More -- finding home.
Amid collapsing bridges, bombs, fires, shootings, explosions, tornadoes, and other disasters. Home is a good thing to have
I saw a Norwegian airplane at Boeing -- it will soon find its way to its Norwegian home.
Lynn has returned to her blogger home after months absent.
I-5 Skagit river bridge collapse will effect a few going home moments, 71,000 cars a day use that bridge and two cars were affected -- go figure.
More "Home" books/movies:
The Boxcar Children -- classic
Glass Castles
Kathy Bates movie; A Home of Our Own
Janice's favorite; Angels in the Outfield
Going home: the anticipation, relaxation, family, pets, mementos, potted plants, junk.
Janice needs to be going home. I'm traveling south on June 13 just to look her in the eye.
I don't want her going to her spiritual home just yet,
unless she insists.
Going home can mean after death, returning to your own heaven or paradise.
As you will recall, Mother was ready to go to this home.
More than ready.
Finding our way home.
A light in the window.
The horse knows the way.
Someone waiting.
Someone who cares whether you walk through the door.
The girls in Cleveland who finally got to go home.
Home is where you wait and worry when a loved one doesn't come home.
A place where you breath easier, relax better, eat what you want.
A feeling of safety envelopes you.
Security.
Trust.
You don't need four walls for that, a tent or mud hovel will suffice.
Home is family, being welcomed, being missed, being enjoyed, being understood, or at least accepted.
Lost on the road of life and finding an emotional home.
Looking for a home.
They told a story about when the Taylor family made the big move from Texas to Oklahoma way back early in the century and stopped somewhere along the way and strangers gave them "store bought" crackers. Aunt Voleta said she couldn't even eat them because she kept thinking, "Ain't got no home now."
Making new homes.
New hope drove settlers across the ocean, across the prairie.
A white picket fence or a Gilbert farm house.
Home can be a motel room as mine was for many years.
A tent like I did for a summer.
A fantastic 99 cent tube tent -- what a joy that was.
Home the safe place on every board game or sport.
Connor comes stomping into my home in his new cowboy boots, looks me in the eye and asks, no, demands, no commands "Are we going to book club?"
"No" I answer.
I just thought he wanted to play with his granny.
"Well, we will next time."
Yes sir.
For our playdate I had set out some wine corks for Connor to play with. He looks at them, looks at me, and asks, "Granny have you been drinking wine?"
"No" I answer, "I put them there for you to play with."
"Granny, they don't make any noise."
Yep that was a granny failure.
I said, "Well you can throw them," so he did for about 3 1/2 minutes. Yep, that was a granny failure.
No book club, wine corks that don't make noise and to top it off I didn't have a yellow glass for him to use the yellow straw in. I might have redeemed myself a little when I had a red straw for the red fruit punch -- thanks be to Jane for the straw gift. Saved this granny that time.
This home stuff gets complicated.
Jeff says he is only bringing a suitcase, chairs, the goodie box, hot dog
skewers, Vienna Sausages, booze and his cast iron dutch oven to the family reunion next year.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Find Their Way Home
A young FaceBook friend, Lisa Bruce, engulfed in the devastation of the Oklahoma tornadoes posted her heart felt feelings that included this line: Hoping lost loved ones find their way home. What a beautiful thought.
It triggered in me deep thoughts about humans and animals true north, our home, what ever that home may be.
When I was young and less wise than I am now I once waxed poetic about our home and dad said, "It won't feel like home when mom and I are gone, it will just be a house on 50th street. Dad was right. Like gazing at the dead body of a loved one, the essence that made them them is gone, the body that is left is not them.
Homes can be devastated, ask Jeff and Oklahomans, but our "home" survives. Our home is more a state of being on the inside than a structure on the outside. When I was divorced I felt I had been pushed out of a plane without a parachute that was bound from east to west coast, but home survived. I carried it with me.
Righting yourself and pushing forward is never easy, yet it seems to happen almost in spite of ourselves. Like Mongolian nomads or turtles we carry our home around, patched or battered though it may be. No matter how dim or devastated home is where others are; sons, family, friends. Home is where we cook dinner not own a TV. For some people home is a spot of concrete, a cardboard box, a sleeping bag tucked inside a garbage sack.
Birds re-nest every year. A babies home is where ever its mother is, not an address, when mom moves so does home.
What we lose in devastation with tornadoes, fire or divorce is things -- stuff -- we don't lose ourselves. We might curl up with depression, distrust or loss of hope, but home is curled up with us. When we emerge so does home.
From the snows of Pakistan to the heat of Haiti people plow through and rebuild sometimes starting with something as fragile as a blade of grass: Wall-E or The Wump World.
Finding your way home is sometimes as easy as standing still.
It triggered in me deep thoughts about humans and animals true north, our home, what ever that home may be.
When I was young and less wise than I am now I once waxed poetic about our home and dad said, "It won't feel like home when mom and I are gone, it will just be a house on 50th street. Dad was right. Like gazing at the dead body of a loved one, the essence that made them them is gone, the body that is left is not them.
Homes can be devastated, ask Jeff and Oklahomans, but our "home" survives. Our home is more a state of being on the inside than a structure on the outside. When I was divorced I felt I had been pushed out of a plane without a parachute that was bound from east to west coast, but home survived. I carried it with me.
Righting yourself and pushing forward is never easy, yet it seems to happen almost in spite of ourselves. Like Mongolian nomads or turtles we carry our home around, patched or battered though it may be. No matter how dim or devastated home is where others are; sons, family, friends. Home is where we cook dinner not own a TV. For some people home is a spot of concrete, a cardboard box, a sleeping bag tucked inside a garbage sack.
Birds re-nest every year. A babies home is where ever its mother is, not an address, when mom moves so does home.
What we lose in devastation with tornadoes, fire or divorce is things -- stuff -- we don't lose ourselves. We might curl up with depression, distrust or loss of hope, but home is curled up with us. When we emerge so does home.
From the snows of Pakistan to the heat of Haiti people plow through and rebuild sometimes starting with something as fragile as a blade of grass: Wall-E or The Wump World.
Finding your way home is sometimes as easy as standing still.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Graduation and Milestones
"If you really want to do something, you will find a way; If you don''t, you will find an excuse." John Rohn. Lifted from my friends facebook post, thanks Ginni.
Congratulation to our Hannah as she walks across the stage and into the world. What a lovely moment. The giddy thrill of graduation, a blooming high you don't think you will ever come down from. And the scarier aspect, all of a sudden you are officially an adult somehow and expected to do adult things; 401k's, insurance, jobs. All of a sudden you are expected to act like an adult; to be honorable, do the right thing, make good decisions.
I'm here to tell you, Hannah, that it takes the brain a third of a second to change its mind so every decision can be altered in one third of a second. I'm here to tell you there aren't many bad decisions that aren't survivable -- like hail storms and heat waves -- they roll on through. Survival always rouses itself and makes itself heard. Our bodies move towards living for as long as they possibly can, with or without our consent.
Open yourself to a wider spectrum of thought.
Chat with aliens. Metaphorically speaking.
Make stories, internal or otherwise, about the interpretation of your experiences.
Your interpretation is the right one.
No one knows where a path starts or ends.
Life is a shared experience.
Most of our shackles are invisible.
Stay faithful to living.
Another milestone; Ian received a promotion, four months after his last promotion, on the world stage, he is now an assistant buyer for Something Silver. When Ian was twenty or so the two jobs he thought he would like more than any other was event planner or buyer. He was told both were really hard to break into, yet here he is successful.
The head buyer is moving to Boise Idaho, so the assistant buyer is moving up to head buyer and Ian and another are becoming the assistant buyers. The other person will be in charge of the basics and Ian, you guessed it, will be in charge of the trendy. Congratulations Ian.
Speaking of milestones, who's going to the UK for the first time? I am busting with pride and envy in just about equal measure.
My milestone year of limericks is coming to a close. It all started with Jean and is ending with Andrew on July 5th. I'm getting pooped and fear I am getting uninspired and therefor not entertaining, but I think I can hold it together for a few more rounds of rhymes.
Connor has started explaining, in detail, often, in great detail, precisely, in direct opposition to what ever I suggest. "...the problem with that granny is_____." What ever the "is" might be. The boy has a brain.
I took Connor some strawberries and he said, with great animation, "Do you know what makes strawberries really yummy?' No, I answered. "Eating them with ice cream!" You would have thought he had just learned how to spin straw into gold. The boy has good taste.
It seems every time I have Connor we wind up in a discussion about poop. The boy is as regular as clock work. Come 5:15 the boy needs to poop. So, he comes running out of dance class and rushes to the bathroom. I'm watching from the sidelines. He stays in there and stays in there and stays in there. Pretty soon the teacher comes out and directs him back to class. Class is over and Connor needs to change out of his ballet slippers and put on his street shoes. I hand him the shoes and instruct him to change. He says, loudly, very loudly, where every man woman and child in the dance studio can hear, "I can't I have to go wipe my butt." It seems the dance teacher interrupted this very important part of going to the bathroom process, and some men need extra time with the ritual.
Not sure that is a milestone or graduation.
Buddha said: Before enlightenment we have to chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment we have to chop wood and carry water. The mundane maintenance of life never ends, we must eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom. The peeling of onions and washing of socks never ends.
Life continues "...in the quiet grace of the moon."
Congratulation to our Hannah as she walks across the stage and into the world. What a lovely moment. The giddy thrill of graduation, a blooming high you don't think you will ever come down from. And the scarier aspect, all of a sudden you are officially an adult somehow and expected to do adult things; 401k's, insurance, jobs. All of a sudden you are expected to act like an adult; to be honorable, do the right thing, make good decisions.
I'm here to tell you, Hannah, that it takes the brain a third of a second to change its mind so every decision can be altered in one third of a second. I'm here to tell you there aren't many bad decisions that aren't survivable -- like hail storms and heat waves -- they roll on through. Survival always rouses itself and makes itself heard. Our bodies move towards living for as long as they possibly can, with or without our consent.
Open yourself to a wider spectrum of thought.
Chat with aliens. Metaphorically speaking.
Make stories, internal or otherwise, about the interpretation of your experiences.
Your interpretation is the right one.
No one knows where a path starts or ends.
Life is a shared experience.
Most of our shackles are invisible.
Stay faithful to living.
Another milestone; Ian received a promotion, four months after his last promotion, on the world stage, he is now an assistant buyer for Something Silver. When Ian was twenty or so the two jobs he thought he would like more than any other was event planner or buyer. He was told both were really hard to break into, yet here he is successful.
The head buyer is moving to Boise Idaho, so the assistant buyer is moving up to head buyer and Ian and another are becoming the assistant buyers. The other person will be in charge of the basics and Ian, you guessed it, will be in charge of the trendy. Congratulations Ian.
Speaking of milestones, who's going to the UK for the first time? I am busting with pride and envy in just about equal measure.
My milestone year of limericks is coming to a close. It all started with Jean and is ending with Andrew on July 5th. I'm getting pooped and fear I am getting uninspired and therefor not entertaining, but I think I can hold it together for a few more rounds of rhymes.
Connor has started explaining, in detail, often, in great detail, precisely, in direct opposition to what ever I suggest. "...the problem with that granny is_____." What ever the "is" might be. The boy has a brain.
I took Connor some strawberries and he said, with great animation, "Do you know what makes strawberries really yummy?' No, I answered. "Eating them with ice cream!" You would have thought he had just learned how to spin straw into gold. The boy has good taste.
It seems every time I have Connor we wind up in a discussion about poop. The boy is as regular as clock work. Come 5:15 the boy needs to poop. So, he comes running out of dance class and rushes to the bathroom. I'm watching from the sidelines. He stays in there and stays in there and stays in there. Pretty soon the teacher comes out and directs him back to class. Class is over and Connor needs to change out of his ballet slippers and put on his street shoes. I hand him the shoes and instruct him to change. He says, loudly, very loudly, where every man woman and child in the dance studio can hear, "I can't I have to go wipe my butt." It seems the dance teacher interrupted this very important part of going to the bathroom process, and some men need extra time with the ritual.
Not sure that is a milestone or graduation.
Buddha said: Before enlightenment we have to chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment we have to chop wood and carry water. The mundane maintenance of life never ends, we must eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom. The peeling of onions and washing of socks never ends.
Life continues "...in the quiet grace of the moon."
Friday, May 10, 2013
Genetic Material
What are we made of?
Brittany have you read The Book Thief yet? Is reading genetically inherited? Early man certainly didn't read books, so I suppose we humans started by reading natural signs; animal paths, prints in the mud, clouds on the horizon, facial expressions. Now we read the weather reports, guide books, maps, lots of maps, and take photographs instead.
Jerry is hobbling to the bathroom. Is hobbling genetic? How long would our hobbling ancestors have survived. When did hobbling become socially acceptable and not a leave him behind community decision? Jerry said the doctor said, "rehab, rehab, rehab." It's all good.
Jeff and Nora are winging to the UK. Traveling too and fro seems pretty genetically solid to me.
Jean says she will claim me and sign an affidavit so stating. I might get this passport thing conquered after all. The genetic power of tribe.
Jean's garden grows. That genetic habit ended in me. Don't depend on me for survival food. Although I am determined to grow a tomato plant. Determination sounds genetic.
I took Connor to book club with me and we sat at the same table we sat at last month at book club before moving to the play area. As we were leaving Third Place Books we walked by that table and Connor said, "Hey, why are those people sitting at our table." We are Territorial animals aren't we? Maybe it started with that garden plot.
I spread Connor's McDonald's dinner out in front of him, the nuggets, the french fries and the apple slices. He ate the apple slices first. That seemed unnatural. Later, as he did some small task I asked him how he got so strong, "Because I eat healthy food." that seemed unnatural also for a four year old.
Christian turned 37, 37, I can hardly believe it. It seems like only yesterday he was Judy's size. Genetic progeny continues. Judy and Christian both book lovers. And exactly how many book lovers are there in the family?
What are we made of besides sugar and spice and puppy dog tails? If I shed a tear at the edge of Lake Michigan is my genetic material still there. When they look at ancient bashed in skulls 20 percent of them are bashed in by a left handed hungry Neanderthal. Left handedness is ancient. I don't know about red hair and freckles, it sure would be useful for melding into the landscape and not being seen and eaten by a predator who couldn't tell the difference between red hair and red leaves. Or it would be good for hiding in the landscape and pouncing when an unsuspecting morsel walked by who couldn't tell the difference between red hair and a red leaf.
We know how long ago art has been a part of genetic material. Some believe dance was the first artistic expression of mankind. Me I think it was stories. Before dance, before daubs on the side of caves, it had to be stories. More than likely the remember-when-grandma-farted-in-the-Bass-Pro-Shop sort of stories. Mankind could not have survived with out humor. Humor has to be genetic material. even if it has no residual evidence. The evidence is it is still roiling out via progeny. Think Taylor, or Christian and Jeff the two quickest wits, yep survival material.
Anger? I know Connor flashes that famous Taylor anger on occasion. I also know he inherited that from his dad. I don't know how far back anger goes in our family but the ones I know of: My grampa Taylor, my father, me, my son, and now my grandson. Anger seems to have a place in the genetic material line up.
Nature vs Nurture? No contest, nature wins hands down.
Cathy is planning trips.
Chris' bday is today.
How was the young Harris' prom?
Is Jane getting her rest?
Is Tal fishing?
Will Jeff bake some bacon bread?
Janice's confinement is confounding. They gave her blood in the middle of the night. Julia is cleaning and braiding her hair. She said she isn't doing crossword puzzles. I said how are you occupying your brain, she said she isn't, she sleeps. She refused a colonoscopy said she had one in Feb and they didn't need another. Still some fight in that old girl. She's still in isolation but isn't on any antibiotics. She is pretty sure she will move to this new rehab place but nobody tells her anything. Confounding.
Love to all my genetically related. Take good care of yourselves. Watch out for predators. Eat healthy, and read a good book.
Brittany have you read The Book Thief yet? Is reading genetically inherited? Early man certainly didn't read books, so I suppose we humans started by reading natural signs; animal paths, prints in the mud, clouds on the horizon, facial expressions. Now we read the weather reports, guide books, maps, lots of maps, and take photographs instead.
Jerry is hobbling to the bathroom. Is hobbling genetic? How long would our hobbling ancestors have survived. When did hobbling become socially acceptable and not a leave him behind community decision? Jerry said the doctor said, "rehab, rehab, rehab." It's all good.
Jeff and Nora are winging to the UK. Traveling too and fro seems pretty genetically solid to me.
Jean says she will claim me and sign an affidavit so stating. I might get this passport thing conquered after all. The genetic power of tribe.
Jean's garden grows. That genetic habit ended in me. Don't depend on me for survival food. Although I am determined to grow a tomato plant. Determination sounds genetic.
I took Connor to book club with me and we sat at the same table we sat at last month at book club before moving to the play area. As we were leaving Third Place Books we walked by that table and Connor said, "Hey, why are those people sitting at our table." We are Territorial animals aren't we? Maybe it started with that garden plot.
I spread Connor's McDonald's dinner out in front of him, the nuggets, the french fries and the apple slices. He ate the apple slices first. That seemed unnatural. Later, as he did some small task I asked him how he got so strong, "Because I eat healthy food." that seemed unnatural also for a four year old.
Christian turned 37, 37, I can hardly believe it. It seems like only yesterday he was Judy's size. Genetic progeny continues. Judy and Christian both book lovers. And exactly how many book lovers are there in the family?
What are we made of besides sugar and spice and puppy dog tails? If I shed a tear at the edge of Lake Michigan is my genetic material still there. When they look at ancient bashed in skulls 20 percent of them are bashed in by a left handed hungry Neanderthal. Left handedness is ancient. I don't know about red hair and freckles, it sure would be useful for melding into the landscape and not being seen and eaten by a predator who couldn't tell the difference between red hair and red leaves. Or it would be good for hiding in the landscape and pouncing when an unsuspecting morsel walked by who couldn't tell the difference between red hair and a red leaf.
We know how long ago art has been a part of genetic material. Some believe dance was the first artistic expression of mankind. Me I think it was stories. Before dance, before daubs on the side of caves, it had to be stories. More than likely the remember-when-grandma-farted-in-the-Bass-Pro-Shop sort of stories. Mankind could not have survived with out humor. Humor has to be genetic material. even if it has no residual evidence. The evidence is it is still roiling out via progeny. Think Taylor, or Christian and Jeff the two quickest wits, yep survival material.
Anger? I know Connor flashes that famous Taylor anger on occasion. I also know he inherited that from his dad. I don't know how far back anger goes in our family but the ones I know of: My grampa Taylor, my father, me, my son, and now my grandson. Anger seems to have a place in the genetic material line up.
Nature vs Nurture? No contest, nature wins hands down.
Cathy is planning trips.
Chris' bday is today.
How was the young Harris' prom?
Is Jane getting her rest?
Is Tal fishing?
Will Jeff bake some bacon bread?
Janice's confinement is confounding. They gave her blood in the middle of the night. Julia is cleaning and braiding her hair. She said she isn't doing crossword puzzles. I said how are you occupying your brain, she said she isn't, she sleeps. She refused a colonoscopy said she had one in Feb and they didn't need another. Still some fight in that old girl. She's still in isolation but isn't on any antibiotics. She is pretty sure she will move to this new rehab place but nobody tells her anything. Confounding.
Love to all my genetically related. Take good care of yourselves. Watch out for predators. Eat healthy, and read a good book.
Friday, May 3, 2013
They are everywhere, they are everywhere!
I woke up to a seagull kind of morning, a beautiful brilliant day designed for day off delight. The sun shinning, the flowers bobbing in a gentle breeze, the birds darting singing, children playing, the green grass growing, and snow capped mountains looming everywhere, everywhere.
After weeks of overcast skies sometimes I forget the beauty majesty and absolute glory I live in. The Cascades glimmered, the Olympics shimmered, Mt Baker gleamed, and Mt Rainier, of course, towered above us all. A perfect day for pampering; haircut, pedicure, manicure
But first I had to make a run down I-5.
Between the traffic, road construction, accidents and assholes I arrived in Ballard in time to hear Christian cuss out my car -- not once but twice. He explained he wasn't cussing out the car per se, but the Phd's who designed a four minute job into an hour and thirty-nine minute job -- oh he has an opinion or two.
He finished my car, but not in time to beat the hordes of high school teenagers to the new, number one, award winning, just opened, moved from a truck to next door, Mexican restaurant.
I had a flu bug and my allergies have sky rocketed. Me who used to have 24 hours of allergy attacks a year is going on weeks of allergy angst, and the allergy pills keep me awake, yeah like I need that.
So wiping away the drips I arrive home in time to receive the letter from The Unites States of America, United States Department of State, Western Passport Center who won't claim me as a US citizen. I swear only me would be denied a passport. I knew I shouldn't have signed my own birth certificate.
So, unless my siblings will come forth and claim me, unless they can find me in the US census (no guarantees) around the time of my birth, unless there is existing health records, unless my parents or a health attendant will write an affidavit, or insurance rent tax employment medical or welfare records can be found, something or somebody to prove I was Born in the USA, they can't vet me and I don't have a country. You all know how diligent mom and dad were with health insurance and rent receipts. I guess that puts me off the grid somehow, or on the grid as suspect. What ever.
I knew I shouldn't have burned Julia with an Iron.
Stole Jean's make-up
Pushed Jerry down the back steps.
Put Crisco in Jo's hair.
Tore the heads off paper dolls, ran away from home, smoked behind the barn, wrecked the car, broke the front door window, hid dirty dishes in the oven, put mashed potatoes in my pocket, drove too fast, copied Jane's homework, stayed out too late, wore short shorts, and hid in the cedar tree while the whole countryside was looking for me.
I knew I shouldn't have stabbed Janice with a pencil growing up.
Oh, and Conner got in trouble at school for, you guessed it, stabbing his mate with a pencil. What goes around comes around I guess. What ever.
So that's my troubles, then there is Janice in her sixth hospital, well sixth move. Jerry has been chopped, Claire is waiting for her bone biopsy report.
A day of forgotten dreams.
It's a feel sorta good day.
Some things are bigger than me. And the mountains continue to loom every where, every where.
After weeks of overcast skies sometimes I forget the beauty majesty and absolute glory I live in. The Cascades glimmered, the Olympics shimmered, Mt Baker gleamed, and Mt Rainier, of course, towered above us all. A perfect day for pampering; haircut, pedicure, manicure
But first I had to make a run down I-5.
Between the traffic, road construction, accidents and assholes I arrived in Ballard in time to hear Christian cuss out my car -- not once but twice. He explained he wasn't cussing out the car per se, but the Phd's who designed a four minute job into an hour and thirty-nine minute job -- oh he has an opinion or two.
He finished my car, but not in time to beat the hordes of high school teenagers to the new, number one, award winning, just opened, moved from a truck to next door, Mexican restaurant.
I had a flu bug and my allergies have sky rocketed. Me who used to have 24 hours of allergy attacks a year is going on weeks of allergy angst, and the allergy pills keep me awake, yeah like I need that.
So wiping away the drips I arrive home in time to receive the letter from The Unites States of America, United States Department of State, Western Passport Center who won't claim me as a US citizen. I swear only me would be denied a passport. I knew I shouldn't have signed my own birth certificate.
So, unless my siblings will come forth and claim me, unless they can find me in the US census (no guarantees) around the time of my birth, unless there is existing health records, unless my parents or a health attendant will write an affidavit, or insurance rent tax employment medical or welfare records can be found, something or somebody to prove I was Born in the USA, they can't vet me and I don't have a country. You all know how diligent mom and dad were with health insurance and rent receipts. I guess that puts me off the grid somehow, or on the grid as suspect. What ever.
I knew I shouldn't have burned Julia with an Iron.
Stole Jean's make-up
Pushed Jerry down the back steps.
Put Crisco in Jo's hair.
Tore the heads off paper dolls, ran away from home, smoked behind the barn, wrecked the car, broke the front door window, hid dirty dishes in the oven, put mashed potatoes in my pocket, drove too fast, copied Jane's homework, stayed out too late, wore short shorts, and hid in the cedar tree while the whole countryside was looking for me.
I knew I shouldn't have stabbed Janice with a pencil growing up.
Oh, and Conner got in trouble at school for, you guessed it, stabbing his mate with a pencil. What goes around comes around I guess. What ever.
So that's my troubles, then there is Janice in her sixth hospital, well sixth move. Jerry has been chopped, Claire is waiting for her bone biopsy report.
A day of forgotten dreams.
It's a feel sorta good day.
Some things are bigger than me. And the mountains continue to loom every where, every where.
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