Sunday, October 27, 2013

CRAZY: Building Character vs. Hurting and Hating It.



Me, Martha and Nathan . . . about as character-built as we will ever get.  Summer 2013, Utah.

This is from a Facebook post to Sam Graves, Susan's son.
Sam,
     A few months ago you wrote a long note to me about hurting.  Susan told you that I had bulging discs and arthritis in my back as well as 2 bulging discs in my neck.  Landing without the horse while jumping had offered me the chance to have doctors re-construct my right shoulder 3 times in the last 5 years.  I have lost the bone and the base of both thumbs to surgery and had knee surgery last year.  I do still hurt if I am not careful.  
     We painted the house last weekend and I pulled my right shoulder out of place while trying to tape off some ceiling edges on the porch--so now I do not use my right arm for a while and hope that I only stretched the ligaments rather than tearing them.
      I am in remarkably little pain--enough so that most days I do not calendar my activities depending upon how much I hurt in what joints.  All the credit for that goes to my pilates instructor, Bonnie.
She has worked with me for an hour, one-on-one, three mornings every week at 7am.  She listens to what is hurting and what makes it hurt . . . and then works around those places to strengthen the muscles that are available to move.  
      She knows how to build slowly and is patient with me when I am not moving so good.  
I am so sorry that you hurt.  I know that I have spent years locked away from, literally, everyone and everything because I was hurting physically or mentally.  Narcolepsy stole years--I slept for 22 hours a day.  Depression and mania stole even more--I curled into myself and didn't know anything but cold, silent, paralyzing black.  
     Grandpa Wagstaff used to tell your mom and me (and Aunt Martha, Uncle Rob and Nate) that doing things like mowing the lawn and doing the dishes would build character.  I tried the same line on my children and they all regularly assured me that they were happy with the character they already had.  
I don't think that pain is a growing kind of challenge.  It just is.  I do know, though, that there are people around you right now who have the experience, training and skill to help you build your body back up if you are willing to ferret them out (they are often hard to find because they are not in the places that you usually look) and work SLOWLY to just (at first) keep from getting worse and then, to get stronger so that, finally, your body can hold itself strong to keep it from letting the pain receptors rule your reactions and your life.
     This is sounding more and more like a testimony.  I guess it kind of is.
I love your mom.  She is an amazing woman with a giving, unconquerable heart.  Do good by her.


Not many people have ever asked for my advice on something I actually know much about.  School, I am OK with, unless it's history dates.  Planting and propagating and pruning plants--I have lots to tell about those things now.  How to raise children?  Mine are grow up . . . and so, of course, I know all about that . . .

Lauren gets married in two weeks.  I have no idea whatsoever about how to get a wedding planned and prepared without going crazy.

I am also, however, a certified professional when it comes to being crazy.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

REally Flying!!!!

Our 31st wedding anniversary was Monday--September 16--and Brent planned a surprise trip for us.  He drove us up to Orlando, we checked into our hotel and we began to drive around.  We passed . . . no, I'm not going to list the stuff that happened now . . . end result?


This is me getting in my iFly suit!!!!!!  

The building looks like a huge silo with the top cut off.  It is, in effect, a vertical wind tunnel.  Rides last only a minute--it is an exhausting experience.  

Brent got me 4 minutes on Friday.  After I flew (I really did fly!), they offered another minute . . . and so I got 5 chances to float on air.

After I finished, Brent asked me what I wanted to do on Saturday.  He had plans to fly in a helicopter or to go up in a bi-plane . . . or I could come back and fly again.


There was no hesitation.  On Saturday we returned and I flew for 6 minutes more.






  

By the time I finished, I could fly stable, go up and down, spin to the right and left.  I am excited to return and fly again.

When Megan was a young she wanted two things: to grow up and be a bunny--and to fly.


I have had a chance to do something that has filled my dreams since I can remember dreaming.  


What was it like?  


I had to concentrate on holding my arms and legs in position--while relaxing all of my muscles.  It was an exercise in contradictions.  Tiny movements of my hands and forearms turned me around in circles; tightening my stomach muscles increased the area of my body so that I floated up higher; and allowing my spine to relax let me drop lower, hovering  over the mesh bottom of the enclosure.  


Time didn't exist.  I leaned into the flow of wind and moments later I was pushed through the doorway--heavied by gravity again.


The memory is in the same corner of my mind as as the jumps I've gone over with my horse.  It is next to the moment I saw Brent for the first time. 


There are a few other points in time that hover over me continually:  

Nathan was 7, we were sitting in Stake Conference in Houston and I wrote him a note:  
        "Do you have a testimony that Joseph Smith is a prophet and restored Christ's Church?"  
He though about it for a minute and then wrote back.  
       "Not yet."  
I wrote back:  
       "Is that OK?"  
He didn't even think about it:
       "I don't have my own testimony yet.  I know I can borrow you and dad's until I get one of my     
       own."

When Lauren was a toddler and would wake up, she waited quietly until Brent and I came to get her up.  I would open the door and she would see me, standing up at the side of her crib, with her arms held up toward me.  As I lifted her up and held her close to me, she would melt onto me; her arm draped over my shoulder and her head tucked firmly below my ear.  I feel that warmth against my body even as I  write about it.


And Megan.  When she was only about two months old, I remember sitting with her on my lap.  Brent and I were both in school full time and working part-time.  We traded Meg between us--Brent took her to class while I was at work.  I did homework with her on my lap.  There were few moments that were quiet and private.  Meg wiggled and I held her up so that she was facing me.  All of a sudden Megan's face lit up like the sun and she reached for me.  She smiled and I heard in my spirit that she loved me.  



While flying wasn't the emotional benchmarks I've described above, what was made my heart fill with joy was the fact that Brent was as thrilled for me to fly as I was.  His present for our anniversary was watching my thrill at being airborne.  He found joy in my own. 
                      
I imagine that the Lord was trying to tell us when he had his prophet write:  
For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.

                             Moses 1:39

As I learn more of Brent, I begin to understand more of what Heavenly Father and Christ are like.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Closest to Flying


This is the closest I will probably get to flying . . . (and Brent can't understand why I love to swim).




These were taken yesterday evening in our pool.  Either Nate or Lauren took them of me.  It has been raining and blowing outside lately--and we brought down a lot of air bubbles.

Monday, August 5, 2013

I Am Thankful for Free Agency: Washcloths and Pink Foam Curlers.


I Am Thankful for Free Agency

I choose to cry for things lost.
One of the classes I registered for while I was working on my Masters degree was Developmental Psychology. During the semester, the professor  gave an assignment to the class, directing us that we were to act in a way that defied commonly accepted social norms.  At the time, I was choir director in our Ward. On Sunday's when we were to perform, we met before Sacrament Meeting to rehearse. I chose, as my assignment for this class, to wear pink foam curlers in my bangs during rehearsal. No one said anything, but I did get some strange looks.

Since this time, I have incorporated this principle of social unconventionality whenever I step into an elevator with other people. I make it a point to smile and make eye contact with everyone around me.    I tried to ask a short question about any children someone may have with them or about something they are wearing or carrying in their hand.

Of course, I stand to the side of the elevator rather than standing in front of the door and turning to meet people from straight on.  My goal is not to confront but, rather, engage those around me.  I do this in an effort to create a feeling of unity amongst the people around me.  Since I am short and slender, I do not think that I appear threatening. Usually my advances are met with polite acceptance, if not gladness, of the interruption of what they expected to be a quiet ride between floors. My husband is 6'4" tall, and while he is a gentle soul with a kindly countenance, I think that his height puts him at a disadvantage in this kind of situation. Because of my size, and long unruly hair, I think that I appear more childlike than adult.


No one that I've encountered seems to mind questions from children. When my own children were preschool and elementary school aged, their curiosity and resulting questions, often amused and pleasantly surprised the adults they spoke with.

Back to my psychology assignment – in class on the following Monday, we were asked to report on our experiences. As each student told of the results of their experiment, the rest of the people in the classroom laughed as the most students recounted reactions of those around them.

As we finished, the professor commented on the fact that he was a powerful man. Without thinking, I blurted out, "No you're not!"   His response has stayed in my memory since that moment.

"I got you to wear curlers in your hair to Church yesterday, didn't I?"

 I had allowed that psychology professor to have power over my actions. I was not coerced, but did choose follow his instructions.  I accepted his authority when I  changed my behavior in compliance with this assignment.

I had been duped. Thinking that my friends and family, who would experience my unaccustomed actions, where the object of this experiment – I had been fooled. I was the guinea pig. This man had gotten  me to change my actions. He was right, I had allowed him power over me.

From that psychology  experience, I have since learned to be more careful in who I decide will dictate my actions.

In the book of Joshua, verse 22, he says "Choose ye this day whom you will serve, but as for my house, we will serve the Lord."

Psalms 119: 30, sings " I have chosen the way of truth!"
I choose to dance.

In Luke 10: 42, Christ tells Martha that "Thou art careful and troubled about many things:  But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which cannot be taken away from her."

That psychology class experience has influenced how I interact with my children.  It has reinforced my desire to fortify each of them.  Even more than choosing to avoid sin, I have hoped that they might have the vision to choose the best of the options available to them.

Kate chooses a hat.


The prophet Isaiah speaks about those in his day who lived wicked, disobedient lives. "Yeah, they have chosen their own ways, and their soul delighteth in their abominations." (Isaiah 66:3)  This life is not a black and white, wrong and right, sinful or obedient succession of choices. There are other choices when my children can make that are not only good, but better than the alternatives. Christ taught us that often the choice is not between good and bad – but between what is good and what is better.
Jon chooses to celebrate life.

I went, not too long ago, to buy new washcloths. As I looked over the selection in the store, I noticed that the side of the description of each object was an additional word. Each was marked as GOOD, BETTER or BEST.   The three alternatives, of course, reflected the quality of each item.  Those marked GOOD were serviceable – made of thinner fabric, with hastily finished, unevenly zigzagged edges.  Some were not cut truly square. They were roughen in texture and to the tag attached to each was a lightweight, plastic-like material printed in faded black ink.

 On the other extreme,  the BEST quality washcloths were neatly hemmed and felt plush and soft to the touch. They were of much heavier material than the GOOD washcloths and most had rich, embrordered designs along one edge. Most were large perfect rectangles.  The tags were of a sturdy cloth: the brand name and instructions for care beautifully woven into the small loop of fabric.

Such a difference between those labeled GOOD and those labeled BEST!

 Both were destined to fulfill the same function. I've used them to clean faces, kitchen sinks, scratched up knees, dining room tables, tiled bathroom floors, sticky fingers, plates and cups and forks and spoons.

Both filled the same need – one kind was hastily manufactured and the other was created with meticulous care. Both were appropriate to their function. I was faced with the decision of which to choose.

In Christ's time, two women also face  a similar situation.  Our Redeemer had come to the home of Mary and Martha to spend time with them. Mary, a good woman, was moved to be a good hostess, trying to prepare so that their home would be a comfortable, welcoming place for Christ. She chose to do good things – to clean and cook. Mary, on the other hand, chose the better alternative. She chose to sit and listen as Jesus spoke and taught of the best things that were and that would come.

I imagine that both Mary and Martha had worked together before Jesus arrived to make their home ready for his visit. Once their guest had arrived, though, Mary put away the good things she had busied herself with and chose the best alternative: to sit and hear Christ's counsel.

Good and Best – neither one was useless or destructive; however, there was one alternative that was the better of the two.

 Mary chose to listen, to learn, to gain the only things that we can bring back with us to our Heavenly Father after this life is over. Her decision was the B E S T of the two – the clean house in the prepared food were good things, but were temporary.

About the washcloths? I chose to buy some of both: the GOOD quality ones to scrub the tub and the kitchen floor with and the BEST quality ones to use in bathing my children and to offer for guests of our home to use.

 And the lesson that I learned from my psychology professor? I have heeded the counsel of my own mother to heart:  instead of keeping my house spotless, I chose to spend time with my children when they were small; to read to them at night before they went to sleep; to listen to them when they were excited or troubled and would do me the honor of sharing their feelings with me
I choose to notice the small things around me.
.

I'm so grateful that I followed my mother's instructions to spend time with my children rather than keeping an immaculate home. My oldest daughter now has two children of her own. She has been smart enough to follow the example that I tried to set. Her children are young now and when they are asleep at night she tidies the house and cleans the kitchen. But when they are awake during the day, she plays in the sandbox with them, takes them with her on long rambles through the woods behind their home, and spends hours reading books and doing projects with them. She is choosing the better part and my grandchildren are maturing into the same kind and wise people that their mother is: they are learning to choose the BEST part.



Matter Ceases to Be, and Time Runs Out

MATTER CEASES TO BE AND TIME RUNS OUT FOR THAT REGION OF SPACE
                               George Mussir, writing about Black Holes in is essay "Big Whimper," Scientific American, Sept 2010 p 86

So this means that time and space are recyclable?  Used as raw material for new space, new Earths, new lifetimes?

But the First Law of Thermodynamics says that energy cannot be created or destroyed--only changed from one state to another.  So, at one point different rules  began to apply?

As it is used, time becomes so saturated with our feelings, desires, disappointments,  joys . . .  that it becomes filled to overflowing to its fullest;  to its completion.

Thus, there is another dimension to our Earth life that affects this mortal place.

when this time has completed the  measured of its creation, then it progresses to the next state. Since the elements of this Earth obey Eternal laws-- laws that guide creation and evolution – when this period of T I M E shouldn't it also be allowed to progress forward? Our ability to comprehend and to imagine beyond our finite, limiting existence does not bind this Earth or this time. They are free – even obligated as we are – to continue moving as they have been created and instructed to do.

Carpenter Bee, Megan Rytting 2010

THE UNIVERSE EXPANDS FOREVER, BECOMING EVER EMPTIER AND GLOOMIER.                
                          Ibid.

 But "empty" does not equate to "gloomier."   Where there is space, there is room to think, to ponder, to see further ahead – and behind -- you.

Why does there need to be T I M E for movement to occur? Surely, the cessation of our linear progress does not dictate the cessation of progress in other dimensions.

I have read that some believe any surviving wastes of matter is locked in place, unable to move so that T I M E Is unable to move and seizes up.  (Ibid.)

There are infinite number of "present" moments occurring – if we progress sideways through this sequence of "nows" aren't we still moving?


Thursday, June 6, 2013

If I don't know what I want, how will I know when I have gotten it?

Me at 54 years old.  June 2013.
It is almost 10 pm and my head is still groggy from the sinus infection that is keeping guck gropping around inside.  I have meds and steroids breather-thing--which really does clear my head out for the first 30 minutes after I use the inhaler.
Now for the good news:  I've been working on a photography project all afternoon.  I am so excited about this process.  Every year the college puts out a new printing of Landscape Plants for South Florida:  A Manual for Gardeners, Landscapers and Homeowners.  Even after the third edition, there are still some entries that don't have photograph/s to illustrate the plant description.  My excellent adventure this semester is to find the blank spaces and find the plants--take photographs of them--and submit them to Dr. Rogers to put in the next edition.  I have already gotten a dozen that I'm really proud of.  I am getting to the point where my preference is to bring (part of) the plant home with me and not have to worry about wind, sun, reflections off of puddles or building windows--or rain.  I have a light box, but haven't put it up yet.  Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . just get it done, right?  Then it will be even easier to get good images . . . something to work on tomorrow.

Some of you know that I have had the lower joint in my left thumb removed and replaced by harvested tendon.  On the 13th of June, Dr. Acosta is going to do the same for my right thumb.  Knowing that, I am doing everything I can do now that requires two hands--like set up a light box (duh...) and put my camera on a tripod.  I play the piano and type with two hands rather than use the Dragon program--which actually does a pretty good job for me.  I am picking up the bunnies and cutting up oranges and holding books as I read them and moving the potted plants on my patio around to different corners of the lanai.  I already have given up writing--I can sign my name without using my thumb--don't think that I could get any readable script out of it very easily.  I am driving the car and getting myself dressed and brushing my teeth and braiding my hair.  There is the country song "Live Like You Were Dying" running through the back of my head--and I am glad that it is one that I like because having a song you hate haunt you all week is a real nuisance.

It is my birthday this week.  Thank you all who sent good wishes through email and Facebook.  It is nice to know that you are thinking of me.  As my present, I asked the family not to turn on the TV all week, to have kneeling family prayers every night, do scripture study, and assigned everyone a night to take care of dinner.  The scripture study has been kind of minimal some nights--but Brent took over Family Home Evening and we actually had a real lesson.  It was wonderful.

No TV was to be my only present (we are really trying to get rid of stuff we don't need, like, have room for), but Brent surprised me with an incredible new lens for my Nikon 300.  It does 1:1 for portraits and it will be perfect for the flowers and plants that I'm working with on this new project for school.

When people ask me what I am "up to," I talk about Lauren and Meg and Nate and Brent--and then I add that I am working on a PhD in Horticultural Photography.  Some people just say something like "Oh, that's nice." and then ask if I like the rain we've been having.  Others look at me strangely and ask "Is there such a thing as that?"  Of course there is!  If someone can think of it, it can be done!

Well, at least if I can think of it, it can be done.  I have Brent to offer me encouragement and suggestions and resources (yes, one of those is money--the other, most important one, is TIME)--and I know that this will sound soppy to those who do not think of the Lord as their partner (it comes with the promises I gave and received in the temple)--Heavenly Father and my Savior are also always looking out for me.

Brent had to suffer with me as I learned that I could have EVERYTHING and do ANYTHING--just not ALL AT ONCE.  I have also come to understand that I have to have a goal--some thing that I am working toward.  If I don't know what I want, how will I know when I have gotten it?

I may never finish a PhD (but if I were betting money on it, I'd put down more than $100 thatI will.), but I know that I want one.  If it is in Horticultural Photography--great!  Math--great!  English--Great!  Learning Theory--great!  Perhaps I'll do all of them.  I also want to have a close relationship with Brent and be a good friend and counselor to my children and grandchildren.  I want to stay thin and athletic-ish.  I want to sing and to play the piano and to laugh and to pray so that He hears me and knows I am listening.  I would like to ride a horse again--bones permitting.  Someday I would like to be free of manic depression.  I would like my hands and feet and back to be strong and not to hurt.  I want to speak Spanish well enough that people don't look at me as if they are trying not to pat me on the head to offer sympathy because I am doing such a poor job.  I would like to be able to walk around our property and know the latin names of all of the trees and plants.  I would like not to be tired or to get sinus infections or trip over things and bruise my shins . . . OK, there are some things that I know won't happen, things that I know I won't get, things that I know I won't be able to do--until later.  But when I they happen, when I get them, when I do them . . . I will know that each of these goals has been achieved because I have wanted them, worked toward them, thought of them.

I love the path that leads me around each day--and I don't really care if I actually do get a PhD in anything or ride a horse again--but I know that I want to move toward those things . . . they will come slowly, with lots of other things also happening along the way.

Wow.  I am really sinking deep into my self tonight.

If you are still reading--have stayed with me through this whole load of words--thank you.  This is the sign of a true friend.

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Another Post of Mostly Flowers--growing in Maryland

When I went to visit Meg in Maryland earlier this month, I was drawn to both the details that were common between and the shapes that were distinct from the plants--mostly the flowers--surrounding me in Florida.  Most of these were taken with my camera--some with a "safe-to-run-over-with-a-truck-or-fling-off-an-airplane-or-drop-in-the-pool" camera that Brent got for me to use when we go places that any of these three kinds of things might happen.  


Actually, I carry it with me just about everywhere--because besides being durable, it is almost as small as my phone--so it fits into my purse/pocket/backpack.


And it takes better pics than my phone.

Here are some of the best photos that I took:
Megan calls these "wild violets."  They grow low to the ground, among the fine, lush grasses on the lawns in NE America. I am so accustomed to having a stubborn thatch of crabgrass to fertilize and mow--that I almost didn't recognize the sight of real grass.    
Malpighiales,Violaceae,Viola

Clusters of fabulously coloured tulips burst into my eyes at every turn.  I would be watching Kate or Jon whisk about and then suddenly these colors would startle me and I could not help but stare for at least a half second.
   
 These wildflower were flung about the undergrowth of the forest.

Forsythia bushes hung out over the sidewalks all over the place--it made it hard to see stop signs when I was approaching corners when driving.

Holly bushes offered their candy-apple red berries instead of fragile flower petals. 

 This fantastic daffodil was the last of its bunch to bloom.  I had to look closely to catch the transparent peach-coloured leaves around the center of the flower.  

This minuscule, white, 10 petal flower was impossible to get a clear picture of--it was too small--even with the microscopic setting on my camera.

Now all around Florida, the colours are starting to come out.  I'll have to process the photographs I took yesterday as I went around and visited two of the gardens on a Botanical Tour.  It will be cool to compare the spring blooms from the SE and NE shores.  





Saturday, May 11, 2013

Back to School

http://www.charmofthecarolines.com/.a/6a01156faa621f970c0120a9166d13970b-800wi

I have always been glad to point out to people (OK, mostly to plebotomists taking blood or nurses putting in an IV) that having good veins

 is one of my talents.  My other talent is 

school.  I don't usually tell them that.  

Somehow, it doesn't seem relevant.  

Tonight, however, it is not only relevant, but totally ideal to think 
about.  Summer session at Palm Beach State begins next week.  I am signed up for two classes.  One is an Environmental Issues class in the Horticulture department.  My guess is that the bulk of the material will deal with environmental issues effecting how land is planted, watered, landscaped, arranged, preserved . . . or something like that.  

It is required for the Landscape Architect certification program.  I am also taking an Internship/Work Experience class in the Horticultural program.  Both are taught by Dr. George Rogers.  He is the kind of teacher that could make a crumpled paper cup into an interesting subject.  He approaches very difficult, compact material and opens it up so that you feel like you are discovering the subject all by yourself . . . with him standing off to one side, cheering you on. More 
concerned that students adsorb the material, his disarming (kind of off-kilter) jokes and nick-names for flower and their characteristics combine to make it possible to learn and then USE that information; making sense of the world.


I am excited about the coming chance to re-enter the sweet, swirling vortex of organized learning.  


In "You Have Mail," the main character talks about a bouquet of 
sharpened pencils--and I love the thought of that image.  Though it has little to do with the tools that I use to learn--computers, bytes, binomial systems, tables and lists found on-line and then memorized.  

Still . . . the piquant moment when freshly-sharpened graphite and wood pencil meet clean, white paper on a flat wooden desk top . . delicious.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Words That Change the Heart--from one of my all time favorite books

Ida B by Katherine Hannigan, Chapter 12, 18

     "I couldn't do anything except curl up like a ball on the floor of the barn and lie there, crying.  The kind of tears that burn your eyes, and the sort of sobs that make your chest ache so that you're sure it's going to bust open.  And when the sobs finally ran out, the tears kept coming, so I lay there with my mouth wide open, but I hardly made a sound.  Just air going into me, and a heavy wind full of sorrow coming out.
     "But as I cried, my heart was being transformed.  It was getting smaller and smaller in my chest and hardening up like a rock.  The smaller and harder my heart got, the less I cried, until I stopped completely.
     "By the time I was finished, my heart was a sharp, black stone that was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand.  It was so hard nobody could break it and so sharp it would hurt anybody who touched it.
     "I stayed there, staring ahead at nothing, with just about nothing left inside of me, for quite a bit.
     "And then my new heart came up with a resolution.  Because when your heart changes, you change, and you have to make new plans . . . I could feel the hardness of my heart spreading into my arms and my legs and my head, and it felt fine.  I would win . . . And that was the end of me listening to anybody or anything, other than myself and my new heart, for a long time.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *     
     "And she was wearing me down in ways she probably didn't even intend to.
     "Ms. Washington would read to us each day after lunch, and her voice was like different musical instruments.  She could make her voice go low and deep and strong like a tuba, or hop, hop, hop quick and light like a flute.
     "When she read, her voice wrapped around my head and my heart, and it softened and lightened everything up.  It put a pain in my heart that felt good.

The book tells the story of a grade school aged girl who lives on a large farm, an apple orchard.  She is home schooled by her mother, and spends hours among her trees.  They speak to her and she hears their poetry in the wind.  Her mother gets cancer and her father has to sell part of the farm to a housing development and they cut down trees--her trees.  Her mother gets cancer and she has to be enrolled in public school.  Ida's heart is hardened by the terror and pain that she feels . . . it is softened by the understanding and patience of her teacher, Ms. Washington, and magic--the magic of words read aloud.

I love the book, because it not only speaks to me, but speaks the words that have defined me during times in my life.  The story is not mine . . . but it is mine.  As Ida cries, I also cry and my soul feels the barbs of her hardened heart.  As she listens to her teacher read aloud to the class, my mind fills with words from the stories that I have listened to, read out loud to my children . . . and have also read to myself in quiet times and quiet places when I needed to hear the magic of their sound. 


Words we say to each other land in the heart and grow.
                          CEWH



Words have power, more than we can know
Words we say to others, land in the heart and grow.
By words, the earth created,  By words, the stars are paired
In words we hear eternity, by words our hearts are shared.


Words have power, more than we can know
Words we say to others, land in the heart and grow.
Will they bloom, sustaining life? or will they root and rot?
Will I be traitor-coward or be the hero sought.
                                                  from Words Have Power, talk given June 2012, CEWH

Ms.Hannigan's book, Ida B, is a work of art rendered in words.  I have been blessed by her talent and am grateful for the chance I've had to read and re-read her creation.


Wednesday, April 10, 2013

What To Do

1.  brush the 3 rabbits, 2 cats and dog
2.  clean the bathrooms
3.  vacuum for dust bunnies
4.  read scriptures
5.  physical therapy
6.  check email
7.  check calendar for coming appointments
8.  work on school with Nate
9.  work with photos
10. eat
11. water plants
12. remember to take meds
13. finish cleaning out clothes closet
14. prep foot care for Brent
15. sweep porch
16. play with Brent, the kids, the pets
17. love Brent
18. pray
19. sleep
20. study for my classes
21. remember to smile
22. remember to sit up straight
23. remember who I am
24. look around me
25. prep house to paint
26. look for kitchen table with drop leaves
27. do laundry
28. clean up
29. cook dinner
30. love Brent better

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

The House is Piling Up Around Me

While I was putting some things we wanted to sell onto Craig's List, Brent was cleaning the living room.  I saw, out of the corner of my eye, him come and go--bringing stuff in and putting it down.  After about half an hour I look up and I find that I am surrounded by piles of papers and piles of books and piles of notebooks.  When I catch his eye--he smiles at me and tells me that he has brought me all the things that I needed to look at and put them all in one place for me.

!



I think that I will try to find something else to put on Craig's List.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Another Day Better in January 2013

Finally able to sleep.

Brent is asleep at last.  It has been a long day.  We went to see the doctor and they took the 42 staples out of his left knee and put 24 steri-strips in their place.  The swelling around his knee is coming down . . . most of it is congealed blood.  Last week the surgical assistant we saw tried to pull some of it off, but the mass was too thick to get anything out.  His legs have always been muscular and lean--now the left one has a huge, red, angry knot in the middle of it.  It reminds me of a boll in the trunk of an ancient oak tree.  

ERRANT SOCKS THAT WAUNDER IN HOPELESS LONELINESS and Osteropeniua 1200 Calcium 2000 Vitamin D

Blue Moon in Utah

On Wednesday night, I was asked to provide a short spiritual thought before the RS Enrichment meeting.  I talked about my "manic" button shoes . . . and how the difficult things we overcome are not left behind us, but woven into who we are and what we are now capable of doing and feeling.  I read a short excerpt from a letter I wrote to my sister Susan, but never sent:

           It seems like I only call you when I need something.  When I saw that I'd missed your call, I immediately thought how wonderful the time I got to spend with Martha and you in Minnesota.  I so enjoyed putting together the photos for your long, empty wall.  When I look up at the night sky here, I recall your overwhelming--stunning--midnight masterpiece . . . no lights but those provided by the planets and stars.  Your students (then and now) are fortunate to be exposed to your keen instruction.
           I asked Meg and Lauren last year if five years ago they could have imagined what their life would be like today.  Meg had just been married then--now she hs two children and a husband who loves her.  She makes bread almost every day and takes "bunny (shaped) buns" to friends who are feeling overwhelmed.  Meg told me she could not have thought she would be so happy.  I visited and  her apartment is cluttered with five small construction (in Jon's words--kon-stuck-sun) trucks I just brought for him, soft toys that Kate has chewed and drooled over as she cuts her first teeth . . . and errant socks that waunder in hopeless loneliness:  forever separated from the mates that the dryer ate.  There is a soft, quiet feeling that everything is in its proper time and place.

I heard on the radio, the next evening, a bit of a radio show that I'd never heard of before:  A Way With Words, described as a lively hour-long public radio show about language, on the air since 1998 [with a]uthor Martha Barnette and dictionary editor Grant Barrett.  One of the comments that stuck in my mind was a closing assertion that a real writer needn't be compelled to produce 50 novels or a continual stream of poetry.  Some need only to know that they have written a splendid, inexplicable sentence.  Poe once said that the best sentence he ever wrote was the first in his story "The Fall of the House of Usher."  Of course, there is always Snoopy's "It was a dark and stormy night . . ."

I think that one of the best things that I've written is the phrase contained above:  . . . errant socks that waunder in hopeless loneliness:  forever separated from the mates that the dryer ate.

To end this entry:  the results of my first bone scan came back this morning:  Osteropeniua--the beginning stage of osteoporosis.   It snuck up on me--I didn't even know that anything was wrong.  Creaky joints, yes, but not that.  I wonder if this is what it is like to discover that you have cancer.

I hope I never find out.

Better Than Me

Geiger Tree Flower and Penny

It happened today--one of those events that you remember all of your life.  Remembered, not because it was a commonly pivotal thing (birth, graduation, marriage, death), but because it revealed something about yourself to you.  It stands out in my memory like the first firework in a 4th of July night.

I was driving to class.  Not really a class class--a survey of native Florida plants.  It is a semester of field trips and wandering treks through nearby parks and reserves.  Dr. George Rogers teaches to identify the plants and trees we find.  It is a delightful experience each week--if you get there in time to start down the trail with everyone.

And I was late.  There was road work and both lanes were merging into one--left into right lane.  And I was late.   I pulled into the right lane.  And I was late.  A red Honda drove past me--intent on skipping ahead in line.  I sped up.  I was late.  I started to get angry.  The Honda tried to jockey in front of me.  I sped up . . . but the car in front of me started to slow.  It continued to slow down--until there was a space in front of it big enough for the red car to slip in.

I was still late, but I was also ashamed of myself.

The guy driving the car in front of me did what I should have done.  One driver let me in . . . maybe he was late, too.

Next time I will be the one to slow down.

I will remember and I will be better than I was.