This Last Day of 2011

It's been alright and it's going to be alright. 
Mom has been in a pretty bad mood.  She woke yesterday after shutting herself in her room for about 14 hrs and ask me to take her home.  When I said I could not, she fabricated a story.  After thinking about it I'm pretty sure it was fabricated, but I could not take her home, regardless.  I'm sorry, but I will take her home on Monday morning.  I wish I had considered it better before I spent the money trying to 'help' her with something she didn't need or want help with.  
She didn't like the kids, she didn't really like the adults, she didn't like our movies and she didn't really like me.  Oh well.  What I get is all I get and I will enjoy as much as possible.  I do understand her issues and I am sympathetic but I'm not God and I'm not changing the whole holiday for her anger issues. 
My family left this morning for a jog to the north before they head back to North Carolina.  It was so good to play peek-a boo with Emma and watch her live in my world for a couple of days.  It was good to see the grown up Megan and Taylor and the expanding Caleb and to laugh and hug and talk and listen.  It was good to have Jonea and Jeff and Amanda in my home and life for the short short time.  It is what it was.  It is now a sweet part of my memory.
So today is a new day.  Maybe it will be more 'adult' in character.  Maybe my mom can show Olivia how to crochet without interruption of her thought process.  Maybe Olivia will be sweet and thankful and attentive to her every word.  Noone will make noise during Jeopardy -well, Jeopardy isn't on on Saturday anyway.  Maybe she'll forget to tell the stories that make me want to scream and barf, but probably not.  I've come to the conclusion that I only have this time and if it is wasted in tention and disappointment, it is still all I am given.  So I will smile as much as my face and heart can stand, monopolize the conversation when one of those 'stories' come up, and encourage my g-girl to sit still as long as she can and then excuse herself politely for a bit.
For my mom, the room is darkening, the music is muffled, and the heart is in introspect.  The days are short, confused, and filled with little purpose and long naps.
For you, I hope this New Years Eve is a wonderful time of recollection and projection.  I hope every string is tied and trimmed in your life so that the New Year has every possible blessing during it's days.

Lame humor.

I'm in a bit of pain this morning.  We went to see the lights and ride the train last night.  It was in the 40s and we had a good time.  Not long after we arrived, I was doing a little dance skip thing with my grandgirl on the way to the train and I was interrupted by an exhuberant root that wanted to play.  I found myself sprawled out in colored light and christmas music on the dirt.  It didn't really feel like I'd hurt myself at that moment, but by the time we made it around the park by train and by foot, I was hurting a good amount.  My shoulder is killing me this morning.  It's a spot noone has ever been able to analyze, but it happened the night of the car wreck in '96 and comes back to remind me when I do something like  I did last night.
The pain made me a little silly - I had another choice but chose silly - and my Megan and Taylor found ourselves making jokes about various stupid things.  We decided it was 'lame' humor and walked a little funny and such for a little. -Hey it was a good choice.
I have almost as much food in my fridge as we've eaten the past week!! Ah! Leftovers!
There are a few presents still resting about my tree waiting to be discovered by family I've not yet seen.  Emma is try to discover them a little sooner.
Having mom and Emma in the same house together for a week has been a challenge.  I would not change a thing.  Mom has bossed and griped and pouted.  I've made sure that she had Jeopardy and we have worked twice on a new painting.  We built a step so she can get down to the studio. Emma has been fun.  She's 18 months old, so she fusses some, she doesn't always want to come down for a nap, and she scatters various things about my house as soon as I pick them up.  I've loved every ounce of it.  In either case, it's what I have and I will enjoy as much as possible.  Amanda and Emma will leave us tomorrow morning; I will take mom home on Monday.  It's what I get.  Perhaps it would have been better if Amanda and Emma had the closer bathroom a little more functional.  Perhaps a quieter house would have pleased my mom.  But I don't get to choose times and durations and this has been a 'Joy to the World' sort of week for me regardless.
We made a little bed room out of my music space for Olivia which we fold up during the day for ambience.  She was a little concerned at what I was doing in the beginning, but she accepted it and has been so sweet, helpful and good natured about it all.  Perhaps the gramma, grampa, Livia thing should have been a 3some, but it wasn't.  I will miss her when she goes back home.  As with the others, it is what we have that counts.
I woke early, had some coffee and watched an amazing sunrise of reds and gold.  It's the promise of a bright new day.  Peace and blessing, my friends.

a quiet soft day

It has been a quiet soft day.  I woke early after a night of very poor sleep.  I didn't drink enough water yesterday and had muscle cramps all night.  We went to church -yes on Christmas, imagine that- and then I came home and fixed a Christmas dinner of roasted chicken and dressing, sweet potatoes, noodles and salad.  It was all very satisfying and we are still stuffed.  Mom watched Lawrence Welk on PBS and then we went out to see Christmas lights with her.  She got tired very quick and all we really got to show her was the Garrison Ave. area and Creekmore Park before she was ready to come home.  I'm looking forward to seeing more family and friends during this awesome season of Celebration of the Gift of God.  Be blessed.

Shiny, Satisfied kind of Christmas

Peace on Earth, 

   Blessings Galore, 

      JOY, JOY, JOY 

         in our Father and Lord. 

We had a lot of fun and wrapping paper and pizza. It was a good night. We missed those who weren't able to be here but felt very blessed by those who were. I hope you all have a Wonderful, Love-filled, Shiny, Satisfied kind of Christmas Day.

hard to process

having a difficult time writing right now.  so much in my mind, it's hard to process anything.  hopefully it will level out soon.  blessings.

12th Day of Christmas

I took this from a FB friend. 

-On the 12th Day of Christmas my Facebook gave to meeee, 12 dudes I'm blocking, 11 friends just watching, 10 kinky topics, 9 friend requests, 8 friends complainin, 7 stalkers stalking, 6 party invites, 555555555555 Drama Queensssss, 4 game requests, 3 photo tags, 2 friends-a-pokin, and a creep who won't stop inboxing meeee.

A little reality among the haze.

As a whole, I don't appreciate advertising.  The main goal is to trick us into perpetual dissatisfaction when the joy of the LORD should be our strength.  But there is a new ad that I like.  It's the mastercard ad about the hand carved toy.  "Watching her have more fun with the empty box than the toy - priceless."  That's a Christmas message we missed somewhere, I think.  Though every mother's heart has melted over that very spot.  I'm not really suggesting that we give all the kids a giant empty box for Christmas, but maybe it's a start at rethinking where we've come to in this celebration of the birth of Christ.
Last night I was watching another sappy holiday movie on the Hallmark chanel.  There are only about 3 themes in the huge array of movies, but there is one common theme among them: lonely troubled people finding renewed purpose and acceptance among other lonely troubled people.  As much as I chide, last night I was blessed by a verse I know well. 'The Lord sets the solitary in families.'  That is the basic concept isn't it.  For all our doing and getting and running and fussing, there is a little bit of wonder and magic to the way our lives are woven while we live them.
Yesterday, a few friends joined me to surprise my beloved with a celebration of his 61 years of living.  I was flustered by my lack of ability and unreadiness though I worked very hard to make it so.  In the end, the not quite polished, not quite finished, not quite decorated state of my home didn't really matter.  What mattered was the love that we shared during that span of time while we joked and ate and yelled a quick 'Happy Birthday' while he walked in.  What mattered was the belonging we felt when we hugged each other goodbye and knew that it was a temporary thing - regardless of what comes next in our lives.  Impressing them wasn't really as important as that hug.
Priceless.

able to do

I'm moving and using my arm!!  Lots to do before Sunday, but I'm able to do some.  Thanks for your prayers. (No I'm not going to do too much. - hopefully!)  I've got a little cold - raspy and congested, but not down.  It' a gorgeous day - a little frigid, but gorgeous.  Blessings!

A visit from the Ghost of Christmas Past.

It was a few days till Christmas and we had no decorations.  We had no tree.  The little apartment my daughter and I lived in was waiting for Christmas to be invited in.  A friend had some cedar trees on his property that he was willing to have cut, so my daughter and I made our way out there to walk about and choose a specimen for our holiday.  I wanted a small tree, not that our sparse furnishings would be imposed upon, but because I had no decorations and very little money.  In the end, my daughter won out and we were blessed with a floor to ceiling tree to supply our home with some Christmas spirit.  It was time for creative thinking.
I bought a couple of strings of mini lights and some tinsel icicles.  I picked up a couple of bags of red and green starlight mints, some ornament hangers and a package with several small boxes of matches.  We popped and threaded popcorn.  My mom had taught me to make chain out of tinfoil and we added that for some sparkle.  We emptied the match boxes into a sandwich bag and wrapped them in Christmas paper, tied bows on them and hung them about the tree.  Then we put the starlight mints on ornament hangers and dispersed them as evenly as we could.  I made a few curly ribbon bows and hung them around.  It wasn't a fancy tree, but with the lights glowing and the tinsel hanging about allowing popcorn, candy, foil and little bitty presents to peek through, it brought a festive feeling to the season in our home.
As I look back, I know it was a difficult time, especially for my little trouper who was used to so much more at Christmas.  But we stood with each other and loved and shared what we had.  Thanks to a very kind benevolent man who would one day join us as a household of 3, she got most of her requests that year.  Not all, but most.
We drove to my mom and dad's for Christmas Day.  A heavy snow provided for a rosy cheeked, giggling treck to check out the sled.  The drive home over hilly, frozen roads with added snow was a bit frightening for mom, but it was a must have for that sweet meager Christmas so many years ago.  Somehow, looking at the child sleeping confidently in the back seat, I knew that the much we shared made the little we had insignificant.

find blessing in what you do

I slept late today.  I wasn't feeling very good last night and was up and down a lot before I finally got to where I could rest.  The pain isn't constant in my arm anymore, but it is still quite weak and certain movements make it scream at me a little.  I have several things I'd like to accomplish, but don't know just how much I will actually be able to do.  I drove to the church and back last night, though it wasn't without difficulty.  I shall try to drive out to gather some things I need for projects and such.  The dusting of snow I awakened to is all gone, though it has been a quite cold day so far.  They are forcasting another dusting later.  I still have panels to put in place on my studio porch and need to weatherize my sunroom.  And there is the decoration for Christmas that is wanting to be done.I hope you have a good if somewhat cold day, that your coffee is hot and tasty (as mine is) and that you find blessing in what you do.

in spite of my gripabilities

The past few days have been a whirlwind of pain and pleasure.  On Friday morning I hurried about trying to get a couple of things done and my studio cleaned for the day of teaching and I did something that just didn't feel okay.  Not sure even what it was now, but I remember the twinge of pain and thinking that didn't feel right.  But Friday night I was in quite a bit of pain and it has steadily grown since that time to almost a disabling state.  I have been praying for release and relief.  It does seem to be improving a little this morning, though typing this is a little painful in itself.Jackie gave me some topical reliever and I have some arthritis rub.  I've taken tylenol some.We had Liv for the weekend and that was a sweet blessing.  She helped me with cooking and house cleaning.  She's such a little woman!!The Woodall family Christmas party was sweet and the weekend was capped with a visit from my daughter and her intended.  It was nice to share the time.This morning I've been working about the house.  I feel like a one armed man.  I understand why he would kill someone.  I have no one I wish to kill.  But I think it might help justify the pain somehow!!  I have much to accomplish this day.  I hope I can get a little of it done without any major disasters.  Be blessed my friends.  I am in spite of all my gripabilities.

She slips so easily into our world and lives.

She talked and sang all the way home.  She helped me make raspberry cheese cake to take to the party tonight and we popped popcorn in a hot air popper.  She'd never seen one of those and was amazed that you could make popcorn without a little bag in a microwave.  She licked the butter flavored popcorn salt from the side of the bowl.  We laughed a lot.  Jammied and houseshoed, she wrapped up in a blanket while I started a movie while the cheesecake baked.  She was asleep before the movie began.  We carried her off to bed with a hug and goodnight kiss.  She slips so easily into our world and lives.

The written page prehaps not yet set down.

At the age of 9, that last weekend of May as we planned to leave on a family vacation, I broke both arms and tore myself up pretty good.  I've blogged that in the past and you can find it in my Multiply archives if you care to look.  But that summer of healing was also a summer of re-creation of a little girl's mind and heart.  I cannot explain all that happened, but like May 9, 1996, it was a pivotal time in my life. 
The war of good and evil had begun in my heart and body way too early.  I knew inward struggles at the age of 9 that many children do not know - nor should they.  I had frequent nightmares and a horrid shameful incontinance born of psychological disfunction.  I was introspective and yet my hyperactive nature kept me from isolation in many ways.  I was already becoming a weird little kid.  I prayed to a God that was really too good and too far to listen to my personal terrors and malfunctions.  Yet, I still prayed.
I was a creative kid even then.  My walk was really a dance.  My drawings were really dreams.  My music -ah my music was a personal vendetta against repression.  I'd taken piano lessons two different times and disliked both experiences immensely.  I toyed with contriving melodies.  I wouldn't call what I did back then composing.  But it was something akin to composing and I had enough knowledge that I often tried to write the music down.
Yet during that summer of healing I tried my hand at a new thing.  It was several weeks after the accident before I was cognizant enough to care about how bored I was.  The piano was an impossible thing, though I could pick a little here and there. The one fingered approach was far from satifying. My dance was slowed to a creep without bounce and a pencil or brush was out of the question for the greater part of a summer.
But we owned a typewriter.  It was an old black typewriter with a carbon ribbon and a hand advance on the side.  Corrections were made by big XXXs or starting on a fresh sheet when it got too bad.  It was a creative media that really worked okay one slow pick at a time.  That summer, I learned to write.  Of course I knew my alphabet and how to spell and make sentences, but I had never really written anything that did not already exist somewhere in the world of abc's.  I wrote small poems and short stories.  It became a way to give solidity to my fantacies. 
I already had been given a love of books, aquired by my mother's persistance at reading to me nightly.  It was the one thing that we truly shared in an amiable way as I was growing up.  And I had learned to entertain myself during my common insomnia by making up stories.  Yet they were always done and gone when I finally fell asleep. 
That summer I learned to save a story, to create a rhyme and make it better.  It didn't fix anything, but it changed something deep inside that made life a little more doable.  To this day, when I get so full of question or anger or joy or frustration that I cannot concentrate, I take to page: sometimes for expression, sometimes for diversion and sometimes for answers.

Kicking and screaming.

Yesterday was a very busy day.  I was making dinner for a friend who lost her husband.  I had to teach.  I wanted to work on my house.  I wanted to take dessert with the coffee to fellowship.  I needed to clean my kitchen.  I didn't really work on my house, but I did get the rest with some success. 
Just before I left for fellowship, my granddaughter called to say she was sick and in a lot of pain.  No she didn't need me to come by right then.  I would pray for her and check on her.  I did along with assuring her that I would come in a heart beat.
I got to fellowship a little tired and scattered and was greeted by our leader who looked totally haggard.  His brother-in-law had collapsed last week and had a mass on the brain which of course they feared was cancer.  The report I got on Tuesday was that it was a concentration of blood vessels that had gotten tangled and was easily removed with no brain damage at all.  I asked how Joe was and was told "Gary's brother died." 
Gary is one of my favorite teddybears as is his wife.  They are fun and funny, excellent christians, boundless servants and wonderful friends.  More??  How can we take more?  This has been such a hard week.  Betty was there.  Gary was in Texas.  The funeral is Saturday in another town at the same time as my friend's funeral here.  I hugged Betty a lot.  Told her to tell Gary I loved him.  We all did.
As we were sharing needs, one couple in our group began to cry.  Finally the man stated flatly "M........ and I have separated.  We had people pray for us Monday night.  It's what has to happen right now."  We were all stunned.  We've been through so much with this family in the past few years.  We all love them both.  We prayed and hugged and cried.  Some tried to convince them that there had to be another way.  They left and went to their own places in the end. 
Before going home, I texted my girl to see how she's feeling.  She didn't reply and I knew she was finally resting.  We discussed that earlier. 
I went home feeling stunned.  I cried for Bill and Gary and for Cindy whose husband died of cancer this week and for my friends who are living apart.  I wanted to run, to scream, to kick the doors in when I got home.
I have much to do today.  My mind is scattered.  My heart is torn.  My prayers seem hollow.  But I know that God is the only one who can meet any of this with answers and power for change.

It goes without saying.

I am waaaay too verbose.
Sometimes it just gives people the wrong idea about me.  Sometimes it truly clouds the issue.  I will begin with a warm fuzzy and after explaining, end up creating diversity.  Then I say -later of course- why did I do that?  I am a ramifier.  That's part of my intrinsic make up.  I tear things apart mentally and then hopefully bring them back together with depth and clarity.  Yeah, sometimes I forget the parts.  Especially the 'sweet' parts that I intended from the beginning.
One time I went to visit my sister.  When I arrived at her house, her car was sitting hood up with a string of parts in a long line on the ground beside it.  She was putting in a new something or other (my mechanical lingo) and her way of not losing or misplacing anything was to put every screw and bolt, every little piece and part in a line the way she took it off.  Then, when she put it back together, she reversed the order.  My obvious question was "What if one of the kids or their friends kicks a piece out of line and puts it back in the wrong order?"  Her reply was "They don't."  No funny stories, no exceptions.
I wish my mental mechanics worked that way.  Other ideas always come in and kick my pieces around.  Maybe that's why I like poetry so much.  I list the things that are important to communicate in the poem and when the words start coming, that list keeps me honest and true.  Of course, sometimes I'm working and a poem just writes itself in my head.  I have my word processor in my tray so I can get to it quickly.
I'm reminded of the time when my mom and dad bought a new 'record player - radio'.  It was so cool.  Mom liked new and modern.  It didn't go with anything we had stylewise, but it was cool.  It changed the records for you -yeah.  It would play record after record in the order you put them onto the little metal rod.  Okay, I'm old.  But it was cool.  One day I took it apart just because I was bored.  Needless to say, I was alone.  I didn't put the parts in the order I took them off.  I just scattered them around and relied on my own fantastic memory and intellect.  When I put it back together, it looked fine.  It worked ah- somewhat differently than before.  I didn't have any pieces left over.  I didn't have time to take it apart and 'fix' it.  Frankly, I wouldn't have known what to fix.  My mom was baffled.  "Why is it doing that?"  But that was in a day when you didn't just box it back up and take it back to the store if it still operated.  I didn't have anything to say.
My thoughts are sometimes like that record changer.  All the stuff is there.  It still works, but not the way it should.  People get offended.  I love reading Paul's letters to the churches because he does this and I understand.  He gets to writing, chases a rabbit and a squirrel, and comes back to the subject he started with a wrap up.  Some of the squirrel chasing becomes our fondest passages.  We can lose the whole point if we aren't astute.
Today I was listening to a very inspiring piece of music which was true and functional in the spiritual realm and my mind began to ramify.  I found myself taking it apart and ready to criticize because a point was left out -an important consideration which made no difference to the message of the song.  Should the writer have clarified?  My conclusion after some thought is 'no'. 
I'm reminded of a verse where Paul told his readers.  We are not going back into all the workings of redemption because you already know that.  We are moving on...(my wording: you can't reference that statement, but its in there)  See how I am?????
I need to accept that some things go without saying just fine.  I should not try to preclude every possible question.  If a person has a misunderstanding, hopefully he or she will bring that up and I can explain.  For the rest of you, the player will work just fine.  But life may lack a little interesting quirk here and there.

Hillsong United - From the inside out (Everlasting)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZ-fghqc8Oo


His goodness deserves our praise. His blessing deserves our thankfulness.

This and that on this beautiful morning.

Hobbes spent the night in the house last night- first time since spring.  When I woke this morning, he was sitting quietly by, staring at me.  I said "You need to go outside, don't you?"  He gave that quick little reply thing he does and stood up.  I'm sure at almost 8 in the morning he was wondering if I had died there.
I want to paint and write and sew and throw pots.  But, alas, I am in the midst of an ongoing bathroom renovation.  It's getting better though.  I tell my painting students at one point in the process that everything you do from this point on is a major 'oooh-aaah'.  That's how I'm feeling as I am tieing this renovation down.
The toilet was hooked up last night.  It works well.  Yay.  Given the 'fun' we had on Saturday, I ran and got a couple of huge towells for the reveal!!  Louis gave me one of those looks.  It has a dual flush and a slow closing lid and rim.  I told Louis that must be for the men.  He gave me one of those looks.  We flushed it quite a few times to see how much water difference was made between the full flush and the half flush.  There is a little less water in the half flush, but Louis said the directions spoke of adjustable water.  He didn't read that part yet. 
We were so silly, flushing the toilet over and over, raising the seat over and over.  The first time we raised the rim, it started lowering as soon as we pulled it up.  Louis observed that he would have to learn to pee quickly.  But then we got it trained to stay until we start it lowering.  We had way to much fun playing with the new toilet.
I have started teaching an online group to paint.  So far, I have one person who has actually begun.  She is doing quite well.  Sometimes student don't understand that when I say "That's good" I am seeing it through a knowledge of what will be done.  The painters in my studio get it for the most part.  If I say "Well we need to fix this before we go on" they know it wasn't so good.  I'm never going to say "Wow, that stinks."  I'm enjoying that alot and will enjoy it more once the tile, paint and woodwork is all in place.
Last night I made frozen yogurt.  Louis said it needed some getting used to.  I asked him what I needed to change.  He said I didn't need to change it, it just needed getting used to.  Actually, I really liked it.  It was peach.  I used extra cream and milk but no extra sugar.  Next time I may try adding a little raw sugar. 
The change of diet is going okay.  About a week ago, I decided I had to eat better for strength.  I've added dance aerobics to help strengthen my stamina while eating a little more substantial meals.  Saturday night we went to a fish fry and I showed amazing self control -the guy can cook, yeah- but yesterday, my stomach was torn up.  Fish is high on the recommended foods, but fried foods aren't.  I've discovered that fried turkey pastrami is very tasty with eggs, baked potatoes or anything that I would normally use bacon for.  It's not the same taste exactly, but its a very good taste and it smells wonderful cooking.  Turkey sausage will work nicely for biscuits and gravy.  I'm learning to enjoy eating again - slowly.
The coffee this morning was left over in the pump pot.  I had to heat it, but it was okay.  Left over coffee doesn't fill the house with aromatic wonder. 
Yesterday it was 91degrees.  It was in the lower 60s this morning when I woke.  Wednesday, we have a chance for a freeze.  Sheeze!  The wood we cut in the spring will come in handy it seems.
Gotta hit it again.  I hope your day is blessed.  I'm sure mine will be.  God is good. 

Simple fare.

We all unloaded from the vans we were driving and wandered into the Cliff House Restaurant at Mesa Verde National Park. It was a cold evening, but the building was warm and inviting. The evening crowd had not arrived yet and we went immediately to get our 16 people onto the call list.
We weren't dressed for the finery about us, but the leader of our travelling group requested the window seats and held his ground when the request was first ignored. Reluctantly, they complied while continuing to eye us contemptuously. The restaurant is known for its cuisine and atmosphere -and for its prices! One couple actually left our group. They wanted to shop a little and the expensive fare would short them. They had brought food along and as yet had not eaten any of it. We all bid them happy hunting and sadly watched them walk away.
My husband and I sat down at a small two person table overlooking a vast landscape that would normally be full of golden color but was quite bland because of a large forest fire in recent years. A huge fire roared in the fireplace across the room, which was good because the window was quite drafty.
Our waiter brought us a wine list. We ordered coffee and ice water with lemon. The wine list was wisked away in a huff. Shortly the waiter returned with two cups of coffee and an appetizer menu. We ordered a large salad two plates and two bowls of mushroom soup. Small loaves were complimentary. When the entre menu was presented, we denied it. The waiter was professional, but none too friendly. We were in the best seats in the house having the cheapest food we could order.
We complimented the food enthusiastically. It was by far the best mushroom soup I had eaten to that date. My husband who never really liked mushroom soup by itself, was impressed. It wasn't just acceptable, it was quite good. The salad was ample for two people and very nicely diverse.
Somewhere around the 4th or 5th coffee refill, the waiter decided not to hate us anymore. We even let her talk us into a shared dessert. The tab came to over $40. It was worth every cent.
That experience 5 years ago this month spurred me into a quest for a 'good' mushroom soup recipe. I tried two or three without much satisfaction. Some I could just read the ingredients and know it wasn't right. Then two years ago, I happened on a recipe I thought sounded promising. I'm proud to say it made good on the promise. I add some ingredients including a dash of Worchestershire and a small hot pepper diced.
As I sat down to the hearty bowl of mushrooms and barley tonight, I recalled, as I do each time I make it, that crisp October evening when we wandered into a fancy restaurant dressed in jeans and sweaters, tired and slightly unkept and sat down to one of the sweetest 'dining out' occasions in my mental scrapbook.

Five dollars and a little stroke of luck.

Five dollars.  In those days, five dollars was a lot of money.  I was a young mom.  I married right after I turned 17 and had a baby right off.  Life was not easy.  For a little over a year, I had lived on hand me down everything, food often hunted, fished, or scavengered.  I had lived in a house without plumbing, the water pump outside was contaminated.  Wash water for dishes had to be boiled on the old stove with one defunct burner and a non working oven.  The house had come 'furnished'.  There was a table with a broken leg, three non matching chairs and an old couch with it's own ecosystem.  The refrigerator didn't cool and the bed was a mattress over an old spring that set on blocks.  It was the vacation spot for the inhabitants of the couch -or vice verse.
I discovered a natural spring a ways down the road and procured some 10 gallon milk cans.  I had a path out back that led to an outdoor toilet without a door.  But it was okay, because it faced a steep hill.  The only real problem was the cows who were often curious about why I was out there.  There were berries and nuts that could be gathered and squirrels and rabbits that I could hunt within a short distance of my 'house'.  I found a little rogue garden that had some old potato plants and bitter carrots and found wild peas and onions.  The stream ran through less than a mile away and I'd been taught to fish by one of the best.  I was living the life of a pioneer woman and proud of it.  My creativity was spent on existing from day to day in some kind of small pleasantry.  It was enough.
A relative helped us sign up for commodities and we went once a month and got flour, sugar, beans, rice, powdered eggs, powdered milk, cheese and peanut butter.  I learned to cook well with little.  I used the meager earnings carefully.  I sturdied up the table leg, sprayed the couch several times and all but set the mattress on fire getting rid of the fauna.  I picked the cherries in the tree out back in spite of the curious cows that constantly plagued my existence.  They were not our cows, but there were no fences.  Sometimes I would pull out my old accordian -an heirloom that had belonged to my namesake aunt who died as a teen.  The cows would gather about me as I sat on a large rock behind my house and played.  They liked the music.  It was a simple amusement, but it was enough.
We bought 50 culled chicks and put them on the front enclosed porch.  I would raise them for eggs and eventually butcher and cook some.  That was not my most successful venture to be sure.  I had much more zeal than knowledge.
Eventually we moved into a real house with semi-indoor plumbing.  We were given some hand me down furniture that didn't come with resident vermin.  We bought simple furnishings to complete the necessities for living.  We moved the remaining 7 chickens to town with us.  I got a kitten.  I had so many dresses made with an overabundance of fabric and so I tore some apart to make curtains and such.  Life was a struggle still, but not as all-encompassing a struggle.  I was able to bring my first daughter home to a life that may have provided me with some difficulty, but was warm and safe and had a little homespun charm.
Our next move took us into a sweet little house -very old but with lots of character and indoor plumbing.  My amenities were nothing to brag about, but I was content and the pioneer in me made the best of the situation and looked for the funny in each day.  Little by little I was making the house homey.  My creativity and frugality worked together for baby steps in the decorating department.  After a failed attempt at working in a processing plant -primarily because my daughter was subject to new germs and had a tendency for respiratory problems from an early birth- I began babysitting to bring in a little added funds. 
I bought a second hand sewing machine cheap after making a couple of dresses for my daughter by hand from the material I took from the dresses of my past.  This gave me a whole new outlet for the creativity that was now free to discover itself in clothing and household improvements.
We had a wine colored chair and a worn blue couch.  They wouldn't have complimented each other had they been new, but in their threadbare state, they were functional, but not aesthetically pleasant. I didn't have a dress that could supply that much fabric, so I began saving and looking.  The small town I lived in had a nice little home owned fabric store.  There I spied a heavy piece of fabric in an off-white blue french print.  I went home and calculated what it would take to make slipcovers for the couch and chair.  The figure was more than I felt I could justify.
One day I went into the little shop and my fabric was gone.  A little sad resolve took over as I began looking about for a replacement dream.  There was a thinner fabric in the same color and a little less appealing print.  While I was considering and calculating, the owner came up and struck up a conversation.  She had seen me looking several times at the blue french print.  I mentioned that I had been trying to save, but I just didn't have enough yet.  She went to the back and brought out the bolt of fabric.
"This didn't sell, so I was going to take it home and use it to cover some dining chairs,"  she said with a smile.  "I was going to take a loss on it.  I'll sell it to you for five dollars."
My heart skipped a beat.  Five dollars would buy many necessities.  I had barely that much saved.  I knew what an incredible deal she was offering, but was reluctant to loose the emotional comfort that having a savings provided.
Finally, stomach churning, I said.  "Can I go home and get the money?  I can be back in just a few minutes."
Five dollars was a lot of money to me in those days of ripping apart dresses for baby clothes and curtains.  Today I don't remember if I suffered as a result of my splurge, and I don't really remember many of the furnishings and such that I had, but I can still see those crisp slipcovers and feel the excitement I felt when they were finally in place, transforming my worn, mismatched furniture into an acceptable ensemble.

please stand by. technical difficulties.

I remember when that was the screen message for TV oopsies.  Now my cable just says 'temporarily off air. try again later'.  Seems like the first message had more connection, - 'we're having trouble, but don't go away, please,'-  though the second is perhaps just as accurate and probably just as useful.
My life is crazy right now.  I'm trying to process a lot mentally and emotionally.  I am dealing with 'issues' of many kinds.  Frankly I've run out of suggestions and I probably would rather gripe than hear more. 
The worst part of any renovation is waiting on materials or looking for things you used or saw quite recently.  I'm on my second hunt and about to reach a great patience testing wait.  So my processing has been a little negative today. 
I got started later than I pleased.  I began hunting for a bit that I couldn't find yesterday afternoon, but had to have to continue.  I considered just hitting Lowes and getting another, but I had the thing yesterday morning.  I found it in a 'Goodgrief Donna' spot and finished putting in the framing for the last part of my screened in porch.  Now I can't find the staples that I've moved a dozen times during this whole renovation stint  -while looking for other things.
As I said, the bad mood hasn't helped my reasoning powers toward positive.  I know all the pat answers, but I find that somethings don't really get better, you just endure them and hope someday things will get brighter, as the music says.  Popping out little smart mouthed negatives is one way to deal with it.  But that doesn't really win you much on the home front or in the arena.
Physically, I have my downs, but most of it is way up in comparison to the past year or so.  I've lost 15 lbs.  That in itself makes walking and climbing and general housework easier.  I'm beginning to eat a variety of foods, but not much more quantity.  I am watching for signs of disability very carefully, and keeping a fairly good journal of the things I eat. 
So if I don't post much, you will know that the things my mind does while my body is busy are not really something you want to read about.  I'm hoping to reclaim intelligent thought soon and begin my story telling in a different light.  Till then, Please Stand By, . . . . .

That sort of day.

I am making my cabinets out of rough cedar.  They look really good, in my opinion, when they are finished.  Not everyone has my taste though.  I recognize that.  They are very 'campy', as one person put it.  Another referred to it as lodge like.  A few years ago, my husband and I had the good fortune to stay in a rustic cabin whose trim and cabinetry were made of rough cedar.  I've always loved cedar, though it irritates me if I get it in my nose or eyes.  My husband was really taken with the cedar, though we both agreed that if we did it in our home, it would have to be a little less rough.  We have, and it is.
The process is a long one.  The boards must be cleanned off and sanded down.  Then they must be sized.  Right now I'm using two basic sizes of board. 2.5 for the frame and 5 inch for the backwood.  I'm using dowell pins to join the frames, though I'm using small brads to join the back wood to the frame.  Of course both require a good strong bond of glue.  Then when assembled, the door receives another light sanding and is brought into the cabinet with it's hardware.  Once in place, the door receives its first wash of oil and then is rubbed to a light sheen.  Once dry, it is oiled again, and rubbed and oiled again, etc.  Eventually the sweet rubbed finish begins showing off the grain and color of the wood, which in cedar is very dramatic and varied.
I am also using straight frames instead of mitred corners.  That I borrowed from my grandfathers work.  He was a cabinet maker in the old welsh style and as a child I watched him on more than a few occasions.  That's another story that's already been told.  But I still have pieces that he made and cherish them much.  On my kitchen, I used antique bronze hinges and homemade knobs of wood and glass. On this shower room, I'm using satin nickel hardware to match the fixtures in the shower.  I'm not decided if I will continue with the satin nickel or change to some other fixture in the powder room.
My designs integrate form and function.  I want a certain look to serve a certain purpose.  I expect the effect to be aesthetic and functional at the same time.  Because of this, often my methods follow a different path than is normal in building and renovating.  In my experience, if the construction method I devise is not followed, the end is not aesthetic or functional or it's just not the design I came up with when it's complete.  I like to solve problems, but those solutions must stay with the job, or it doesn't work.  So far, the wedding of solution and design is working well in the bathroom.  There is still a lot to be done. 
I have two other projects running parallel to the bath room.  I am screening in my studio porch and creating room for plexi panels to eventually be installed for coldest weather.  This will keep the clay from freezing in the wet cabinet.  Last year I made frames wrapped them double in clear poly and it worked passably, but of course without much aesthetic.  This year I have put in kneewalls of brick and glass - with one section left to do yet - and have screened it in.  Once the treated lumber dries well, I will paint it to compliment the porch.  I redesigned and resized my old screendoor when I found that I really didn't care for most of what was on the market and what I did care for was terribly expensive and didn't come in my needed size without a commitment from my firstborn child.  I decided to just rebuild the screendoor.  How hard can that be?  I'm laughing right now.  But in the end, the product is something I like and will use with pride.
I'm putting stucco on the garage/port (another design that we are enjoying) and preparing for a stucco fence to go from that structure down to a gate that also will be an original.  The porch and stucco are complimentary jobs.  I always make up way more mortar than I will use and use strengthener in it -yeah strong wall.  That way I am able to use the excess on the garage/port when I've come to a stopping place on the porch.
Living with three incomplete rennovations at the same time is a bit of a strain at times.  But if it gets too hectic, there's always facebook and cardio salsa to capture a little time.  Today, I reached a bit of a milestone in a couple of places.  I didn't get any stucco laid, but I probably will tomorrow morning.  The screen door is sort of in -sans trim that will eventually stop it's forward motion.  It has about the effectiveness of locking your car doors with the windows down.  The second section of screening is also in sans trim.  And the plastic is out of the area that will be made solid to block the airconditioner's noise and heat in the summer.  I still have to deconstruct the frame boards and prepare it for concrete board that can be finished out with an artistic application later.  And I have the last small section of kneewall to put in so I can finish the screening.
I am tired, but satisfied.  I'm excited to get it finished, but am relishing small milestones knowing that each brings me closer to a desired end.  It was that sort of day.

Deconstruction

I have gained much from the effort of this past two weeks.  It's only been two weeks???  The physical gains are obvious.  I've lost a few pounds.  My clothing is loose, my joints are moving normally.  The pain I have from time to time is totally doable.  I am not in constant pain.  I sleep better - except for the occasional cramp that sends me hopping and moaning about the house at various hours.  Even the cramping has lessened the past two nights.
But the side effect is that I've had a lot of thinking processes being pulled at as well.  I wake with a much more positive outlook and a physical drive which is not always matched by strength in this somewhat depleted state.  I've become much more aware of the space about me.  One side note in all this was to avoid bruising.  I've seen why.  Each time I bang my body into something, it forms much larger and more intense bruising.  The program is referred to as a whole body cleanse.
I am now considering it a deconstruction process of sorts.  In taking things out for renovation, there are two processes: demolition and deconstruction.  In demolition, we just whack and tear without much regard for what we are taking out.  It will be discarded and time is much more important than the stuff we are taking out.  Deconstruction takes more time.  It salvages as much as possible knowing that some loss will occur, but that reclaimed items save in the long run.  Deconstruction uses caution knowing there are things that must not be destroyed.  It respects pipes and wires and structural elements that will be retained or reused.  Demolition is initially more rewarding, but deconstruction is eventually more rewarding.
In these past two weeks, my body has been deconstructing.  Toxins have been being pulled out of my bones, joints, blood vessels and digestive system.  I feel that.  But I realize that I am an empty space so to speak.  I want the new me to be quality work and durable. 
I have learned that the main battle in any battle is the battle of the mind.  For me this battle was a no brainer.  For several years, the pain and disability within me has been growing.  I had gotten to a place where my knees and hips hurt so badly, it was very hard to sleep at night for if one was comfortable, the others were not.  I had to have a thick pad to kneel at all and then getting back upright was quite difficult.  The stiffness of my joints made balance a tricky thing and a sudden move or unexpected change could easily sprawl my body across the ground or floor.  But I was enduring and making the best of a bad situation.  Suddenly there was no best.  The pain and stiffness was something I couldn't even push through.  I could not just get on with it and ignore the pain.  I saw a lifestyle of pain meds and steroids as a non-option.  So when this was presented to me, it was worth my best effort.  I was fresh out of options.  That's not always a bad place to be.
Another thing I learned is that taste is acquired and deceptive.  I learned that to a clean palette, tastes are more defined and more enjoyable.  Why do I need to use copious amounts of salt and butter?  Because I can't taste or don't like the taste of the food.  But this week, I have learned to appreciate the taste of an ear of corn without the additives.  I've learned to season vegetables with other vegetables and herbs in a way that have delighted my tastebuds.  By having to work with whole raw fruit and vegetables only, I have gotten creative and learned a lot about my own desires and how they can relate to my success and failure in life.  I made the choice that success is more important than gratification.  Success lasts, gratification ends quickly.  If it had not been for the time cleansing my taste buds of their demand for spice and salt, I might never have known.  The implications go much further than food.
I learned that food is a means to an end.  Uncontrolled, the end is undesired.  Controlled, the end is rewarding.  Sometimes what goes in doesn't come out.  It stays and causes pain and deterioration.  My eating had become more of an amusement park experience.  I had fun, waited for the next fun, and then waited again: always impatient, always wanting more.  I was getting nowhere but unbalanced and tired, yet not ready for reality.  Don't get me wrong, I love to cook and I still will love to cook.  But maybe my definition of 'good' has changed in the past two weeks.  This also is perhaps a life lesson.
I have seen that on the best days, there will be temptation or roadblocks when you aren't watching carefully and sometimes even if you are.  I've seen that on the worst days, there is good to be enjoyed if you will allow it.  Needing to be able to laugh at yourself is more important than being able to look like you have it all together.  Some things are worth whatever you've got; somethings are not. You must choose.  What you avoid with dread can sometimes become a legitimate purpose, but you will never know unless you decide to act on your faith.  We seldom walk in faith without crisis.   We should not create a crisis, but when faced with one, we must use creative faith.
I learned that guidelines are just that.  No life plan will fit all people perfectly.  You must use intelligent wisdom along with creative faith.  When faced with unchangeable facts, adjustment is better than abandonment in almost every case.  Considering how my body reacts to certain things allowed me success in what could have been disaster.  The result leaves me with hope instead of defeat.
Now the process of rebuilding must be addressed. I enjoy designing and I enjoy building.  I am a creative person; I get to decide, within limits, how I will design the new me for function and aesthetic.  I have guidelines, I have information and I am gaining more whereever I find it.  Within those guidelines I will search for truth.  One thing I know, what ever I build, I will probably live with for the rest of my earth life.  It must be effective.  It must be doable.
These are my thoughts on this last day of my cleanse.
Blessings.

Honor

“Honor your father and mother”—which is the first commandment with a promise— 3 “that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.”
Ephesians 6:2
We are all very human, very flawed.  I've heard people say "My parents had no virtue worth honoring.  I felt sad for them.  I have parents that are flawed, to be sure, but full of reasons for honor.  As a 'grown-up' I've had to reconcile my belief and personal experience with the teaching of my childhood and at times, I showed less than ultimate honor for my parents and their personal values.  Yet I've always felt an honor for them individually and as 'parents'.  It's not always a comfortable place to be.
In the past few years, I've received a barrage of sourced information bites that contradicted things I was told over and over and eventually, I decided to believe the stories passed down through multiple discussions and sharing.  What if I'm wrong???  I choose to honor my father.
Recently I've had a conflict arise in my heart and soul that has had me questioning my mother's honor.  I've made a conscious decision to honor my mother.  What if I'm wrong???
This honoring caused me to be dishonorable.  I became so enraged that I reacted dishonorably.
For those I injured, I apologize for your pain. For those I involved in my rage, I apologize for involving you in my anger.  My anger may have been supported, my action was not.  I stand with my mother.  I honor her heart and her intention.  I will choose to believe her words.  That is not meant as an accusation to anyone.
No person owes me anything.  Sometimes we can disagree without harboring resentment.  If you must say that this means I continue to accuse, I don't know what to do about that.  The pride that made me yell 'You had no right!!' when I was angry accomplished no good.  You may return that same statement if you wish.  I'm not sure what that will accomplish in the end.  If you hurt my mother trying to justify yourself, shame on you.
I want this to be done and over.  I want there to be peace in my heart and yours.  I will not dishonor my mother.  I will not speak disrespectfully of her.  This is the last I will say of it.  I guess at one point, I did harbor malice in my heart.  I beg forgiveness for that and for saying anything at all.
I want no pound of flesh.  I want no apology.  I want no concession of any kind.  It is not necessary.  I only want the right to honor my mother.
For any who have joined the conflict or stirred the pot for personal reasons - shame on you.

A busy hand, a busy mind

An old saying came to mind while I was working on the knee wall on my back porch yesterday.  You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.  My mind being what it is, I started analyzing the statement.  Why would you want to catch flies?  Why would you want to foul the honey?  And if the main goal is just to kill the flies, how does that work with the saying?
When I was a kid, my parents and I went to the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, drove up the canyon road a ways and camped.  The next morning, my mom made pancakes for breakfast and at the end of the meal when we were sitting about talking and the bees started buzzing around us, my mom held out some syrup on her finger and a bee landed on it and ate the syrup.  We all laughed.  She went on about living in harmony with nature and stuff like that for a bit.  The bee came back several times to get more syrup.  Then it was time to clean up and travel on.  The bee wasn't convinced.  It got angry that the syrup was no longer being offered.  In the end, she had to kill the bee. 
There's got to be a moral in that story somewhere, but I have none to share.  Such were the wanderings of my mind while I finished laying brick and glass in the knee wall of my studio porch.

Hiding Place by Jars of Clay

Hiding Place


From the Album 'Redemption Songs' which is a collection of old hymns done in a new setting.

Unprofitable

Titus 3: ⁹ But avoid foolish controversies and genealogies and arguments and quarrels about the law, because these are unprofitable and useless.
My history and origins are now in doubt.  It makes me a little queasy.  The issue is: what to do with all the stories and bad information I grew up believing.  The accessibility of information has now erased huge chunks of viability from my memory.  I'm not sure if it matters or not.  I'm not one of those creative people who can just say "Hey I am royalty."  "Hey, I was an indian princess."  "Hey I am a daugter of the revolution."  I need something a little more substantial.
We were a family of story tellers.  My dad was a story teller.  My mom was and is a story teller.  My father's parents were story tellers.  I grew up on stories of the opening of the Oklahoma territory, and the deportation of the jews and the immigration of the Welsh common people.  I grew up on stories of infidelity and abuse and great honor and funny occurrences.  They are part of my mental legacy.  But recently I learned that my father's stories of his brother coming home from the war when he was a small child and carrying him about on his tall shoulders for days and then going away to die in the conflict we call World War I was some kind of fabricated impossibility.  He would have been a young teen when the war ended according to the fastidious collections of public documents. 
My father lied to me.  My grandmother lied to me.  Why would they do that??!  Why would my grandfather fake an accent all his life when he was born and raised on American soil?  Why would he tell me stories that could eventually be proven lies?  Was it just because he didn't understand how wise and knowledgeable people would become in my lifetime?  Or was the story so good that it's veracity makes no difference.
Some call to inform me of my error, some call to supply themself with greater understanding and then walk away saying "That was useless, for sure."  I stand and say, "What do I do with my heritage now that you have amassed your tub of resources against it?"  I am troubled.
Do I now discard a lifetime of the same stories built on similar stories that fabricated my sense of who I am?  I'm sure if I hunt through the 'historical documents' I will find the same information you did.  But what do I then do with my mind full of errant facts provided time and again by people I trusted?
I have not yet decided what I will do.  It's like I'm coming upon a cosmic age of accountability.  Shall I walk in light or live in fantasy.  My heart is saddened by the whole thing.  I've lost my love for story telling for now.

Thou Lovely Source

Thou Lovely Source


The video isn't really what I would have chosen but all others were either other artists or cut off before they finished. This song has been going through my mind. It is from the project Redemption Songs by Jars of Clay.

Change is a-comin'

The temperatures have suddenly changed. A month ago, we broke the all time record high for the state of Arkansas.  This morning we set an new record low for this date.  We've not been below 70 at night since June I believe.  So the past two mornings seemed very cool.  Yesterday I had my devotion time with mom on the deck wrapped in a blanket!
Along with the change that will now usher our world from hot-hot to cold, this fall also must see a change in my physical body if I am to continue functioning.  I have certain things I must do differently, or I will not be doing at all.  There are many more than I will mention here, but physically, three basics must take place in my life.
First, I am going to start a body cleanse.  That's something I used to do regularly, but over the years I abandoned it except for extreme times.  For four days I will live on juice, bouillabaisse and water.  The suggestion is water only, but my hypoglycemia won't do that, so I will drink juice three times a day for strength and sugar control with water in between, and once a day I will have bouillabaisse for a minimal protein level, which my condition requires.  Days 5 - 10 I will add one meal of veggies and one meal of fruits to this equation.  After the 10 days, I will include one small serving of meat or other protein.  My regular supplements will be included the whole time. Though the plan says to abandon them for the 15 days,  I don't think that is wise.  It may slow the process some, but I believe it would have repercussions.  My belief is that neglecting the basic supplements I take for my joints and blood chemistry was part of my 'fail'.  Even after the 15 days, I must change the way I eat and think about food.  And I must observe a day of cleansing each week.
Second, I must structure time for relaxation and fun.  I realized the other day that the only time I structure enjoyment and rest is when others are here.  Last spring, I had my grandchildren here for a few days and I structured fun time into each day along with the work I needed to get done.  It is a possible scenario.  My life seems to revolve around work.  I have some long range goals that will never have a chance if I don't change this and the work will never be done enough to leave my time free.  My studio is very important to me. But if every opportunity is squashed because I need to teach or prepare, I will lose my abilities without ever knowing it.  No, I'm not likely to lose perspective on this one.  I actually love what I do, but I see that I am making it a limitation that can rob me of my joy and physical accomplishment. However, I will not be taking applications to have others restructure my time and life.
Third, I must find a way to do what exercise I can on a regular basis.  The idea that I am working therefore I am exercising is not productive in the arena of degenerative arthritis.  The doctor gave me a list of exercises.  Most of these are doable.  The stationary bike time may not happen, but I will try to find a pool to walk and swim in through the winter months.  I want to dance in the moonlight on New Years Eve.  Right now I couldn't dance on a padded spring floor.
There are spiritual, social and emotional changes that are just as important as these -perhaps more.  But I am realizing that change must be embraced, planned and executed or it will not produce the effect I desire.  I also am accepting that this change is personal.  I cannot depend on anyone else to bring the needed changes into my life.  God must be the author and power for discipline as well as revival, yes.  But without faith there will be no effort and without effort, there will be no change. 
In all these things, I can be a conquering warrior or I can be a sniffling recipient of the ills of life.  I choose to give it my best effort.  Will it turn out like I plan?  Who knows.  Probably not.  Life is what happens while we are making other plans.  Yet without orchestrated change, I will only have what I have now - deterioration, limitation, and frustration.

A personal treasure found.

I love to write.  I have since I was a child.  Stories, prose, poems.  It was deeply engrained in me. 

My grandmother wrote poetry and stories, but she was my mother's stepmom.  Yet the Bible says that the Lord sets the solitary in families.  I believe it.  Our adopted daughter had so many familial characteristics. 

Several years ago, a group I was part of raised money for a trip partly by creating one of a kind Valentines.  I found this today among some things I was going through.  I remember liking the way it was back then and as I read it today, liked it again.  So, I've put it here.  You may or may not appreciate it.  That's good with me either way.  It was written and illustrated for a time and person.  Blessings.

You are my rock.

When success flowed over me like rays of sunlight, when

my accomplishments came, you stood firm while I basked in the warmth

of the moment, taking it in with joy.  You always allowed time for me to stretch out and

 savor those bright happy moments knowing that other times would come when I would need

the memories.

And when the times of trial and disappointment blew through my life, You were my rock:

a strong fortress against the wind and rain of discouragement and defeat.  You offered me a

constant place of protection where I could regain my strength and resolve and emerge again

ready to face the challenges of life.

Even as I reached for my own values and ideas, your firm, stable foundation of truth, selflessness

and integrity under girded me, sustaining my will and guiding my development. 

You are my rock.

And in this uncertain, changing world, your creative teaching and well placed example have

been like stepping stones allowing me to go on with confidence where others hesitated

or turned back.  You are my mother, my joy, my best friend. 

You are my Rock.

Brandon Heath - The Light In Me

The Light in Me


here's another one I like alot.

Jason Gray encourages the broken and weak

The Virtue of Weakness


I found this while looking for a specific Jason Gray song. I hope it encourages someone else. I encouraged me today.

Remember Me by Kutless w/ lyrics

Remember Me

A very good article

I've been writing a piece on the three types of love, and though this is perhaps much more classic that what I'm thinking, I believe it to be of great value.

What Really Keeps a Marriage Together?

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This is a guest post by John Marshall, LMFT. He is my own therapist and coach. He just started blogging, and his first post was so powerful, I asked for his permission to re-post it here as a guest post. You can read his follow-up post here. I think he has a great future as a blogger! If you want to guest post on this blog, check out the guidelines here.

For the last eight months I’ve been seeing a thirty-something male client who is a month away from his divorce being final. He is relieved that this painful experience is almost over, but he is also very sad. He’s grieving the marriage that he wanted to have—the one that he wishes they would have had together.

Photo courtesy of ©iStockphoto.com/Bryngelzon

By the way, this tells me he is dealing with his divorce in a healthy manner. I never trust anyone if they tell me they have no sadness about their marriage ending and that they are simply glad that it is over. Marriages are investments and we are always sad when an investment goes belly up.

So he sits down a couple of weeks ago and right off the bat tells me that he has a question that he desperately needs answered. He tells me that his future depends on it, and that he is afraid because he isn’t able to answer this question.

He asks me what “type” of love keeps a marriage together since their kind obviously didn’t do the trick. I remember sitting for a couple of minutes before answering.

In that time I considered my own marriage of almost thirty-three years, the countless couples I have seen as a therapist, what messages the Church and my upbringing taught, and the dozens of books I’ve read on the subject over the years. I surprised myself by sharing with him the following ideas.

First, I told him that I used to think that agape was the most important kind of love for a marriage. But no longer. This Greek word suggests that a spiritual love is the number one priority—a love that is sacrificial and focused on commitment more than feelings or your own needs. After all, haven’t we all heard more sermons than we could count where this was the bottom line?

Don’t get me wrong, I told him, agape is very important in keeping a marriage together. But not the “most” important kind of love. Many couples have intact marriages but no relationship at all and are living under the stoic belief that happiness isn’t even a possibility.

Secondly, I said that eros is really wonderful but that it doesn’t “keep” a marriage together either. We all love passion. We all want there to be chemistry. We all dream about great sex that will keep us interested over the years.

Our culture is so sex-obsessed that we are easily convinced (especially early in a marriage) that the lucky ones can’t stay out of the bedroom. This is the secret to a long relationship.

Don’t get me wrong, “feeling” in love with your partner is very critical. Too many accept a relationship that is boring and no longer has any passion. Eros can be restored and must be worked at over the life of a marriage.

By this time he knew where I was going. I found myself telling him that based on my marriage and the successful ones I’ve seen over the years that philia was most important. Committment and chemistry are ingredients you don’t want to leave out of the recipe but without friendship you can’t bake the cake!

To be friends with your mate means:

• You respect her.
• You treat her like your equal when your upbringing and your own selfish ways try to convince you otherwise.
• You talk about how you feel and think about the good and bad of your life together.
• You even risk conflict by being more honest than you are comfortable with because it builds intimacy into your marriage.
• You plan and dream together because life is too complicated to just wing it.

In other words, you treat your partner like your “best” friend.

Sadly, like so many people, what my client never had with his former wife was friendship. He said nobody ever told him it was the most important thing! In fact they even had the other two ingredients the majority of the time.

As our session continued, a big smile came over his face as we continued to talk about how exciting it could be to have a best friend in your wife. He said he was growing hopeful as he sat there thinking about this new possibility for the future.

I hope what I told him is realistic and not too pie in the sky. All I know is that next month I will have been married thirty-three years to my best friend. Thank God for friendship!

http://michaelhyatt.com/what-really-keeps-a-marriage-together.html

Busy and Hot

I'm still working on organizing and sorting and I've begun working on building the new shower.  It's hard work with various 'surprises along the way. Ready to get to something more creative in it all.

Still praying for cool and rain.  My plants are just not surviving this horrid 110 degree heat day after day.  We do have hot summers, but only a day or so over 100 normally.  It's wearing on us all.

While on a trip through space.com I found that the Seattle Space Needle is offering a competition to celebrate its 50th birthday. Prize is a trip into space. Cool. While reading about it I ran into an article that told about a BI crack in alcaeda's website. They replaced instructions for bomb making with instructions for baking cupcakes. The CIA said they've cracked the site but felt it was better left alone as an info source. So now I wonder how much harder it will be to crack the site. But, the cupcake recipe thing was funny.

Hope you have a great day. Stay cool and try to remain positive and thankful.  Blessings

I'm baaa-aaack

I'm baaa-aaack.  Desks are in, computer's runnin'  Even the printer is online.  Lot's to do though, so not much network time.  Not feeling up to par, but so much to do.  Happy to have it done.

Song of Reconciliation - Ashton, Becker, Dente

Reconciliation


I was looking for a different song. Didn't find it but found this and remembered how much I liked this song and the combination of these three fantastic voices.

The Child of Promise

So God comes up to Abraham one day and says you're going to have a kid.  This was before Abraham was Abraham and before he'd learned some things about God.
Abraham says 'That's cool. A little baby, huh.'  He and his wife didn't have any kids, this was exciting news.  Somewhere in there, he really believed it would happen along with all the results of that, and God said 'Let's call you Abraham.' and was so pleased with his belief, that he counted it as true righteousness.
Somewhere down the years things came in between Abraham and that promise.  His wife said 'God said you were having a kid, not necessarily that you were having a kid with me.'  Abraham listened to her logic and got her servant pregnant.  The woman was supposed to be a surrigate mother.  Sarah would take the baby at birth and raise him as her own.  But then when the woman did get pregnant, she kinda felt a one-upism and got snotty and Sarah beat her and she ran away.
An angel sent her back home again and promised her that her son would be hated but a great man, none-the-less.  So she went back home had the kid and Sarah settled into the whole thing -sorta.  Evidently, Abraham settled in as well, because when God said, 'Now you really are going to have the promised son and Sarah will be the mom,' Abraham said 'Let Ishmael live before you.'  Before this morning, I never considered that Abraham loved and even enjoyed raising Ishmael.  I never thought about the father's bond before today.
We know the rest of the story - how the baby came according to promise and how Ishmael made fun of him and got kicked out into the desert to fend for himself.  We know how the middle east was affected for all time.  That has nothing to do with my point so I will leave it now.
Years ago, I was a musician - considered a very good musician.  I heard God make promises about it and I loved the idea of the promise.  I made a decent amount of money with it, became reasonably popular and considered it my life work, though I never moved out of the couple of circles in which I learned to function. 
I had a hobby - art.  I made money at it but I never considered it a vocation.  For a time, I moved about those circles without restriction as I had with the music, but I did not pursue it, it pursued me.  Then my life changed completely.
I was a little confused, but always expected God to honor the promises one day.  Since my music was mostly bounded by the lines of religious denomination, and since I was now a divorced woman, I walked away from my commitment and involvements, believing I would not be readily accepted any longer.  That was the practical truth.  From that time on, I played with my music, but it never flowed from me in the same way.  My Sarai, told me to forget the promises, forget the music, pursue the art for that was the only way I would be successful.  I listened with a deep sadness.  Unfortunately, this Sarai of mine was not a part of my life but for a short few weeks and was definitely not a part of the promise, but the words went deep.
I never forgot the promise and tried to reenter the world I had walked away from a few years later, but I had no power, no conviction, no strength.  It broke my heart.  People who worked with me and believed in me didn't understand why it was so confusing and painful; nor did they understand my inability to function within the realm of music.  I lost the promise and the ability.  I retrained myself, became an art teacher, and learned to love my little Ishmael.
At various times in the past 20 plus years, I have heard the siren call of the music I left behind.  But the wound was so great that I turned away.  At one point, I was put into a place where it might be resurrected, but it ended not so well.  After that, I turned the dream and the promise away and have not allowed it to raise even a tiny bit in my heart and mind.
Recently I have heard rumours in my spirit.  Will the child of promise walk and breathe and take it's old place?  My heart feels confused.  My faith is unsure.  My mind says 'Let the child I have walk before you.'  Yet I wonder.  If I give myself in my old age to a dead promise and I see no result, will I make myself an even greater fool?  Is it rationale or lack of faith that leads me?  Do I even have a choice?  If the will of God is that direction, will it not just come about without my struggle?  Yet I feel so torn, so hopeless, so foolish, so faithless.  How can the Father bless or use me at all in this state?  Was Abraham this confused when he decided to believe God in a way that ultimately counted for righteousness?

Rooftops - Jesus Culture (lyric video)

Rooftops

Imperfection

Several years ago, a person dear to my heart went through a difficult struggle as a result of the hardness of life and some poor reactions to that.  I wrote this poem during  that time, but this summer I found myself searching for it again for various reasons.  Finally I had to go back to the blog that I posted.  So now it's tucked back into an appropriate file.  However, because I have been searching for a while, I post it again.  Hope it means something here.

Cast up upon the shore by endless waves
In imperfection lies a battered shell,
Exposing all her secrets unafraid,
Embedded in the sand where once she fell.

Travelers passed her beauty unimpressed;
They could not see the value in the scarred.
A hurried, fleeting glance did not reveal
The loveliness exposed where she was marred.

Her broken beauty says she’s stronger still:
Not to be crushed, dissolved and swept away;
Yet holding to an iridescent will
That speaks of struggles from her yesterday.
DWoodall, 2007

Give me my mountain.

I'm at a curious junction in life.  I'm reminded of my statements from the past about how I would handle certain things if they came.  Now I'm not sure where the road of life is taking me and I am haunted by the words. 
Yet Saturn is still a planet.  It's in the sky and I can see it in the telescope with a bit of effort.  It reminds me of a superintendent I had who told me that when things went crazy in his life, he looked out the window and as long as Poteau Mountain was still there, he was okay.  I thought "What will you do if you ever move?"  Yet I understand that having a non-variable is very important in navigating life.
I work very hard most days and though my age and physical limitations are quite obvious, I just keep trying to complete these things in my life.  There is so much to do.  Why don't I just stop?  It seems to be the non-variable that keeps me sane.  Yet one day, I shall have to 'move' away from the mountain of work.  The time may be sooner than later. 
I have a frantic need to set it all right, but only one me to hold up the other end of the board while I put it together (an analogy).  Into it, I try to interject a little fun so I will not be seen as the drudge I really am.  But there is always one more board, one more screw, one more block, one more bag of cement waiting.
I want to paint and write and sculpt and dream up new recipes, but fun is not my fun.  It becomes one more need nagging my mind.  "You must have fun with them so they will have decent memories of you when you are gone."   And no, having them haul a bucket of rock down the hill or hold a board while you screw it in place is not appropriate fun.
When we bought this place, we did so for two reasons: it supplied me a studio space with a separate entrance and the hill was phenomenal.  Oh the hill.  It held such dreams.  It would be a beautiful place to paint and study and pray.  But then it's really hard to enjoy those things when you're tipping sideways!  So came the lighthouse and the gazebo and a bench here and there.  The swing is made of two halves of an old trampoline so it will be stable on the hill. Hey, it works.  The pool was installed in the less graded part of the yard and needed decks.  We considered an inground, but that was going to be incredibly expensive.
Before we even bought it, we assessed the house and laid claim to visions and dreams.  We both wanted a place to entertain and interact with family, church and friends.
We needed a sunroom to house the plants.  Check. 
I needed a dirty area for clay.  Check. 
I needed a kiln room. Check.
The kitchen would have to be revamped totally. Check. 
The laundry area would have to be made more functional.  Check. 
A one car garage that could be driven through would have to be added.  Check. 
The back roof would have to be raised to let light into the dungeon of a living room.  Not yet.
And we would need a dedicated woodworking shop with a lot of storage.  Ah, not yet.
Bathrooms would have to be redone.  Not yet, (but we do have the stuff to do one of them and the floor tile for the other.)
And everything needs to be unique and attractive.  Well that's a judgement call, isn't it.
Each of these seemed important to the success of our living and the usefullness of our abode.  There are times I'd like to say "Just screw it."  But then it still needs done. 
Louis has heard a different siren.  But it still needs done.  We were both excited when we began.  Now the excitement has waned and the need has not.  If only. . . . When we. . .
I'm not saying Louis doesn't work on it still, but not for long at a time.  He has no heart for it anymore -and there is so much of it, he puts in a lot of overtime, and he has found a greater purpose. 
I've come to the realization that I must make tasks doable for myself if the work is to ever be completed.  We aren't rich people though we have been blessed greatly.  We still can't afford to hire out the parts I can't complete.  I'm doing my best to segment the work into what I can do and what I must have help with.  But it is an overwhelming mountain -and a lot of it is still there.  The once nice walled canopy that was set up to be a temporary storage solution is still out there deteriorating and being shored up in its weak spots - six and a half years later.
When Caleb was 80, his eye was not dim and his natural force had not abated.  He approached Joshua and said, I helped everyone else with their wars, now give me my mountain.  I am amazed each time I read it.  Today it fills me with pain.  I see that through our lives, we change one burden for another.  We escape one impossible situation by running into another impossible situation.  Sometimes I just want to pretend it's not there, but that's not my frame.  So I suck it up and set my jaw and to the echo of other people's good and bad comments, I put myself to it again.  It seemed a logical and doable task in the planning stages.  The need is still there so the strength must be.