handsome, so strong. I feel pain in my heart, tears pressing out, just thinking of how his smile is just that ever so little bit... less than it was. Odd, isn't it? How continued life gives these rich rich blessings that deepen the warmth and resolve and ABSOLUTE joy in love, but it takes away, just a little by such such little, the freeness of a smile. There's a bittersweet burden of... well, of remembering.
Anyways. The night before we left for there, I got this call from B. I love her now, but at the time she was just this face on an Eye on Arbonne, this several page spread of determination. I mean it! Every sentence was like a mile marker of grit and I can do all things through HIM. And then, she talked (it wasn't our first chat--we'd had others in which I felt that innate admiration. my wish is that everyone finds someone for whom this feeling can blossom) about this upcoming Exchange Event, and she might deny it, but I'm pretty sure she just prayed my butt right onto a plane headed for Amarillo. THE last place in the world I figured I needed to be, what with Christmas returns, and holiday blues and all.
IN FACT: a few days before, I sat down to type. Wanted to pour out my soul in this black and white so that I might come back and sort it out later. All I could do, all I could muster, was to log onto Facebook and type, "Is it just me?" And cry--those really, not fun, man these are breaking my heart, silent tears.
Anyways. I went to Amarillo, bags packed full of clothes that still had tags on them, layered with years of dusty, heavy stories I'd been toting around for at least three decades. And I met her, this friend whose soul must surely share at least one web or orb of fingerprint with mine. She's staggeringly beautiful. And to look at her, she's pretty too. (Are you following me?) Being near her is like... Well, when I was a little kid, I used to be fascinated with my kaleidiscope. Loved the sounds the beads made, each little trickle turning something lovely even lovelier. So peaceful that world of turn by turn color, most radiant when held up to the light. That's what spending time with Buffy is like.
And I swear she ran me all around that ruggedly, brutually magnificent area with its funny names like Taco Villa and Quik Quak the day I arrived. So surreal to be so far away and just perfectly right at home. I think my spirit sighed audibly. And that's not even the good part!
I was there for this Exchange Event. Did I mention that I had packed a little cynicism, skepticism, criticism, obnoxiousism into my carry on? Evidentally, weight borne only on the soul doesn't cost extra--not in money.
But, an hour into the presentation on, well, I can only say with all confidence that the presentation, if you're a part of it, is on EXACTLY what your innermost core NEEEEEDs, I found myself asking Keith for forgiveness (he must think I'm crazy), but I needed to trash my carryons. Critically, vitally important it was, I knew to open my heart All the way.
And oh baby.
I have this little notebook that I carry with me eveyrwhere. It contains my notes from the Exchange. But I'd completely wig if I lost it. Because there are these little pieces of me written all over it. And listen: this is huge. Prior to this blog, I never really saved any writings that came from that deep place inside. It never seemed to match with what I thought was written on my forehead. I'm still amazed.
And that isn't even the best part.
Like a true Magic Bullet Infommercial, if you wait: THERE's MORE!!
In the shape of this forum of people I've been introduced to... Lots from Arbonne, lots from... well, that place of Ether, swirling around bumping thoughts and emotion and people's beings together. I really kind of think pieces of me were floating around there too, and just bit by bit I'm coming back together.
I have a thousand things to say all of a sudden. As if it's imperative that I type and type and type my heart onto the page. Commit to the changes I am seeing are so clearly needed. Find SUCCESS for my family.
Meet my husband again and again until all that we have are the posts of "Look at this gem we found once more today", whether through trial or treat, to record our journey together. We're not there yet.
I found my children too! Found their beautiful, passionate wills and dreamy imaginings. Figured out where I wasn't showing up, and I'm not talking about sporting events.
My faith. Ah that. Yes, well, ignited is the thing. But I don't want a flash flood. I want a controlled burn, steady, strong, created to fufill a purpose blazing with light.
So you see? It's been a lifetime since November, but I think, for the first time ever, I was shocked to see that I hadn't written about it. Even though this post has certainly not done a lifetime worth of justice.
And to you who are part of my re-shaping, who are the brilliant gems tickling across the glass of my soul: thank you. My loving hasn't been complete without you.
So then Christmas rushed in with the Holiday Shopping that I had SO determined to be SOOO prepared for that I would completely avoid it... AND, I stayed up wrapping all Christmas Eve. But HEY! I promoted to DM for Arbonne, amidst holiday bazaars that didn't turn out as I'd expected, and the UPSdownsUPSdownsUPS as I tried to measure success and failure.
New Years Eve at Mom and Dad's. The edgy ache of sorrow that Uncle Mark was not there. The sad place in my Dad's eye. My dad is so handsome, so strong. I feel pain in my heart, tears pressing out, just thinking of how his smile is just that ever so little bit... less than it was. Odd, isn't it? How continued life gives these rich rich blessings that deepen the warmth and resolve and ABSOLUTE joy in love, but it takes away, just a little by such such little, the freeness of a smile. There's a bittersweet burden of... well, of remembering.
Anyways. The night before we left for there, I got this call from B. I love her now, but at the time she was just this face on an Eye on Arbonne, this several page spread of determination. I mean it! Every sentence was like a mile marker of grit and I can do all things through HIM. And then, she talked (it wasn't our first chat--we'd had others in which I felt that innate admiration. my wish is that everyone finds someone for whom this feeling can blossom) about this upcoming Exchange Event, and she might deny it, but I'm pretty sure she just prayed my butt right onto a plane headed for Amarillo. THE last place in the world I figured I needed to be, what with Christmas returns, and holiday blues and all.
IN FACT: a few days before, I sat down to type. Wanted to pour out my soul in this black and white so that I might come back and sort it out later. All I could do, all I could muster, was to log onto Facebook and type, "Is it just me?" And cry--those really, not fun, man these are breaking my heart, silent tears.
Anyways. I went to Amarillo, bags packed full of clothes that still had tags on them, layered with years of dusty, heavy stories I'd been toting around for at least three decades. And I met her, this friend whose soul must surely share at least one web or orb of fingerprint with mine. She's staggeringly beautiful. And to look at her, she's pretty too. (Are you following me?) Being near her is like... Well, when I was a little kid, I used to be fascinated with my kaleidiscope. Loved the sounds the beads made, each little trickle turning something lovely even lovelier. So peaceful that world of turn by turn color, most radiant when held up to the light. That's what spending time with Buffy is like.
And I swear she ran me all around that ruggedly, brutually magnificent area with its funny names like Taco Villa and Quik Quak the day I arrived. So surreal to be so far away and just perfectly right at home. I think my spirit sighed audibly. And that's not even the good part!
I was there for this Exchange Event. Did I mention that I had packed a little cynicism, skepticism, criticism, obnoxiousism into my carry on? Evidentally, weight borne only on the soul doesn't cost extra--not in money.
But, an hour into the presentation on, well, I can only say with all confidence that the presentation, if you're a part of it, is on EXACTLY what your innermost core NEEEEEDs, I found myself asking Keith for forgiveness (he must think I'm crazy), but I needed to trash my carryons. Critically, vitally important it was, I knew to open my heart All the way.
And oh baby.
I have this little notebook that I carry with me eveyrwhere. It contains my notes from the Exchange. But I'd completely wig if I lost it. Because there are these little pieces of me written all over it. And listen: this is huge. Prior to this blog, I never really saved any writings that came from that deep place inside. It never seemed to match with what I thought was written on my forehead. I'm still amazed.
And that isn't even the best part.
Like a true Magic Bullet Infommercial, if you wait: THERE's MORE!!
In the shape of this forum of people I've been introduced to... Lots from Arbonne, lots from... well, that place of Ether, swirling around bumping thoughts and emotion and people's beings together. I really kind of think pieces of me were floating around there too, and just bit by bit I'm coming back together.
I have a thousand things to say all of a sudden. As if it's imperative that I type and type and type my heart onto the page. Commit to the changes I am seeing are so clearly needed. Find SUCCESS for my family.
Meet my husband again and again until all that we have are the posts of "Look at this gem we found once more today", whether through trial or treat, to record our journey together. We're not there yet.
I found my children too! Found their beautiful, passionate wills and dreamy imaginings. Figured out where I wasn't showing up, and I'm not talking about sporting events.
My faith. Ah that. Yes, well, ignited is the thing. But I don't want a flash flood. I want a controlled burn, steady, strong, created to fufill a purpose blazing with light.
So you see? It's been a lifetime since November, but I think, for the first time ever, I was shocked to see that I hadn't written about it. Even though this post has certainly not done a lifetime worth of justice.
And to you who are part of my re-shaping, who are the brilliant gems tickling across the glass of my soul: thank you. My loving hasn't been complete without you.
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