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 |  This was my first blog, maybe my best blog...nah! The journey continues with another..!
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Check out this signature's match at Thomas  's blog** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "You want to become aware of your thoughts and choose them carefully. You are the Michelangelo of your own life; the 'David' you are sculpting is YOU!" Dr. Joe Vitale
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| Today is my next to last at this, the place where I've been employed for the last eight months. In many ways I like it here and I'll miss it. I like the people I work with. Sometimes their life stories bug out my eyes and I have to wonder what people are thinking when they make the choices they do, but even so they are friendly, fun people during our laboring hours and they make the time move along just a little faster. I'll especially miss the head housekeeper who has become more than a coworker. She's now my good friend. I promised her we'd keep in touch-I hope we hold each other to it. I'll miss the guests, especially our regulars who stay with us once a week or at least once a month, the patients at Mayo going through Chemo and/or their families, and the office and trade workers who travel into Rochester and stay with us consistently...I'll miss being able to "fix" things for THEM, to make their stay here a little better, a bit smoother. I know how to manuever the computer in a way the other front desk people don't. I guess they'll have to learn!  But I'm excited and feel good about the change. I'll be working the night shift again, 11pm to 7am from Sunday thru Thursday at a hotel not too far from this one and no farther from my home than this one. I warned the manager here that I was going to have to implement this change for my own sake. I told her this over a month ago and she said she understood. I think in some ways she does... But in others, not so much. She wouldn't give me a raise-at least pay me for the added responsibilities she was placing on me since losing her assistant manager back at the end of October. Gradually I've done more and more here, to the point that in many areas she doesn't even realize what I do. I fix potential mistakes before she ever sees them. I go through her inbox-which she asked me to do-and I eliminate for her the problems fixable by me...and that's quite a few. She's taken what I do for granted for a long time. I was tired of that, and I was tired of scrmping and scraping to get by...this job has made me tired, period. More tired than I ever thought I could be  I'll still be doing some scrimping, but at least there's a bit of a raise in changing my venue of work. At least I can see some positive effects for myself. I'll have time to write, time to send out writing work, time to write to my friends, time to sleep in the morning-which is my favorite time to do that anyway-and time to be with my family without wanting desperately to fall asleep the entire time! This day shift has been a KILLER for me, a night owl by nature. My new boss certainly isn't perfect  He's young, brash, 28-years-old and just a little rude. Sometimes he's not a LITTLE rude if you catch the drift. But at least with him I know where I stand. There are no surprises. He's been very blunt about the fact that he's not a people person...that's why he needs ME!  His family owns the hotel where I'll be working plus a string of others; there's opportunity, if I want to take it, to move up, there. I can feel it, sniff it in the air there-I'm not sure if I DO want to move up in the hotel industry, but it's nice to know I'll have the option if I choose to take it. He's mentioned it to me a couple of times, already. Invaluable time to do what I love-write-and that chance for advancement. I'm making the right choice for myself and my family. It's always tough to leave one thing behind to move forward to another, though. And my life's journey continues along a slightly different path...! |
Happy Birthday to ME  No, not my chronological birhday, but my WDC birthday!! I was greeted this morning by an e-mail from our favorite The StoryMaster  and an automated "happy birthday" as well...Gee, it really did take me back to that day-THIS day-four years ago when I was sitting at the desktop computer we now have downstairs, perusing writing sites from the Writers' Digest Top 100 list I'd bought from one of the bookstores. I was tired, at the time, of putting my own life on hold to take care of not just my kids, but LIZ. Anyone who's been a visitor of my corner in Blogville is aware of my bipolar daughter and the challenges befalling the entire family as a result of her condition...I wanted something more for myself, just me. During the time I've been a part of this site people have asked me, here and there, why I don't encourage my kids to start accounts here. They're writiers too, right? Yes that's true, but for me this site has been a place where I can go and just be ME. I write about my girls ad nauseum it's true  because motherhood is an integrel part of my life and who I am, but I don't want it to be ALL I am. For that reason I needed an outlet where I could actually be something more, where I could share pieces of myself and forge friendships that had absolutely nothing to do with where my kid goes to school or what activity I volunteer to help with...where I could be an individual instead of "someone's mom." And of course I needed to expand my writing life and grow as a writer; I put this web address onto the computer's address bar...and the computer screen directed me to more than just a site where I have expanded my writing life, my friendships, myself. I was directed, with that click on the "enter" button, to more than my enormous growth as a writer-I opened the door to my destiny.  |
| I am very tired this evening. I have the subjects of great blog entries festering inside my head, but I don't think tonight's the night to give them life. I don't think I'd do justice to them. Because I am very, very, very tired. Today I did not have to work at more than one hotel. For this I am grateful; in case I didn't mention it-I'm tired. Am I being redundant?? I fell asleep for a bit this afternoon after work, leaving my poor fourteen year old all alone with nothing but the television and computer with IM capabilities...yeah, I don't think she was devestated. When I woke up I realized Rachael hadn't yet returned from her trip the store-I sent her an hour before. She didn't show up until a half hour after that...the store is about five minutes away. Tom reminded me...this is Rachael I sent. Enough said. *ahem* I made nachos with everything available to put on them-except black olives. I love black olives *wistful*. Rachael said, "Sorry mom, I forgot the olives." How could you forget the olives? I put them on the list you took! "Yeah," she said with remorse, "But I crossed it out too soon." Huh?! Right. This is Rachael. Sigh. But the nachos were good anyway, everyone seemed to enjoy them and let me tell ya, the atmosphere at our dinner table is mostly a fun one. Sometimes the fourteen year old has to be sullen and nonspeaking, but even then...well, Thomas is there. We had fun tonight. We had fun last night too...there's nothing like having a good time taliking and laughing at the dinner table after a busy day, is there? Except maybe for peace and quiet afterwards Cute Thomas went upstairs to play a computer game and I watched NCIS with Sarah. This show about Navy Investigators solving sensational crimes with some witty banter between the characters thrown in...Sarah stole this show from me. It used to be my favorite but now it's hers. Sure it could be both of ours but...that just wouldn't seem right, ha ha- So Sarah and I kinda sorta bonded and watched the show and talked a little...as much as I can talk to her these days. She's so darn prickly. If any of us says or does anything less than "just right" with her she gets a mutinous look on her face and often resorts to the silent treatment when she knows being "mouthy" will get her in trouble. Sigh. There were periodic moments of "bonding" during the show followed by periodic moments of "sullen silence." KIDS Hey. I figure at least I'm here for it...but I sure can't wait until she's through this phase. I think I speak for all of us who live with her when I emit this opinion.Sarah took her shower and is in bed. Rachael was cajoled out of her room and downstairs to feed the dog and let him out one last time. And here I sit, the luckiest woman who ever lived...I'm very very tired. But I'm very very tired while I sit beside the love of my life.  *ssssh, I think I'm sleeping...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...* |
| Yesterday I received a lovely review from Ida_Matilda_Wright Help . She reviewed a poem that has seldom been opened and/or read, mainly because I don't promote it like I do others. It's a simple little thing I came up with one day as I was walking into the grocery store, when a woman accosted me and asked me that age-old question, "Do you know if you're going to Heaven?" I looked her in the face, into her wide blue eyes and perrennially startled expression, and I thought to myself, "It's YOU who isn't sure, or you wouldn't be asking..." A poem was born: Heaven How do I get to Heaven? Can I fly Or must I walk? Can I float Or must I trudge? How do I get to Heaven? If I fly Who will catch Me when I fall? If I fall? How do I get to Heaven? Can I fly Past the sun Into the moon And beyond? How do I get to Heaven? Can you tell Me how and Where I have To be To get to Heaven? This wasn't an irony pointed to a religious set of any kind, by the way. I think too many of us center our thinking around "what it takes to get there..." instead of working on who we need to be in the here-and-now.  |
Last night I wrote that being a mom is hard. That was sexist. Being a parent is HARD. Being a step parent is even harder I'll bet...the point is, parenting on any level...I'm probably not going to win any points with the parents of small children for admitting this but--it doesn't get easier with age. It gets different, but not easier. There sometimes comes a "lull before the storm," I know I have been in one or two There was that time with Rachael when she was in high school and enjoying her life, looking forward to moving forward, just flat doing well and I breathed a sigh of relief. Then there is now.She's okay, but I know she's not where she wants to be. She's always been academic, enjoying English and reading the way some enjoy gym class. What's your favorite class? Most children are asked this question. She'd respond, "reading because I'm good at it." That's Rachael This is not a person who should be out of school for any length of time. Her plan, since senior year of high school, has been to get a degree in English, then a Masters' degree in English and teach at the college level while she writes. It's who she wants to be. Currently she's not in school and working at Target.She's not thrilled with retail. It's a job, that's the best she can say. Some days aren't so bad, but some days she comes home gritting her teeth and patently unhappy with where she is. She has decided to get her "master plan" in gear by returning, in the fall, to Roosevelt University where she suffered a false start a year and a half ago. To get there, however, she has to fill out reams of paperwork, and this is not her strongest area of motivation. Okay, the girl makes me crazy *crazy icon here* We've filled out the stuff for Roosevelt, she's even been offered an all-important scholarship. She's on the roster for enrollment...but she has yet to fill out the FAFSA, that all-important Federal financial aid form that will garauntee her money for all the schooling she needs. I've assured her that we're poor now, which is actually a point in her favor when it comes to receiving monetary help for college from the government. But still she procrastinates.  I've attempted to help with this part of the process but she's adamant-like only Rachael can be-that she can do it herself, very much reminding me of three-year-old Rachael who was determined to dress herself no matter HOW long it took. It took quite some time, but she did it with no help whatsoever.When she was four she was in a dance class that taught the children how to cartwheel. The teachers were concerned because, the first week, she stood by and didn't even attempt to "try". I told them to be patient with her and let her do it her way, and she would. She needs to watch, think, and be sure she can do it before she DOES it. They looked doubtful but abided by my wishes to simply let her be, off in the corner, watching... The next week, towards the end of class when other children were trying to cartwheel and cartwheeling and flying around the room pretty much, Rachael walked into the middle of the room...and executed a perfect cartwheel. She did the same thing with writing her name. One day, when she was three, she didn't at all, not even squiggles of "pretend." The next day she printed it crookedly but clearly. I was absolutely floored  So what am I worried about? Rachael has always done things her own way, in her own time, the way she needs to most...not unlike her mother.  So WHY am I concerned??Because I'm her mother and it's what I do. |
| So often these days it feels like being a mom is just plain HARD. Liz is currently living in a homeless shelter in Moline. It's something she needed, something she NEEDS, a development that is actually a good thing, but being her mother...I'm rife with mixed emotions. I never wanted her to reach this point. Parts of me feel like a failure as a mother because she did. I know it's not true, things in real life just aren't black and white or right and wrong like they tend to be in a half hour sitcom or even in most books. Life is much more complex than that. Liz landed in a homeless shelter because of decisions she's been making for years, all on her own. I know it, I understand like no one else that this place is where she's meant to be at this moment in her life, that it's actually the BEST place for her to be...but the mommy within cringes. She went back to live in Illinois, I think it was in January? Time flies when life is what happens...she lived with her dad for a month, then returned to Moline to live with a friend. She's been friend-hopping ever since. Interspersed with this she had a job once for less than a week. She hasn't been taking meds, she hasn't made attempts to get herself mental healthcare, she hasn't done anything to make her life REALLY begin to work...and I've been constantly and nonstop worried about her. I push it to the back of my head so I don't have to think about it too much, but the aura of worry and the tense feeling of impending doom upon one of my offspring looms large. I knew years ago that I had to ready myself for whatever would happen to Liz at some point in the future. She's always been too busy thumbing her nose at what's good for her to maintain a steady kind of life for too long a time. I also knew, though, after the last time she purposely made herself unwelcome in a program designed to give her a jump start into a productive life, that she had to make it her own way. She had to suffer the slings and arrows of reality, HARSH reality, before she'd ever really "get it." She'd become impossible to live with for a couple of years before she was put out of the group home here and was once again "my problem," and like I wrote back when it all happened, it was time for me to remove myself from the picture of her decisions. It was time for Liz to go it alone, with no one else to blame for what was to become of her. I braced myself for whatever would follow... I've been amazed at how she can weazle her way into people's homes. I've been a little irritated by the way she can charm her way in...because the charm never lasts. Inevitably she'll become difficult, belligerent, ungrateful, unthankful, and just plain infuriating to live with, especially when she's not contributing anything to the home. Inevitably she ended up on the streets during this last week. Thankfully I didn't know about it until last night, when she was already safely esconced indoors. She ended up making the call herself, finally tired and beaten down and ready to cry "uncle" to society at large...she was whisked into a shelter where she was actually put into an apartment with another young woman who has three children. She has her own room and some responsibilities that come from living there-she has to keep her living area clean and tidy...oh, to be a fly on the wall for THAT one! She also turned out to be very ill. The people who run the shelter took her to the dr. She has bronchitis and strep throat and is now properly medicated for those. She has already spoken with a counselor she likes very much. They have set her up with an appointment at Robert Young Mental Health, the place she where she received decent outpatient treatment after a hospital stay one summer. She's also getting involved in something called Project NOW, where she'll be given employment help and plain LIVING help-they'll be with her every step of the way as she finally gets her GED and they put her into classes that will teach her "life coping" skills. *relieved sigh* I hope she sticks this out... I'm glad she's okay. I'm glad she seems to be getting the help she so desperately needs. There is a little voice whispering inside me that I should have been the one to get her to this place...even though I know it's not true. She needed to get to this place on her own. In fact, one thing she told me last night, in a very proud tone, were the words, "and I did this on my own, Mom. I made the call." I get this. I know she needed to get here alone. Thank goodness Tom was with me, because through my tears and lecturing, he reminded me to tell her I'm proud of her for making that call...she's 21 years old, it was time for her to stand on her own feet and accept responsibility for every single choice she makes for herself. I GET that... But I'm a mother. I ache to think of her on the streets, with no place to call "home." I ache for her, period. I don't know if I'll ever stop. |
Here I am, the only leftie in the room... unusual already in the way I write and create what spills from my head- Here I am, the one who sits and writes and is opposite of everyone else I see with pen to paper. What does this mean, if anything? Do we look for meaning where there is none? Or perhaps the side used for writing what I think Has everything to do with who I am... When I was young, I was told I was very wrong to be a leftie. My mother Bristled and said with ice in her voice, "Let her be what she will be." And so it was that I was left alone to Be a leftie, to be different in a world where To be the same is strangely revered. But with that earliest lesson I was taught- Not only is it Good to be different, it is, In fact, the desired state of being. So many of us strive all our lives to Conform, bend to society's mode of doing And thinking and being, when conforming Is the least of what we should do for ourselves. "The Masses" do not know my heart, or yours. "The Masses" cannot tell me who I am. I am a woman prepared to write my own life story My own way. I want to be the author of my own tale, the one who Decides the fate of her protagonist. It is time for me To create the same sort of care for My primary character- Me. |
| ...of my conversation with Curtis the new coworker: at one point I told him I really wanted to be a teacher. I am three credits shy of an associates' degree-crazy me-and I have an actual umpteen million college credits floating around I want to be a teacher, I always have. I've tried to satisfy myself with the reality that I do teach here and there. For years I taught bible school, Sunday School, girl scouts, then coached speech and debate. I've tutored high school and college students, plus a middles school student or two. At one point during a college class about teaching I was able to go into a middle school English class for "teacher observation," but I was able to tutor AND teach in front of the class. It was amazingly wonderful. I felt that pull of "calling." THIS is what I'm meant to do, I would say to myself at moments like that. I LOVE teaching. I feel complete when I do it. I feel right, like I do when I'm with Thomas. Not JUST like when I'm with Thomas, but that feeling of rightness....it's there.I'm pretty old, now, to be thinking of a career in teaching. Have you seen the new teachers, these days? Many of them aren't too much older than my own girls. In fact, by the time Rachael is done with college-if I were able to go back, myself-we might be starting out at the same time. That would be weird. Then again...I'm starting over in many ways. I have found the love of my life-I thought I never would. We are starting a life together and it hasn't been real easy, but it certainly has been RIGHT. I'd do it all again in less than a heartbeat. If some angel-type person were to descend from a lofty perch and offer me financial solvency in a BIG way and an established life in middle age over what I have with Thomas...there'd be no contest of any sort. Thomas and our life together win without blinking an eye. So is it far-fetched for ME to still think about doing something as crazy as finishing college and actually teaching at some point in the near-to-far future? Would it be nuts to be a teacher just beginning when I have to regularly color out the gray in my hair, at a time in my life when most teachers who are my age are actually RETIRING from the profession?! I've never been one to take the easy way, the common way, or the expected way. I've always been one who hears and walks to a different sort of drummer, often one that nobody else can hear. Why should this life choice be any different?? Last night young Curtis, upon hearing that I want to be a high school English teacher, sat back and smiled and said, "I think you'd be a cool teacher, a lot better than some of the ones I had. You'd be awesome!" Out of the mouths of babes... |
| ...what can happen when you take a leap... I'll let you in on a "little secret" This week I'm working two jobs. I have my full time job at a hotel and I've been less than subtle in writing about some of the issues I have with it. I love what I do but I get endlessly frustrated by feeling under-appreciated and, frankly, used. It often puts a bad taste in my mouth when I hear yet another guest compliment or the manager comes to me with yet another proofreading entreaty So because I'm nice-and really it does matter because you never know who will end up benefitting you when you strive to be just flat NICE to people-the Mayo Clinic shuttle bus driver informed me about another hotel on his route that needs a front desk person. Hmm, my brain said. He assured me the manager at THIS hotel would be willing to pay me what I'm worth. HMMM, said my brain. He gave that manager my name and then gave me the manager's business card. I called and two weeks later I'm training there in the afternoon/evening. The manager at this new hotel calls what I am making over there right now my "training pay." It's already more than I recieve "over there." When I'm done training I will hopefully have a new job for more pay. This is a good thing...but that's not all...The young man "training" me at this new hotel is 24 years old. He's sweet but young...remember that age?? We talked the way coworkers do, learning bits and pieces about our lives..oh my he's so YOUNG! This young man mentioned something to me. He told me he'd been feeling a lump on his side, showing me where it was. He said it made him uncomfortable sometimes and he hadn't been to the doctor for two reasons. He isn't insured and he's scared of what the doctor might find. I gasped. He's only three years older than my oldest daughter. I put myself in his parents' shoes, especially when he told me his parents would want to help and even sell their house if they had to, if he was sick, and he would never allow that to happen. I sat up straight in the chair. I looked at him incredulously. "Curtis," I said, "I can't think of anything worse in my life than outliving my children. And if I ever knew something was wrong with them and they didn't tell me, didn't give me a chance to help and then I was left without one of them...I'd want to die, myself. Is that REALLY what you want for your parents?" He was quiet for a minute and then softly replied, "no, I guess not." Softly he said, "I never thought of it that way." I made him promise to get it checked as soon as possible. He said he would-I hope he keeps his word. I'll be working where he does, I plan to hold him to it. I told Tom tonight: If nothing more comes from this job than that I gave that boy the push it takes to get him to the doctor...this new job has served its purpose. |
Thomas wrote an amazing story last summer. He has recieved much acclaim for the story because it really is just flat awesome. In fact, he won third place for it in a local short story contest here in Rochester, an important yearly contest sponsored by a woman with amazing talent of her own and an affinity for great writing. I'm linking it here:
It was written during a contest last summer. We wrote about it, I posted stories here and Thomas did, too, but still I feel compelled to revisit an interesting comcept: the contest included the use of a noun, a verb, and a sentence we all had to use...I vaguely recall what we had to come up with-but the differences in the resulting stories were and are endlessly intriguing to me. I've decided to post the very same story I came up with here today: Walking A Mile The bicycle's rickety squeak echoed through the park as Adrian wound his way around the path. He puffed a little but not a lot, being used to the exertion of riding his only mode of transportation. He lifted one hand off his handlebars to impatiently push dirty strands of straggling brown hair out of his eyes as he rode. The strands were wet with sweat. He squeaked up to the park's rushing fountain, a depiction of two cherubs created from concrete, holding large pots from which water spewed into a large round basin at their feet, and he was off the bike before it even stopped moving. He slipped off ratty sandals, cracked dark brown leather, and stuck his feet into the basin. He sighed and shivered a little when the ice cold water touched his skin and clacked his teeth together. He bent, not much caring that his filthy jeans, soft from so much use, were trailing in the water. Adrian cupped his hands, calloused and almost as filthy as his pants, and splashed an equally dirty, hair-covered face with the welcoming coolness. He sighed with pleasure and sat for a moment on the edge of the basin. A small boy stood cautiously to the side of Adrian, looking with uncertainty at him. Adrian was used to such scrutiny so it didn't much affect him. He tried to smile at the boy, put him at ease, but the child gasped a little and moved further away. Adrian mentally shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the water, cupping his hands again and splashing his face again. The boy still stared from a safer distance at Adrian's unusual features. His hair was in dreadlocks, brown and dirty and actually falling out of the ties, and it hung to his waist in an untidy mass. On the top of his head sat a blue and red knit cap, perched at a jaunty angle, but the cap was as filthy as the rest of him. When he was done with the water, Adrian stepped out of the fountain and returned to his bicycle. He picked it up from where it had fallen to the ground and swung a leg over, then he rode away, back to the bike path and out of the park. He felt refreshed which was all he had really wanted. He rode up Cabana boulevard and over to Monterrey, where he spotted the public library, a domain of great joy to him. He pulled up, slanted his the bicycle against the brick of the building, and climbed cement steps to the front door. With a whoosh, he was gifted with the scent of printed paper and cool air, and he couldn't help smiling. Libraries did that to him. He walked into the calm atmosphere his sandaled feet making no sound on dark blue carpeting, and turned right, where seventeen steps stood vigil between the first floor and the second. He loved the second floor because that was where the biographies were kept, and he loved perusing through biographies. It made him not so lonely, not feel so isolated when he read about the problems having families and people in your life engender. He knew the problems well, but he still couldn't help thinking, once in a while, that perhaps he was missing out on something by keeping himself distanced from the rest of humanity. He knew differently deep into his brain, but the heart sometimes misspoke. He climbed those seventeen steps and stopped at the top, breathing in the book scent he loved so much, then he walked over to the biographies, chose the "Frank Sinatra" one today, and began to read. Before he knew it, so deep was he into the womanizing and philandering of old Frank, the lights of the place flickered in warning that closing was imminent. He startled and looked up. Sure enough, the outside world had fallen dark while he'd been entranced into the world of ol' Blue Eyes. He squinted his own hazel ones, rubbed them red with his grimy fists, and moved slowly from the biographies to the bathrooms. He made use of the facilities, washed himself a little in the sink, took a long, gulping drink from the water fountain, and was outside riding his bike through the dark night. He stopped momentarily to paw through some day-old fruit the produce manager of the local grocery store threw out, and munching a pretty respectable apple, he rode up to another brick building, this one awash in light and bathed in a cacophony of noise that wafted outside. Once again he parked the old, rusted bike, took a wrinkled bag full of bruised apples and pears from the basket in front, and walked into the facility. Noise deafened him when he moved inside, so much that he put his hands over ears pretty much covered by the dreadlocks. A man sitting at a scarred wooden desk to the left of him looked up and waved him over. "Adrian," he said as he looked down at a clip board. "Did you find a job today." It was obvious from the inflection of his voice that he wasn't expecting an affirmative answer. "Not today," Adrian responded. The man looked up, his tired eyes boring into Adrian's wrinkled, watery ones. "Did you try, buddy? You know you only have four more days, here without a job." Adrian nodded. "I know." He pulled a pretty respectable pear out of the bag and held it out. "Want one?" The man smiled, his face crinkling with kind lines. "No thanks, buddy. Keep it for yourself. We have some leftover sandwiches over there if you want some. Twenty minutes to 'lights out.'" "I know." Adrian nodded his head and shuffled in his sandels over to where the sandwiches were displayed on a large brown tray. The man at the desk watched him go and shook his head, wondering for the umpteenth time about Adrian's story. He was still youngish, in his thirties, and able-bodied, but for some reason the man just would not get to work. He gazed at Adrian intently for a few minutes, watched him grab a sandwich and tuck into it with a sort of mechanic need to give himself nutrients. The man could never remember seeing Adrian actually enjoy himself, and that was disturbing. After another minute of pondering, the man shook his head again and returned to his clipboard. He'd learned long ago not to presume about a person's story. You just couldn't know unless you'd walked a mile in his...sandals. Take a look at Thomas story-it's absolutely amazing and absolutely different...and see if you can find the sentence we had to use! |
| I'm suffering, tonight, from a bone-deep exhaustion. I'm currently awake due to the wonders of caffeine, but that's it- Yesterday morning we went to church. Not too long after we returned home and I forced the girls to labor in helping straighten the house , some of Tom's family came to eat with us and enjoy a bit of the Easter holiday. They're good people, Tom's relatives. I appreciate them and I'm glad we had the chance to host them in our home. Afterwards I was off to work but that wasn't so bad...I wrote a blog entry and got time-and-a-half holiday pay! Today, after my work night ended at 11pm, my Monday started at around 6:30 when it should have started earlier-oops. We had a "tire" incident on the SUV today-once again it was Tom to the rescue and with a wrenched back, even-and then Sarah and I had a John Marshall High School Rockettes Dance meeting until after 8:30. I'm going to be in charge of publicity for the team, by the way... Yup, I'm tired. G'night! |
And here I am to worship, here I am to bow down, here I am to say that you're my God You're altogether lovely, altogether worthy, altogether wonderful to me. King of all days, oh, so highly exalted. Glorious in heaven above. Humbly you came to the earth you created All for love's sake became poor. And here I am to worship Here I am to bow down Here I am to say that you're my God You're altogether lovely. altogether worthy, altogether wonderful to me. For some reason, when we sing this song in church, I get teary. The melody is beautiful and the message chokes me up. Jesus was born to a young woman without much means, without much at all to call her own. She married a man who had a little more, but not much. He was a carpenter who worked with his hands and strived to provide a decent living for his family. When Mary became pregnant and he knew he wasn't the one who made her that way, Joseph had a choice to make. He stepped up, believed in Mary and became Jesus' earthly father. After Jesus grew up, after learning the carpentry business and working side-by-side with Joseph for a few years, he took up his true calling and left the home he'd known all his life. He didn't follow great riches or vast wealth, he didn't run towards any golden opportunity or try to "strike it rich" in any way at all. In fact, he took more than a few steps down from the home he knew and became, essentially, homeless. He walked and talked to people and preached and relied on the kindness of strangers to feed and clothe him. He treated prostitutes and thieves with the same kindness and love he treated everyone. He didn't acknowledge class distinctions at all. He preached to anyone who would listen to him, broke bread with anyone willing to share, and loved every single person he came into contact with. Even the fit of anger we know he displayed was amazing. His anger wasn't directed at the lying, cheating religious men who had turned a synagogue into a trade center where they could profit for themselves. his anger was directed at the practice, itself. He upended the TABLES of wares, not the men... Throughout the short time he roamed our earth, Jesus gave out simple messages, he really did: love each other. Treat each other with respect and care. Understand each other and help each other and give to each other what you wish to receive for yourself. He gave us these directives through words, sure, but mostly it was through action. When the time came for him to give the ultimate, to give his life for what he believed was paramount to human life, he did so. He took unbelievable punishment and torture upon himself so that we, as an entire people, had the chance to really live. Not to simply exist upon this planet and then disappear, but to LIVE. I know that when I give care to someone else I feel really good inside myself. It sounds like a trite preschool song I know, but it's true and real. I feel better when I help someone else feel good. That's why I like my job in many ways. If I can make someone's day just a little easier with nothing more than a smile, I've done what I need to do. It feels awesome, actually, to know I did something good for someone else. The following song isn't a popular one to hear in churches nowadays, but we sang it when I was young. I think it summarizes what my faith means to me: We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord And we pray that our unity will one day be restored And they'll know we are Christians by our love, by our love Yeah they'll know we are Christians by our love We will work with each other, we will work side by side We will work with each other, we will work side by side And we'll guard each man's dignity and save each man's pride And they'll know we are Christians by our love, by our love Yeah, they'll know we are Christians by our love. I hope you've had a great Easter. |
| I found some books last week at a used bookstore. I held myself to buying four-I could probably have emptied my wallet there-and now I'm having a BALL reading stories from authors I love I don't know how I missed the two latest books...one is a "Cat Who..." book series by Lilian Jackson Braun and one is by Faye Kellerman. I just finished The Cat Who Dropped A Bombshell and it was fun. That's what I like about this particular author-her stories are just flat FUN. She's great at characterization and description and the stories are fanciful mysteries set in a mythical small town and full of CATS...I do love cats. I'm now reading Faye's book and it's good for diffferent reasons. She has a style I love too and is equally good, in a different way, with descriptions and characterizations. Her stories, though, are hardboiled, sometimes tough to read because they're gritty and not even a little pretty. She's graphic with crime scenes and dead body, and equally graphic in the way she describes what it takes to catch the bad guys. Her stories are more real than Braun's, but I love them both. I'm so glad I found a bookstore with these books!! Before I found this place I was having "withdrawal" from my beloved books. I left most of them in storage back in the Quad Cities and I have yet to get them out. I miss them...I'm one who likes to re-read stories I particularly like, especially the ones whose authors I like. I love mysteries-murder mysteries. I read Braun, of course, and Faye Kellerman. My favorite contemporary author is probably Jonathan Kellerman, Faye's husband. He's a psychologist-turned-author whose maze of psychological thrillers keep me spellbound from beginning to end. Like Fay, though, he is graphic in his descriptions and he doesn't hold anything back when he maps out the reasons why people do what they do. I'm absolutely fascinated by his stories. I also enjoy Diane Mott Davidson. She's a mystery author whose primary character is a caterer named Goldie. She puts recipes in with her stories and since I'd be a cook if I had the time and energy to be one...I love those! Goldie also met up with the love of her life after a difficult first marriage when she was in her late thirties Some book series or novels I read for enjoyment, others I read because they inspire me and/or challenge me somehow, either as a writer or as a person. Or sometimes both... Tom has been finding me some interesting books to read. He was a little surprised, I think, when I read one he gave me in an evening...I can do that when the book pulls me into its world and I become mesmerized by it, unable to release myself until the last page has been turned, the last word has been read. That book's title is Sarah's Key by Tatiana De Rosnay. I don't know if it's a book I'd have picked up for myself, but I'm so glad he picked it up for me It's about an American woman who's lived in Paris for a number of years. She's a writer. During an assignment for the magazine she works for, she discovers some appalling history about France that is real and true and something I never knew, something that took place during World War Two. It wasn't so much the writing style of this author that kept me hooked-it was the story, itself. I'm a big believer in the importance of history and the lessons to be learned from it. I think reading makes me a better writer. I think reading makes me smarter and more well rounded...what do you think, and who do you like to read? |
| I don't feel well this evening. Becauase of this I am going to post yet another poem, one I wrote a year and a half ago, approximately. I'm not going to share the personal story behind it, but of course there is one. I'm past this point in my life but I still get low sometimes. I still feel like the dark underbelly of what goes on inside me at times remains hidden, silent, deep inside but residing still...I do like to think that sometimes our low points in life serve us well creatively...what do you think? Pastels I smile because that’s what everyone expects of me. I’m supposed to be just fine with the way things are But I’m not. I want to stomp my foot like a petulant child and Run away from the life I stumbled into and Make everything work the way I wish it could be- But instead I smile. I smile when I hear about the life you live And the people you see and Know that someday you’ll move on. Then I’ll have what I carry inside myself To keep me company- What I can’t let you understand. How I’m not who you see or hear or believe Me to be. You don’t see the twisted storm, the tangle of Wind and fire that envelops me, tries to consume me From the inside out- You don’t know what I hide, the secrets I keep– Deep purple, dark blue, midnight black... Swirling, intense colors underneath such pretty Pastels- I smile because that’s what you expect of me. I hope you've had a nice Good Friday. |
| We had a great time this evening, going out to eat, laughing and talking, deciding which burger each of us would order at Rochester's "best burger" restaurant. We had fun later when Rachael blew out candles and Tom "fooled" her for a few minutes, trying to make her think all we had were some marshmellow peeps as presents...she was never fooled, by the way. You may not have heard that Mr. Thomas Harper is a big ol' softy who gave Rachael most of the gifts she recieved this year. We're all so lucky he's in our lives...seeing this family in action swells my heart more than the peep we put in the microwave For Rachael her birthday had significance, of course. She talked about how, in a year, she'll be legal to drink Her eyes are shiny and she's excited about being twenty. She looks into the distance and sees a long future, full of adventures and experiences that will continue to mold her into the person she is meant to be...For me it had a different kind of significance. Of course. For me the twentieth birthday of my middle daughter brought to my mind all that has gone before. I thought about her birth and even talked about it while we ate dinner this evening, unable to believe that it was TWO DECADES ago when I went through the joy and pain of giving this person life. I looked at my twenty-yr-old daughter and thought about all the years that have gone before, when she was a baby and then a toddler with wispy blond hair and a binky in each hand, one in her mouth...until she was two and a half. One night before she crawled into her toddler bed-she was so small I hesitated to give her any bed larger than that-and held out her binky. "Here mama," she said in her high, lilting, lisping voice. "I don't need them anymore." I was shocked! Those binkys of hers were her security; she'd had one since the day she was born. "Are you sure?" I said with a certain wistfulness in my voice as I held two binkys in my open hand. She nodded that little blond head, big blue eyes focused on mine with unwavering certainty. "Yes," she lisped, "I sure." She was. She never used a binky again. I'm proud of who Rachael is slowly becoming. She's been a late bloomer in some ways; she didn't lose her first tooth until she was nine...now THAT was a rough issue during grade school years! She was getting desperate when, thankfully, her first tooth came out at school, during third grade, and she was able to save face She started college in a different, large city almost two years ago and had to admit to herself and everyone else, after a week, that she just wasn't ready. After spending a year doing college by correspondence, another year working out in the world-experiencing blue collar labor-she's ready, I'm more than a little sure, to branch out on her own by September. She's looking forward to it. So where does that leave her mom? A little relieved, a lot proud, pretty happy, and just a bit sad. |
| I absolutely loved Paige Turner "random entry" a few days ago, so I decided to build one of my own! So where should I begin with my random entry?? Here I sit on my bed, beside the cutest man in the universe who CAN NOT STOP TICKLING ME at random moments. Just when I'm at a crucial point in a comment or the writing of my blog entry or perhaps helping President Obama put the finishing touches on his latest speech...BAM! There goes the TICKLE MONGER who somehow must be repaid! But you know what he does? He CONTROLS the tickle thing and when I try to retaliate there's NO PAYOFF!! It's really infuriating...until I catch him when he least expects it, hee hee hee...then it's just plain HILARIOUS Not too long ago, after we ate supper consisting of chicken fries and macoroni and cheese, three of us took a little trip to Wally World for some birthday items for a certain middle girl who will be twenty tomorrow. Awesome Thomas has already paid for her to have a year of Live Journal, the website she enjoys like we enjoy WDC. I mean is this guy amazing or what?? Then we picked some more for her this evening and will take her to the premier Rochester burger joint tomorrow evening called "Newt's." I think she's going to have a cool 20th birthday, in no small part due to the love of my life. Wow he's awesome, but I digress... We didn't even kill the 14-yr-old during our earlier sojurn, neither one of us, which I think is a testament to our maturity and restraint. No really, over half the time Sarah is fun and clever and witty and pretty personable. Of course about 40% of the time she's crossing boundries of what she says and the way she says it. Ah the patience one builds when one is the parent of an adolescent girl I'm looking forward to celebrating Rach's birthday this year. She probably won't be with us next year for her birthday...then again, she might be due to the fact that it usually falls close to Easter. So she might be on spring break or even just off for a long weekend from college. Who knows? I really cannot believe my kids are soooo old. I can't believe I only have one left in school and two will now be in their "twenties." It's surreal. I remember thinking about their ages when the kids were very small, calculating how old I'd be when there were grown...and I remember thinking I'd be so OLD...geez. My life has changed and morphed in some ways that are surprising and absolutely fabulous-Thomas -but in other ways I feel like I have yet to grow up and/or into my full potential, like with career and my writing. There's SO MUCH I still want to do in so many ways and I feel like time is moving ever so much faster with every passing day...I'd better get busy!!! |
| I'm going to post a poem this evening, one I think I've shared here before, but it's a good poem, I think, because it "speaks" to me. It's one I wrote during a poetry class Thomas and I took in November, the day-long focusing of our heads into creativity. It was a good day: History It was when I was twelve-no, thirteen-that silence first spoke to me. I don't feel so much older, and oddly enough, not so much different. Silence and I, we are old friends, having shared with each other Our wisdom since that time. Okay, Silence shared wisdom with me. It was then I learned my company is more than enough. It was then I learned to enjoy the beauty of a crisp breeze, Lying on my back as I gazed into endless blue. When I experience such a day these days, a block of time With only Silence and myself for company, I journey back to the days where I was given the chance to discover just how Simple and Sweet life can be, how Silence never expects anything of me other than What I am. What I am...is more than enough. It is the preferred state of being. |
| I had a big plan today to make this particular blog entry more light and humorous. I don't want to seem "preachy" all the time-I think I might get a little boring if I stand up on a soapbox (theoretically) in every entry. I wouldn't visit myself every day! But I just have to make this one a little less "light and fluffy" than I thought I would at the beginning of the day. I'll still post some less heavy and filling, I promise! This one, though, has to be a continuation of yesterday: Today was crazy at work. The hotel was a bevy of crazy coincidences that weren't exactly HAPPY coincidences. After a particularly guest-filled weekend with rowdy middle schoolers who went crazy in the pool...and unfortunately some drunk parents in the mix...my boss was all set to close the swimming pool on a temporary basis and get the chemical balances correct when who should walk in the door? Health Inspectors for the state, all set to take readings of our pool. We knew we weren't going to pass. Durn it if we weren't right. So we had a lot of disgruntled guests complaining, looking at mainly ME-the peon-in an accusing manner because they and/or their children were going to miss out on the joy that is an indoor hotel pool. Hey, I get it!The episode set my boss and I talking about complaints we recieve from all and sundry. We shared some of the funniest ones-like we had a comment card complaining about our FREE breakfast buffet because it has "everything but biscuits and gravy." Once we had a comment card that complained about ugly beadspreads. I have to agree with that but the guest asked for a discount because of it...and was serious. In the end, though, My boss told me she'd rather know about a complaint than to have someone walk out of our establishment unsatisfied, without giving us a chance to fix whatever was wrong. I nodded and flashed to one of the points I listed yesterday, how we should forgive our partner for not being flawless. NO place of business is flawless because no human being on earth is flawless. I kind of went from there in my thinking, about how that list from yesterday, the one in the blog before this one, could apply not just to your "significant other" but to anyone and everyone. It got me thinking. We need to be more forgiving of everyone we come into contact with. No one is perfect, no business is perfect, no part of anything humans touch will EVER be flawless...and how much less stressed would we all be if we just...forgave people in general for not being flawless, for not being perfect?? If we just let it go, let the expectations of perfection fly away with a gust of wind and became more accepting and forgiving of it all- Someone cut someone else off in traffic. Someone cut in front of someone else at the grocery store. Someone had a bad experience with a sluggish waitress at a restaurant. We get angry when we're on the recieiving end of these situations...but what if the person who cut you off in traffic felt terrible for ten minutes afterwards because he realized he was careless but he couldn't take it back? That's been me before. Perhaps the person who cut in front of you at the store didn't see you until it was too late...I've been that person, too. I've been a little slow or not as animated in my job because sometines I just don't feel well or I was kept up by a sick kid or I'm just not feeling 100% that day...I've been on both ends of each spectrum. Tear up the list and forgive them for not being flawless. |
| I read an interesting little tidbit on the Yahoo site just a little bit ago. It was about relationships and what we can do to ensure that they remain happy ones. I always read those kinds of articles with some skepticism, but many of the points this one made weren't too bad. I was glad to note some similarity in these tips to the relationship I have with Thomas. I think we work well together for many reasons, but some of the main ones would be along the lines of how we share interests and spend time together WITH that interest--we have a few writing groups we belong to and attend regularly, which keeps us focused on what we love...writing and each other! There are other points I've modified from the Yahoo site, most of which I can happily share are points practiced with Tom and I: 1. Polite Fight: When you disagree, attack the issue, never each other. 2. Share Interests: Find something you both enjoy and can share time doing, then never stop taking the time to share it. 3. Be Believing and Believable: Relationships are not based on mind reading skills. Be honest with your partner when he asks how you feel and what you want. When you ask the same, believe what he/she says. Don't question it. 4. Nix the Nit Picking: Take out a piece of paper and write down the top three things that bug you about your partner. Then tear up the list and forgive him/her for not being flawless. You aren't, either. 5. Agree to Disagree: Do not believe that in a happy relationship people always agree. Appreciate your differences, even differences of opinion. Those differences are what make each of you unique and special. Notice I kept the list to 5 in true Blogville form I think this is a pretty good list, one I think anyone getting into a serious relationship should take a good, hard look at and commit to. It's only my personal opinion, but it's also the voice of experience. Other relationships I've been a part of before my oh-so-special one with Thomas just weren't meant to be and I know it. We didn't have the connection Thomas and I do, we didn't have the spark and the commitment, and I never, ever felt the kind of JOY I do when I'm with him. But even the end of a relationship, the realization that perhaps this isn't "the one" can be softened when you've treated each other with simple, common respect. With age comes wisdom. Which really means we should all be looking forward to our next birthdays with anticipation! Right?! |
| I put a short story in my last entry. I like the story but it is pretty old. It's one of my favorites...I have several personal favorites from the short stories I've written over the years. I've realized that they ware all written-let's see, the last story I wrote that I consider really worthy of review and possible publication...was two years ago. Almost exactly two years ago. I wrote several stories last August, when Thomas and I joined a contest which entailed the writing of these stories, and while I do like them and believe they have real potential, they all need at least a degree of editing. I haven't "found" the time to do that...since last August. Sigh. I also haven't found the time to write any NEW stories since that time-how long has it been? Eight months, now. I do have to admit that my life has changed during that time. I have a full time job in addition to dealing with my 14-yr-old daughter, a middle daughter I share a vehicle with which means a lot of driving to manuever our schedules, and of course I make time for the most wonderful addition to my life, the adorable and so-worth-it Thomas . Are any of these life alterations a good reason to stop creating? Not so much.I do have to learn to balance my time better, a LOT better, and part of balancing my time means being sure I have time to CREATE with the written word. I have been a bit "down" here and there for a few months, and I think it might have more to do with my lack of creating than anything else. I NEED to create. I HAVE to get stories out of my head and into print. If I don't I feel stagnate and frozen. I feel stifled and gradually just...empty. So that's another one on my "April" list. Get back into the short story writing and get into EDITING the short stories I need to clean up before they're ready for distribution. Another one for April...busy month! |
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