Bits & Pieces

My eyes have recently been opened to faikus, a poem similar to a haiku. There are two rules: the sequence of syllables is 1/1/2/3/5/8, and no one-syllable lines can contain an article. Tonight I was a guest speaker at Girl's Camp. My subject was reguarding personal revelation. Here's my attempt:

God
speaks
spirit to
wide-open spirit;
do no doubt your witness from God.

Let's Build a Stairway to the Stars

I have spent three days traveling just about non-stop. I had to find people to help with my children, find rides at every turn and cancel commitments. It was worth the effort.



I was able to stand graveside as they lowered the body that does not resemble my grandfather anymore, but which once held his lively and vibrant spirit. My hair blew wildly and my skirt flew up over my head and the flowers escaped their holding place on his coffin in the wind/sand storm after the service had ended. We are sure he sent the wind. Most of the people had left before the sand had filled their eyes, noses and mouths, but I stood still in the world where nothing was still in the wind’s fury. I felt my grandpas’ exit in my personal stillness. I felt peace. Frozen in time. My sweet grandmamma watched from her safe car window as we put things back in their place with a combination of sandy smiles and tears.



He was a good man. Feisty and foresighted. A man of the world, he took care of others in his own way whether it was financially or with his sense of humor. He was an entrepreneur. A cowboy. A man’s man; a charmer. A saint and a sinner. A mayor. A lover of desserts and a hater of goodbyes. I wonder what he knows right now that he didn’t before. I bet it’s a comfort to no longer be within a body that held his memory captive. I hope he saw his genes passed down through the generations that celebrated his life. I saw resemblances everywhere I looked. Some were physical, some were soulful.

Name That Song

Today’s prompt for Sunday Scribblings is “music.” Well, as it happens, every month on the 25th day, it is time for Name That Song. This is the sixth month, and it has been fun! I love music, and have written a couple posts about how music touches me. It has the capacity to fill my soul, where words alone sometimes lack. No matter the genre or decade, if it touches me, it’s a keeper. Music has mourned with my losses, cheered with my excitement, loved with my loves. Without further adew, let’s play!


The Rules:

1. Please DO NOT guess in the comment section. E-mail me (see my profile page for my e-mail address).
2. I really send a prize, so be honest and fair.
3. Previous winners may still play.
4. Be the FIRST to e-mail me with the correct song title & artist and win.
Good Luck!

This month's lyric is:

And even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with ya honey,
And everything will bring a chain of love.
And in the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes,
And tell me everything is gonna be alright.

for more reading about music, click Sunday Scribblings

Grateful Friday

~Summer


~The Lake


~The Beach


~Beach treasures


~Warm zucchini bread


~pictures like these



~My yard


~my barn


~my li’l peeps

Sunday Scribbling: Bed

Right now, I have three children asleep in bed. The little tiniest one is in a crib, sucking her thumb, holding her blankie. Her little curls sprawled out on the pillow that seems much too big for her body. The other two are in the same twin bed, most likely spooned together and sweaty. This has become the new habit—to sleep in the same bed, because they are just tooooo scaaaared to sleep alone. I love watching my children when they're asleep.

Across the span of states, in a hospital bed in Denver, my sister lays with her newborn son next to her. A mess of new curls atop his tiny head. Bodies tired from the trauma of bringing new life into the world. Congratulations, Chris and Kara!!!

The bed I sleep in was a gift from my parents. Jake and I had been home from our honeymoon for a day when we were driving a U-Haul back to my parents’ house to load it up. A couple miles from my parents’ house we spotted a couch on the side of the road, with a sign on it that said, “Free.” Well, of course, we pulled the U-Haul over and opened up the back and with grunts and sweat, loaded it in. Much to our happiness, it turned out to have a pull-out bed. (We did not own much of anything besides our new dishes and linens—especially a bed!) Do you know what kinds of couch-beds are free on the side of the road? Well, that’s the kind we got! When my parents came to visit their newlywed daughter, they had to go to a shady part of town. Then when they sat down on the old nasty couch and realized that for the past six months, every night this couch was pulled out and slept on, well, something had to be done. The next day, we were trying out new mattresses at a store that delivers the same day. I don’t think there’s a night that goes by that I don’t say “…I’m thankful for my bed” in my prayers. After 10 years, we actually really need a new mattress, but I’ll take this worn out bed any day over that old Hide-A-Bed.

Today is my brother’s birthday—happy birthday, Caleb! He will sleep in his bed in a great apartment in Arizona with a view of a pool. People, please remember that you are not alone in a pool that has windows looking onto it from people’s apartments. You’d be surprised what goes on in those pools. Or maybe I’m just naive.

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Summer Begins

The last day of first grade.

There is a certain routine that my girl has--she is a creature of habbit. Every morning, the same thing has happened for the past 180 days of school:


she blows kisses as she is about to board the bus;



she waves franticly with very serious look on her face until the bus starts to pull away;



as the bus starts driving, she gives me the "i love you" sign (do you see her in the window, the little tiny cute girl?) until whe is...



down the street and out of sight.

If something is out of place during this routine, I am sure to hear about it when I pick her up. It makes me laugh, but it also tears me apart--sending this innocent, little, fragile, beautiful, anxious individual away from me every week day to let the influence of her world teach her instead of me. Scary. I am not aloud, by law, to leave her in the car for a few minutes unattended, but I am encouraged to send her away, without (my) supervision, for most of the day to let people I hardly know make sure she is happy and safe and taken care of. I try really hard not to match her look of fear and discontent when I give her the "i love you" sign back. I give a huge smile and wave, although all the other kids are watching intently.

But, now, we can go to the beach and the pool and the lakes and fruit and berry picking...I love summer. Although there are more fights to break up between the shorties, we get to take on a non routine type day and let the days come one at a time, knowing that summer never lasts long enough. Who knows--second grade might be too old to blow kisses and give sign language love. Time will tell. But first, I'm gonna head out into the sun.

Thoughts From The Field

So, way back when, I was a counselor at a therapeutic wilderness program for troubled youth. It is a program that is still going and was actually broadcast as reality TV recently as ‘Brat Camp.’ (I couldn’t watch it—no thanks.) It is in southern Utah way, way out in the middle of the desert. (To make it undesirable for the kids to “run.”)

The kids who go to a program like this are usually either in custody of the state—juvenile delinquents, or “private” kids, whose parents have come to the conclusion that they don’t know what to do next to help their children, so they send them to a program like this. It usually goes down something like this: the kid is told at the last minute where they are going, and they are sent with strangers, who now have custody for a period of time, out to the middle of nowhere. They are given a backpack, a sleeping bag, and other necessities one may need to spend the next 30 to 90 days living in the desert. (And they are NOT happy about any of this.)

If you haven’t noticed, I have a link, 63 days, on my sidebar. This is not light reading. It is a tragic, horrific story of a girl who was sent to Challenger, one of the first “survival” camps. This was before there were many rules and regulations, and, Ally’s story is heart wrenching. Full of abuse and neglect.

At first, I was full of guilt, reading what she went through as a student at a wilderness program. I felt like it was me personally who had mistreated her and the kids in her group. But I worked for a different company with a different philosophy and much more stringent rules and regulations. My experience was not hers, and I don’t believe my students’ experiences were hers either, although after reading her story, I have wondered if I am too naïve. I was full of love and hurt for these kids and their lives and what they had gone through. Most of them had horrible family lives, or had been abused in some way—there is usually a reason when one acts out.

I am at peace now, remembering my role with these kids. I treated them with kindness, and sat and listened as they spoke of their struggles. I cheered and laughed with them as they celebrated their successes. I would shed tears driving home after my eight days in “the field,” needing a release of all the stress and sadness of seeing these good kids who had made bad choices struggle with where it had put them in their individual lives. I know I helped. I know that I made a difference.

I led hikes, ate what the kids ate, slept under the stars, and witnessed the beauty of the desert and changing lives. So, although it sounds harsh to pull kids out of their surroundings and plop them in the middle of nowhere, give them oats and rice to eat, and make them learn to make bow drill fires, I can see the good in it. I carried my belongings on my back and thoughts in my head, and hopefully, the kids who were there while I was their counselor, didn’t experience the same things that Ally did. Perhaps they were healed in small ways and think fondly on their experience in the desert with all the other dirty wanderers.

Self Portrait Challenge: Pop Art #2

I have got to figure out Adobe. Did all you SPCers take classes without me?? Well, this will have to do. Yummm. Chocolate milk. happy. mmmmmm. I think I'll go make another glass...

I have had a hard time posting a picture of myself every week--it is definately a challenge. But I have enjoyed the creativity, and now my far-away-friends have stopped asking me to post pictures of myself instead of just my kids. On the other hand, my husband is giving me some good razzing for holding the camera in front of my own face so often.

spc pop #2

Grateful Friday

Today, my peony is blooming, and wouldn’t you know it, my sister called from Arizona and said she’s in labor! Off to the hospital she went, and here she is, 12 hours later, with an epidural, still laboring away…How I wish I were there!! When my mom was checking in with them at the hospital, they told her that if she caught a plane and made it there in time she was welcome in the delivery room. She said, “Bye!” and went to work finding a flight. Now she is in there, most likely rubbing K’s back and about to greet my new nephew!!!! I’ll let you know how it turns out…

I’m grateful for brand spankin’ new babies (especially ones who are related to me!)

Today while I was spreading peanut butter on some bread, #2 said, “Mommy, there are llamas in the back yard!” I ran over, and sure enough, our next door neighbor’s llamas had gotten out, and were munching on the apple trees! I ran over to tell my neighbor and by the time we got back out, the llamas were in the middle of the street just walking down the road! We had to round them up and herd them back over to their yard, but they kept running back in the wrong direction. Eventually, with the help of a town police officer, the llamas were back where they belonged, and my kids and I had successfully dodged a charging llama. (Do llamas charge?? As I let out a tiny yelp, holding my 2 year old, and used my mailbox as protection, I wondered, “will it stop??!?”)



I’m grateful that I live in the country. We have all kinds of visiting animals, but today, visiting llamas were a special treat.

-I’m grateful for my barn/studio
-I’m grateful for digital cameras
-I’m grateful for little books that say things like, “left foot, left foot, right foot, right…” because they make my daughter so happy
-I’m grateful for hugs and kisses from little people
-I’m grateful for fireflies
-I’m grateful that we have unlimited minutes for the phone


later: My sister just called and told me, "I have a baby." He's a tiny little peanut, and he's my newest nephew. Congratulations, Krista & Dallas!!

Good Karma

Part of my wish came true in the form of four awesome missionaries doing service.



They showed up and went to work and buzzed around the place. Now my pool area looks like we may be able to actually swim in the near future. For those of you who don't have a pool in New England: you are supposed to "close" the pool sometime in the fall, "open" the pool in the Spring. (We aren't very good at this.) If you are lucky, you will get a few good swimming months. Is it worth it??? I still vascilate between: I would never want to deal with this humidity without a pool; and I hate dealing with the squirrels falling in and dying and finding them half decomposed and cleaning out the rotting leaves--this is just too much work.

So thank you, kind Elders, for being willing to help the Bishop and his little family.

Self Portrait Challenge: Pop Art

An art style that had its origins in England in the 1950s and made its way to the United States during the 1960s. This movement was marked by a fascination with popular culture reflecting the affluence in post-war society.

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Sunday Scribblings: First Memory

I had a wonderful childhood. I can’t imagine anyone having a more blessed life than what I have lived. I have many snippets of memory tugging at me, but one that I love includes my sweet father.

It was bedtime, and although I am not an only child, at this moment I feel like one. I am lying in my father’s arms, and it is dark all around us. We are in a rocking chair, gently squeaking the rhythm of his back-and-forward motion. He is singing me a lullaby, and when the song is finished, I beg him to sing it one more time. With a sigh, he begins again, and I sink deeper into the comfort of his arms.

I love you, dad.


golfing at Pebble Beach (with flat #1)


holding up the latest baby

more Sunday Scribblings here

Grateful Friday

This is a picture of my peonies. They are about to burst. It reminds me of my sisters—both are nesting and uncomfortable, and when they pop, I can’t wait to witness the flowers!!! Not too much longer, little ones…

-conversations with my family
-my garden
-pj’s
-cold cereal
-thunder and lightning
-tomorrow I get to go watch my little jump roper shine
-hugs from my boy (and I mean you, J)