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.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
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.
Friday, April 19, 2013
The Boy Can Dance
Connor spied me through the window waiting for him at his Vibe Dance Studio. Granny, he squealed, why are you standing at the window? Yep, that's my boy.
I was able to watch his class on the big screen monitors with closed circuit TVs, and let me tell you he dances with gusto but not much balance.
Tap: When he swings his foot he could kick a football to Cleveland. He would skip-kick-kerplunk fall over sideways and then repeat, skip kick kerplunk, skip kick kerplunk. He can rock back and forth, but not much swivel. He is good at pushing and tickling the little girl standing next to him and he is good at waving fare-thee-well to Polly Wolly Doodle as his exited his space on the dance floor.
Eight little girls and Connor. He did say when he arrived, in mass, these are my friends and was telling me their names, but they were busy bossing him around and told him to get to class. He went.
Tap is over so the group charges out to change into their ballet shoes for the second half of class. Connor was the first one out of class and the last one back in. The girls, again, told him to get to class. He went.
Ballet: I watched him pointe his little foot out then plie and then topple over - every time -- over and over again. When the teacher brought out the little satin dance ribbons Connor's looked more like a weapon to battle dark forces with. Teachers of little boys in ballet classes must be sainted with patience, except for Ian's of course.
Girls, girls, girls, girls. I watched the strange girl-greet-girl ritual many times over as several different classes were collecting and dispersing while I waited. There is a little flutter, wiggle, jiggle, and smile, touch or hug -- or all three. And girls know what is going on. It must be genetic material kicking in for when they become moms. They know who is paying attention and who isn't, they know who is late and why, they know who is slacking, who is misbehaving, whose jacket is improperly hung up, who got too much water or not enough, whose mother just arrived or dad as the case may be (lots of dads), whose water bottle is where and who isn't running to class fast enough. Connor.
Let me tell you something else about girls: I never saw so much satin, lace, ribbons, beads, chiffon fluttering, sequins, sparkle, soft rosette and bow adornments in all my life, and just in case you missed it there are several hundred more bows in every combination of shine. All the little girls were in pink Connor was in his Sounder fan sweat suit, navy and lime green.
Yes, he likes his dance class or weapons training, which ever.
Kneecaps come and kneecaps go. I'm not sure where Jerry is in this cycle.
Winter comes and winter goes -- well -- I keep hoping.
Some things are tenuous.
We can't all be good at the same things
I'm not good with fiances like some family members, I would like to think I'm the good artist but so is Roger, Janice, Mark, Ian, Jeremiah, Christian, Amber, Jean, Jeff, Julia, Tal, Nora, it might be slightly different artistic endeavors, but it is there.
Janice sounds a wee bit better, stronger and thinks there is some improvement in some of her different health ailments. It was comforting to hear.
Some things are tenuous.
Sons are grand.
Christian is a wee bit sad that Bo will be out of town on his birthday.
Ian is heading off to Oregon later this week and then Florida later this month.
Roger is training for his 50k.
Stephanie is stressed because it has been very busy at work.
Stress foods; black beans, oatmeal, tea.
Make someone happy today.
I was able to watch his class on the big screen monitors with closed circuit TVs, and let me tell you he dances with gusto but not much balance.
Tap: When he swings his foot he could kick a football to Cleveland. He would skip-kick-kerplunk fall over sideways and then repeat, skip kick kerplunk, skip kick kerplunk. He can rock back and forth, but not much swivel. He is good at pushing and tickling the little girl standing next to him and he is good at waving fare-thee-well to Polly Wolly Doodle as his exited his space on the dance floor.
Eight little girls and Connor. He did say when he arrived, in mass, these are my friends and was telling me their names, but they were busy bossing him around and told him to get to class. He went.
Tap is over so the group charges out to change into their ballet shoes for the second half of class. Connor was the first one out of class and the last one back in. The girls, again, told him to get to class. He went.
Ballet: I watched him pointe his little foot out then plie and then topple over - every time -- over and over again. When the teacher brought out the little satin dance ribbons Connor's looked more like a weapon to battle dark forces with. Teachers of little boys in ballet classes must be sainted with patience, except for Ian's of course.
Girls, girls, girls, girls. I watched the strange girl-greet-girl ritual many times over as several different classes were collecting and dispersing while I waited. There is a little flutter, wiggle, jiggle, and smile, touch or hug -- or all three. And girls know what is going on. It must be genetic material kicking in for when they become moms. They know who is paying attention and who isn't, they know who is late and why, they know who is slacking, who is misbehaving, whose jacket is improperly hung up, who got too much water or not enough, whose mother just arrived or dad as the case may be (lots of dads), whose water bottle is where and who isn't running to class fast enough. Connor.
Let me tell you something else about girls: I never saw so much satin, lace, ribbons, beads, chiffon fluttering, sequins, sparkle, soft rosette and bow adornments in all my life, and just in case you missed it there are several hundred more bows in every combination of shine. All the little girls were in pink Connor was in his Sounder fan sweat suit, navy and lime green.
Yes, he likes his dance class or weapons training, which ever.
Kneecaps come and kneecaps go. I'm not sure where Jerry is in this cycle.
Winter comes and winter goes -- well -- I keep hoping.
Some things are tenuous.
We can't all be good at the same things
I'm not good with fiances like some family members, I would like to think I'm the good artist but so is Roger, Janice, Mark, Ian, Jeremiah, Christian, Amber, Jean, Jeff, Julia, Tal, Nora, it might be slightly different artistic endeavors, but it is there.
Janice sounds a wee bit better, stronger and thinks there is some improvement in some of her different health ailments. It was comforting to hear.
Some things are tenuous.
Sons are grand.
Christian is a wee bit sad that Bo will be out of town on his birthday.
Ian is heading off to Oregon later this week and then Florida later this month.
Roger is training for his 50k.
Stephanie is stressed because it has been very busy at work.
Stress foods; black beans, oatmeal, tea.
Make someone happy today.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Ian told me if you Google The Spirit of Maxine you get our family blog -- and you do. First listing. Then if you scroll down to images of The Spirit of Maxine you get the sibling photograph. Kinda neat and kinda creepy all at the same time. I am just old enough to feel it is spooky.
Oklahoma weather made Washington news. Oklahoma goes from 87 degrees to 27 degrees in 24 hours.
I hope your day is fun, relaxing, full of good news, productive, maybe a nap, loving, smooth sailing, comfortable and loving.
Oklahoma weather made Washington news. Oklahoma goes from 87 degrees to 27 degrees in 24 hours.
I hope your day is fun, relaxing, full of good news, productive, maybe a nap, loving, smooth sailing, comfortable and loving.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Connor, Connor, Connor
I was going to blog about my spiritual experience standing in the middle of an Oklahoma wheat field, and I will, someday, but Connor came to book club last night... A different sort of spiritual experience.
Roger dropped him off at my house and he knew we were going to "book club" so I asked him if he knew what a book club was? "Yes, granny," sigh, and I mean big Sigh, "it's where books live." Big big SIGH.
As we were preparing to leave I spread out some treat choices and told him to pack his treat tin. He had some tough choices to make. Jelly beans or chocolate chip cookies. Orange or banana. Ritz crackers or cheese crackers.
He saw some candy sitting by the computer and he said, Hey what's that? I said those are Ian's. Why? Because I bought those treats for Ian. Why? Because I love Ian. Why?
Driving down the highway towards Third Place Books he told me all about the time he went to a pirate girl book club. I said I had never heard of that and he explained to me, in detail, lots of detail,
how it was broken now, and only he and daddy knew where it was, and it wasn't for Granny's.
Driving down the highway he told me the bumper came off his Lego car.
I said Connor you told me you wouldn't take the Lego car apart if I let you bring it with you,
Are you taking it apart?
No, Granny.
Granny there are lots of pieces coming off.
Connor you told me you weren't taking it apart.
It fell apart.
I love you Granny.
He told me he didn't like girls book clubs only boys book clubs.
Granny where are our bags for books?
I didn't bring any.
Why?
Granny where are the toys?
Right here Connor.
Why are these girl toys?
We had to ride the escalator down where he told the man riding the escalator behind us to pick up a piece of trash laying on the escalator step. The man ignored him. Then he tried to snag the trash himself but decided the escalator was a little to fierce for him, so he told me to pick up the trash. I did. Then we rode the escalator up.
The other day at his house he saw a man standing beside a car across the street and yelled, Hey guy, what are you doing? No answer. So he yelled a little louder, Hey guy, who are you? That guy ignored him also.
After our exciting ride on the escalator, Connor told me he needed to go poop.
As an emerging adult Connor has lots of questions; Why is there a hallway to the toilet? Why are there locks on the bathroom doors? Why are there toilet seat sheet protectors? Why are the toilet sheet protectors gone? He can wipe his own butt, thank you very much. Why is there soap? Why wash his hands? Why are the lights covered? Why is the tile cracked? Why can he use only two paper towels? Why is there a bench there?
What is that? It's a photo booth. What's a photo booth? Why are there lights? Why does it have a curtain?
Why are there no boys toys?
We settled down at a table to wait for the arrival of others. Why is there a table? Why are other people coming to book club? Why didn't we bring a bag for our books? Why is that lady walking?
I said Connor I'm going to go get us some water and started to walk away from the table and he YELLED, Hey don't lose me. The water was only ten steps away, but Third Place Books is a big, Big, BIG place.
After he discovered where and how to get the water it became his duty as someone arrived to go get them water. Number one; he likes to do jobs. Number two; he liked messing with the water dispenser. He liked messing with the water dispenser a lot.
He had his treat tin and shared his crackers and jelly beans with every one whether they wanted them or not. Occasionally he licked a cracker or jelly bean before he handed it to them. He ate the banana.
We walked outside to see the big fire truck that was parked there. Why is the fire truck there? Why are the working men gone? Why doesn't it have a ladder?
In the children's play area he found a toy camera. Why is this camera here? Why is it broken?
Eleanor took a photo of Connor at book club, so Connor made Eleanor stand at the end of the row so he could take a photo also. He told Eleanor his camera was a pretend camera. Why is there a pretend camera?
He had to give all the book club ladies a hug as we left and Mary said, You should sell those.
As we were walking out of Third Place Books to go home he waved good bye to every customer in the store; eating, walking, talking, ordering, paying, entering or exiting. Why are you talking me home?
Where is our bag of books?
Why don't we have bags for books?
Driving home he sighed, a big big sigh and said, I tried really hard not to play with girls toys.
Yep, that's the boy.
My book club friends all told me how cute he is and what nice manners he has. He is and does, but I really enjoyed the compliments anyway.
When I delivered him home and was telling mom and dad about the "pirate book club lady" Roger figured out that he and Grampa Fortener had once gone to the library where Connor had a story time with a pirate book club lady and then he and Grampa went home with bags of books.
Being granny is exhausting what with fetching, carrying, sorting, fixing, holding, and answering 17,000 whys in the span of several hours. Stephanie had no sympathy for me being exhasted since it's what she does every day. Plus I had to eat a few wet jelly beans and crackers.
Eleanor emailed me the photo, I posted it on Facebook, and Mary, bless her, wrote "Connor is sweetness and light boys style."
I want to mention that I talked to Janice the other day, well she can barely talk, but we tried to talk and she is depressed, very depressed. She keeps getting worse instead of better. She has more infections and more serious infections. She asked me to come see her. I said I would see what I could do, and she said I don't want you to make a special trip. I said, Well, Janice the only reason I would come would be special and to see you. Silly sister.
I hope no one is hurt too badly with the April winter storms.
I hope Jerry's knee is still semi functional.
I hope everyone else's heath is semi functional.
I hope everyone else is semi functional.
and
I hope Hannah has a spectacular birthday today.
and
I'm glad Connor isn't here to ask why.
Roger dropped him off at my house and he knew we were going to "book club" so I asked him if he knew what a book club was? "Yes, granny," sigh, and I mean big Sigh, "it's where books live." Big big SIGH.
As we were preparing to leave I spread out some treat choices and told him to pack his treat tin. He had some tough choices to make. Jelly beans or chocolate chip cookies. Orange or banana. Ritz crackers or cheese crackers.
He saw some candy sitting by the computer and he said, Hey what's that? I said those are Ian's. Why? Because I bought those treats for Ian. Why? Because I love Ian. Why?
Driving down the highway towards Third Place Books he told me all about the time he went to a pirate girl book club. I said I had never heard of that and he explained to me, in detail, lots of detail,
how it was broken now, and only he and daddy knew where it was, and it wasn't for Granny's.
Driving down the highway he told me the bumper came off his Lego car.
I said Connor you told me you wouldn't take the Lego car apart if I let you bring it with you,
Are you taking it apart?
No, Granny.
Granny there are lots of pieces coming off.
Connor you told me you weren't taking it apart.
It fell apart.
I love you Granny.
He told me he didn't like girls book clubs only boys book clubs.
Granny where are our bags for books?
I didn't bring any.
Why?
Granny where are the toys?
Right here Connor.
Why are these girl toys?
We had to ride the escalator down where he told the man riding the escalator behind us to pick up a piece of trash laying on the escalator step. The man ignored him. Then he tried to snag the trash himself but decided the escalator was a little to fierce for him, so he told me to pick up the trash. I did. Then we rode the escalator up.
The other day at his house he saw a man standing beside a car across the street and yelled, Hey guy, what are you doing? No answer. So he yelled a little louder, Hey guy, who are you? That guy ignored him also.
After our exciting ride on the escalator, Connor told me he needed to go poop.
As an emerging adult Connor has lots of questions; Why is there a hallway to the toilet? Why are there locks on the bathroom doors? Why are there toilet seat sheet protectors? Why are the toilet sheet protectors gone? He can wipe his own butt, thank you very much. Why is there soap? Why wash his hands? Why are the lights covered? Why is the tile cracked? Why can he use only two paper towels? Why is there a bench there?
What is that? It's a photo booth. What's a photo booth? Why are there lights? Why does it have a curtain?
Why are there no boys toys?
We settled down at a table to wait for the arrival of others. Why is there a table? Why are other people coming to book club? Why didn't we bring a bag for our books? Why is that lady walking?
I said Connor I'm going to go get us some water and started to walk away from the table and he YELLED, Hey don't lose me. The water was only ten steps away, but Third Place Books is a big, Big, BIG place.
After he discovered where and how to get the water it became his duty as someone arrived to go get them water. Number one; he likes to do jobs. Number two; he liked messing with the water dispenser. He liked messing with the water dispenser a lot.
He had his treat tin and shared his crackers and jelly beans with every one whether they wanted them or not. Occasionally he licked a cracker or jelly bean before he handed it to them. He ate the banana.
We walked outside to see the big fire truck that was parked there. Why is the fire truck there? Why are the working men gone? Why doesn't it have a ladder?
In the children's play area he found a toy camera. Why is this camera here? Why is it broken?
Eleanor took a photo of Connor at book club, so Connor made Eleanor stand at the end of the row so he could take a photo also. He told Eleanor his camera was a pretend camera. Why is there a pretend camera?
He had to give all the book club ladies a hug as we left and Mary said, You should sell those.
As we were walking out of Third Place Books to go home he waved good bye to every customer in the store; eating, walking, talking, ordering, paying, entering or exiting. Why are you talking me home?
Where is our bag of books?
Why don't we have bags for books?
Driving home he sighed, a big big sigh and said, I tried really hard not to play with girls toys.
Yep, that's the boy.
My book club friends all told me how cute he is and what nice manners he has. He is and does, but I really enjoyed the compliments anyway.
When I delivered him home and was telling mom and dad about the "pirate book club lady" Roger figured out that he and Grampa Fortener had once gone to the library where Connor had a story time with a pirate book club lady and then he and Grampa went home with bags of books.
Being granny is exhausting what with fetching, carrying, sorting, fixing, holding, and answering 17,000 whys in the span of several hours. Stephanie had no sympathy for me being exhasted since it's what she does every day. Plus I had to eat a few wet jelly beans and crackers.
Eleanor emailed me the photo, I posted it on Facebook, and Mary, bless her, wrote "Connor is sweetness and light boys style."
I want to mention that I talked to Janice the other day, well she can barely talk, but we tried to talk and she is depressed, very depressed. She keeps getting worse instead of better. She has more infections and more serious infections. She asked me to come see her. I said I would see what I could do, and she said I don't want you to make a special trip. I said, Well, Janice the only reason I would come would be special and to see you. Silly sister.
I hope no one is hurt too badly with the April winter storms.
I hope Jerry's knee is still semi functional.
I hope everyone else's heath is semi functional.
I hope everyone else is semi functional.
and
I hope Hannah has a spectacular birthday today.
and
I'm glad Connor isn't here to ask why.
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