Lions, Tigers, and Dandelions

The BIG One

2012-02-01T14:35:00.000-08:00

So, I'm anxiously getting ready for the BIG one, and no, it's NOT the Superbowl. Rather, it's the LSAT. Ahhhh. *freak out dance begins*

On Feb. 11th I take the LSAT, and I am nervous. While I've studied more for the this test than almost any other test I've ever taken, that's not saying a lot. I'm a crammer, and although I studied and studied my senior year of uni, it was nothing like I'm doing now. I feel like I should have started studying months and months ago instead of a week and a half ago. Even then, I should have put in more time than 3-4 hours a week. My practice scores keep going up and down, up and down, never where my perfectionist self wants them to be.

But, one thing I will admit to is that I enjoy this. I've missed having a purposeful study in my life. Working through problems is relaxing, comforting. It allows my mind to focus on ONE thing, going through it step by step until the answer dances before me.

At work I constantly have five to ten things to sort through, solve, write down, or plan. Like I've mentioned before, I'm a professional juggler. And, while I love my work, it does get exhausting, especially now that my duties have begun to include some legal advocacy. But, I'm not complaining. It's still the best job I've had by far, and I still love my clients.

In fact (and this is continuing the off-topic mode I just began), I had a complete turn around in one of my clients. For the past several weeks I've had a teenage client who has seriously (and I mean SERIOUSLY) tested my patience. It has taken every single fiber of my over-large body to keep my voice from lashing her to pieces. But, I have resisted. Monday night was about to change everything. I was on the verge of a breakdown with her when I just lifted up my prayer to God, the miracle worker. I told him that I could no longer handle this, and something needed to be worked out in both of our lives or blood would be shed. Okay, that last bit is a slight hyperbole, but it carries the sentiment across. Anyways, within two hours the client was asking me for help setting up anger management classes. This is a HUGE step for her. HUGE. Then, yesterday, the aforementioned client was surprisingly pleasant ALL day long, not just for an hour or so. What a blessing!!

But, back to the BIG one. As I said I'm extremely nervous about this test because I really want to prove to myself that I do belong back on a campus. And, more importantly, I want to be able to chose my campus. Now, I know that ultimately, I will end up where God wants me. But, if it's where I feel like I'm currently being led, then I really need to well. Which means more studying. Unfortunately, the way my life works, the past week or so when I have actually been committed to studying, everything changes. Not only am I working 45+ hours a week in an extremely strange schedule, I'm also working with Upwards basketball 4-7 hours a week. And then, there's the sunshine. It's sooooo gorgeous outside that I'm trying to ride my bike as much as possible.

Now, I know this sounds like a bunch of excuses, and maybe they are, but I am trying, for the most part. However, this next week and a half I WILL step it up a couple of notches no matter what. I have an amazing mother who is my inspiration. Despite all she's been through and how hard it is for her to concentrate on one thing, she studied her butt off for her music therapy recertification test which must be taken every 5 years. And she PASSED!!! As I go in for this last leg of the journey, she'll be what guides me to the finish line.

Soul Song

2012-01-24T20:34:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week I made a fb comment that souls should have theme songs. When asked what mine would be at first, I couldn't think of any. But then it hit me that since the thought came to me while listening to OneRepublic's "Come Home," then according to Freudian logic, that would probably be my soul's theme song. And incidentally, it fits this stage of my life.

And yet, the way the song fits probably isn't the way you are thinking. For those who aren't familiar with the words, I'll post them below. However, basically, the narrating voice is calling home his/her beloved who seems to be off doing his or her own thing, looking for something. In this song, my soul's theme song, I'm not the one doing the calling. I'm the one wanting, waiting to be called. Much of the time I'm content to be wandering, but I admit, I miss having a home, having a someone. While I like change and movement, I would also like to be more settled, to feel like I actually belong somewhere. I feel like as much as I wander, I'm actually looking for a place where I can see myself creating strong ties, becoming one with the people.

And then of course, the deeper connotations of home ring true too. Home isn't just a place, it's the people you share it with. I live in a house with my family, but it's not my home. It's a blessing, but it's not ME or for ME. And I miss this. I long for my own place which I can decorate, a place where I can play hostess, where I can build a life of my choosing.

Maybe somewhere, someone is waiting for me like I'm waiting for them. Maybe there calling my name right now and I just can't hear it. It doesn't matter. What matters is that there is a home for me, and one day I will enter it.

"Come Home" by OneRepublic

[Verse 1]
Hello world
Hope you're listening
Forgive me if I’m young
For speaking out of turn
There’s someone I’ve been missing
I think that they could be
The better half of me
They’re in the wrong place trying to make it right
But I’m tired of justifying
So I say to you..

[Chorus]
Come home
Come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you
For so long
For so long
And right now there's a war between the vanities
But all I see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
So come home
Oh

[Verse 2]
I get lost in the beauty
Of everything I see
The world ain’t as half as bad
As they paint it to be
If all the sons
If all the daughters
Stopped to take it in
Well hopefully the hate subsides and the love can begin
It might start now..Yeah
Well maybe I’m just dreaming out loud
Until then

[Chorus]
Come home
Come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you
For so long
For so long
And right now there's a war between the vanities
But all I see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
Ever known
So come home
Oh

[Interlude]
Everything I can’t be
Is everything you should be
And that’s why I need you here
Everything I can’t be
Is everything you should be
And that’s why I need you here
So hear this now

[Chorus]
Come home
Come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you
For so long
For so long
And right now there's a war between the vanities
But all I see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
Ever known
So come home
Come home

Who I Am

2012-01-24T17:36:00.000-08:00

On several posts I've made mention of the fact that I'm trying to find my way back to the me I used to be and still balance it with my newfound lackadaisical ways. For the past year and a half or so, I've been battling who I was. I kept trying to change from my no-nonsense hard ass personality. And for many reasons, that change was good. I became waaayyyy more laid back. More understanding of a lot of things.

But in changing so much (or fighting who I was), I lost a big part of me that kept me together. Now, I'm finding that me again. And I'm learning that I can stand up for myself and who I am and what I believe in, I can keep the hard-ass me, but still be laid back and casual. I can still be my academic nerd self who pushes herself to her breaking point, but I can also go off to Russia or take a roadtrip to wherever at random thought's notice.

But, most of all, I'm not going to let people treat me like crap or make me feel guilty. And, I'm not going to break down or throw myself at anybody just because I'm feeling weak.

I can love, but I don't have to fall apart because of it. Because I'm the daughter of a King. And I deserve to be treated special and be accepted by both my family and my friends.

I'm a nerd in many ways. I'm an artist, and a musician, and a scholar. I objectify and criticize. I analyze and then synthesize. I enjoy learning, writing research papers, and making connections.

In many ways, I'm very naive. I trust people with a fierce loyalty. And at the same time, it's hard for me to trust. My heart automatically goes to believing the best in people, while my mind tries to rationalize and be realistic. I've been let down too many times to count. But I keep on.

I have an overactive imagination. I read a lot into things. I overanalyze the small details, including road signs. Yes, road signs can be anaylzed. It usually makes me end up lost, both on the road and in life.

I love whole-heartedly, but I refuse to let that turn me into a welcome mat. I don't like confrontaion, but I'm not afraid of it, and I will tell you you're being an ass, stupid, or whatever. I'll also tell you how grateful I am for your presence in my life and how wonderful you are...and I'll mean it with everything I am.

This is me. This is who I am.

People Out

2012-01-24T15:57:00.000-08:00

Sleepless and ignored. That's been my life recently. Out of the past three nights, two of the nights I continuously woke up several times each hour, meaning I didn't sleep. The third night I slept, but then I had a strange and disconcerting dream which woke me up around 4. Sleep did not come again.

So, I'm tired. Work has been busy and left me with no time to do my paperwork. Not only am I behind on this week, but I'm still trying to catch up from last week. The good news is that I've started accompanying clients to court, which is interesting and exciting for me, dork that I am.

Then, there's the ignored bit. Now this I could completely be overreacting on (especially since I'm tired), but that doesn't matter right now. For the past month or two I've noticed a trend. I'm the one that almost always contacts my friends. Yet, if they're really my friends, shouldn't they also try to reach me via text, fb, phone, skype, email, etc. It's not like I'm that hard to reach.

I'm just tired of fighting for things that fall through my fingers. If they're going to fall through anyways, then why should I try? If I'm not that much of an important person in their life that they can't pick up the phone to call me for 5 minutes every so often, then what am I doing? Am I actually doing any good? Am I actually saving something when I reach out? Or am I just trying to cling to something that's only important to me? I don't know. But, I'm fed up with it. And I'm pulling back.

If people want me, they can contact me. Sure, my life will prob. get a lot more quiet, a little lonelier. But, maybe I'll actually start studying for THE BIG test coming up. Maybe a little rest from people will let me focus and gain new priorities. For the longest time, I've tried to make the people in my life my priority. I thought that's what we are supposed to do as friends, Christians, human beings. But, I've been wrong lots of times before, and I'll be wrong again.

So, for at least this next week I am pulling out of facebook. It's just another reminder of the people talk around me, rarely to me without my incitement. Plus, on fb, it's so much easier to be misunderstood, misread, misheard (figuratively I mean). This causes many more problems, and I'm tired of cleaning up problems. I've been the solution person for so long, now I'm going to fade out and let people clean up their own messes. Make their own misunderstandings.

And yes, this post sounds more bitter than I intended which probably has something to do with the exhaustion taking over my body and clouding my mind. But maybe I've got the point across, maybe not. But, right now, I'm too tired to care.

However, one thing is going right: work. Like I said earlier I've started going tto court with clients at work. I love my job. It has become the best part of my life, and one of the biggest things. I love my clients and my coworkers. And, I love how it's bringing me back to who I am.

My life is a yo yo

2012-01-15T07:58:00.000-08:00

Meltdown. Then straight face. Fake it. Act like everything's fine, nothing happened. Soon, you start to believe it. You're strong enough to handle it. You just overreacted. You can do it. Things will be fine. Look how beautiful the world is. See the stars, shining in the sky, just for you. Feel the sun, kissing your skin, the wind caressing your hair. Just for you. It's beautiful. And then your world crashes down again. Repeat.

My life is a yo yo, and just when things appear to be lifting, the sky falls down. The pain comes. And maybe it would be okay if I could just stop melting. If I could hold myself solid and just deal with it. I used to...for the most part. But the more it happens, the worse my reaction. And I hate it. I hate reacting to everything that happens. In my head I know the pattern, I know what will happen next, and if I can just bypass the meltdown, the feeling. If I could hold it all in again, maybe I'd be able to handle everything better.

But then, then I wouldn't be me. And if there were no pain, then how could I feel the sun kissing me? How would I find solace in the stars, shining bright, just for me. So, I'll take the pain. I'll fight against the odds. And one day, one day, maybe I'll win. My string will break, and I'll roll free in the grass.

Like Wax

2012-01-08T21:42:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year everyone. How many of you out there, in the vast internet galaxy, have made New Years Resolutions? I didn't. I rarely do. With me, if I really want, I go after it right there and then. Why wait till the new year. What makes it so special?

Anyways, I don't want to rant right now. I want to mellow. I want to fade into the flame flickering in the center of my oatmeal cookie scented candle. I want to become the wax, gently melting into a pool of viscous liquid. I want to become the notes of the Alexz Johnson songs I'm listening to, to have my soul become a melody, my life the harmony.

In a yoga class I once attended, the teacher would have us do the corpse pose at the end of each session. As she would walk around, she would tell us to close our eyes and to imagine our body loosening and melting into the floor, becoming one with it. Well, that's what I want. To have my body drift and mingle and combine with the atoms of the universe. I want to float and soar, dive and drown. Be everyone and no one, everywhere and nowhere.

The past couple weeks have been crazy and wonderful and horrible and everything to me and nothing to me in the long scheme of things. My cousin was married to a wonderful man on December 23rd. She was a gorgeous bride. The wedding was, in all honesty, the wedding of my dreams. It seems strange,having her married. She's two months younger than me. She's the first one of my cousins to get married. Family traditions and gatherings have been changing for awhile now, slowly, but now...it's like her wedding officially announced the change. We are not the same. We will never be the same again.

But, I've been able to manage my priorities and get myself focused in a direction at least. I've found a part of me that I had thought I lost with graduation. It was right there the whole time, peaking out occasionally. I can still write and research. My books still hold an infinite power over me as they call my name. And even though I was a queen procrastinator all throughout school, I still rocked out the papers and books. And I know I can still do so. I'm easily distracted, yes, but I know what I want, and I won't let anything or anybody get in my way. I never have really, and I won't. I can't.

I've officially signed up for the LSAT - finally. Through finances, work, and family obligations, I haven't been able to take it yet. But, as of February 11th, that will no longer be true. Am I expecting to do brilliantly? No. But, I should do decently - hopefully. I've also decided on my top three universities that I want to apply to and have started the application process. Everything is finally starting to feel real to me again, and it scares me. It scares me knowing what's going to happen in the future. Or what's not going to happen. While so much is still unknown, I'm choosing the path I'm taking, pointing myself in a very specific direction. And, while I know mostly that it's the right path, there's still so much that could go wrong, so much that could go exactly right.

So, as usual, I'll continue to wait to see what happens. See, that's what I mean. So much has changed and is changing. And yet, essentially, nothing changes. Every second is different from the one before. Nothing is new under the sun. So, as changes come I will deal with them, as I always do. I'll handle the ups and downs; I'll take the tears and the laughter. I'll float and melt. I'll be solidly me and yet melt like wax, falling and clinging to the surface as it turns from a liquid to a solid to a liquid to a solid. All it needs is the heat of flame to change it completely. All it needs is a cool breeze to restore it.

I Will Be Your Sunrise

2011-12-27T19:27:00.001-08:00

I will be your sunrise.
When the darkness closes in.
I will be your sunrise.
When truth is blocked by din.

In your head, only shadows exist.
So let my light come in.
Let my words erase the scars.
The scars that time has made.

Listen, hear my pictures in your mind
Reds and blues and greens
Let the hues of majesty
Cover over the bleeding black

I’ll be your sunrise.
When you need me to,
I’ll sing your praises to the stars.
Of how great you truly are.

Don’t give into the shadows
The grays and darkest black hues
Look for the light that shines
That refuses to go out

Look for the light in me
Can’t you see it.
It will never die, this
Eternal Sunrise in your name

For after all,
I am your reflection
A creation of your mind and body
I can be your sunrise,

I can and I will be your sunrise
Because you made me so
My life is nothing but a mirror
Created to reflect the light that is hiding within you

Because, I am you.
And because you are me
I will be your sunrise
With everything I am.

Christmas Time is Here

2011-12-25T14:52:00.000-08:00

By the sheer number of happy salutations as fb statuses, it would appear that a "Merry Christmas" is in order. However, since your fb wall is probably filled with similar greetings, I will go with the more non-traditional "Merry Winter Solstice which was later dubbed Christmas in an order to denote a day to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." Really, it doesn't matter the day. What matters is the reason. Our lives will forevermore be changed by one magical baby boy (and I don't mean Santa, although he has been known to change lives too).
****************************************************************************

Stars have begun to glow, their radiance lighting the paths of fellow church members, here to attend the Christmas Eve service at the First Baptist Church in Sunrise Beach. Inside, my brothers and I are frantically running here and there, assisting my dad in various capacities. We greet the guests and members, pour grape juice into tiny plastic cups, break unleavened bread into pieces, wiping away the crumbs. Because the boys are more technologically savvy, their duties also include setting up the sound, powerpoint, video, or whatever other equipment is required. Then, when it is time, my mother's hands kiss the ivory keys, producing a whisper which welcomes each person. My father's voice joins her music as he welcomes the congregation on this oh-so-special night. This is Christmas Eve.

After the service my family congregates at our house. Each one eager for the night to continue in Christmas Eve fashion. Sparkling grape juice is poured into holly-decorated glasses. Wrapping paper disappears and reappears in random and haphazard fashions and places. Christmas music or Christmas movies can be heard, along with overly enthusiastic tones from me. I scurry here and there, setting up my annoying and torturous scavenger hunt for my brothers. My father comes back over, changes clothes and settles down, signaling that we are finally ready.

We gather round the Christmas tree, eager eyes surveying the blessings. We each get to pick one gift to open. Which one will it be? One by one, we open our gifts, making sure to note down who it is from in order to send out the thank you card. Then we adjourn to the couches, drink our juice, and chat about this or that. When the first yawns are heard, my brothers and I go back to one of our rooms, a laptop already open and waiting or a tv on and programmed. This is one of the few times we all cuddle up together without hitting, biting, or screaming. Instead, our energies are concentrated on the black figure on the screen, hopping up and down, saying repeatedly, “It’s just a flesh wound.” Yes, our traditional Christmas movie is “Monty Python.” Somewhere along the way, we one-by-one drift off into Never Neverland.

Waking up sets off a series of events which typically include dog piling on whichever person dares to try to sleep past eight. We walk, as a family, into the living room. Stockings have been placed around the room by Ms. Claus and her helper. One on the love seat. Two on the couch. One on the recliner. One on the floor. Coming out of each stocking is an assortment of goodies: batteries, candy, and other small, yet appreciated things. There’s also one big gift. Once again, one-by-one we take turns, showing off what Santa brought to us during the night. Lots of hugs, thanks, and laughter is shared.

After the presents have been opened and rejoiced over, the breakfast tradition commences. I take out the blocks of sharp cheddar cheese and begin grating them. Once that is over, my older brother and my dad mix the cheese with bisquick and sausage. Then, we all dig in and roll the concoction into small balls, then place them in the oven to cook. Sausage balls. Hot, round balls of deliciousness. Enough said.

Next, we load up the van with all of our junk and luggage and begin the eight hour trip to my grandparents. On Christmas night the entire family (or as many as show up) gather around a lit and fully-trimmed tree, and begin the evenings activities.

Singing usually begins and ends our festivities. Carols played by not one, not two, but three pianists, accompanied by a large number of voices. A dinner of steak or fajitas is rapidly and contentedly devoured. Then, my grandfather’s or one of my uncle’s, or my eldest cousin’s voice proudly reads the Christmas story from Luke. Following the story describing the birth of our Lord, we exchange gifts. Everyone is responsible for one other person, the person whose name they drew earlier in the year.

Then, once again, more singing, chatting, and general frivolity breaks out.

Unfortunately, the past couple of years, things have changed a bit. I went to Russia. My brother is working this year. My cousin was married to a wonderful man on the 23rd this December, which means that everyone travelled to my uncle’s house instead of my grandmothers. Instead of a family meal of steaks and fajitas, we had a rehearsal dinner. However, some things will always stay. We still sang the Star Spangled Banner. We still exchanged gifts. We still read the Christmas story. But, most importantly, we still showed each other and told each other how much we love them.

Back on Track

2011-12-17T05:07:00.000-08:00

Law school is officially back in my crosshairs. In fact, I'm taking off at a break-neck pace trying to get everything together. After months of treading water, sending an inquiry here, looking online at a school there, printing off a form here, I am finally getting things done. The printed pages have actually been sent, which means I will hopefully be soon be signing up for the very last LSAT date possible. Although, this time I had a reason for procrastinating so much, a reason called lack of time off of work and $$. Nonetheless, on February 12th, I will be sitting in an uncomfortable desk chair, racking my brains to think of correct answers and semi-intelligent and coherent sentences.

Additionally, the spreadsheet I had created with information about my top school choices has finally paid off. I know my top three schools, in order. And although I won't tell you which ones are which, I will say that if I can get in to my top choice, I will need to buy an umbrella.

To celebrate this finding my path, I think I'm going to dive into the works of C.S. Lewis and maybe some Gone with the Wind. Hopefully I will feel inspired to write the papers I've been meaning to write. If not, at least my brain won't have suffered any damage. It will be nice to come home again.

A Losing Battle

2011-12-15T18:12:00.000-08:00

I'm fighting a losing battle
Against the me within
It's a battle I'm going to win
I'm going to crush the inner me

And as I do so,
I'm going to kill every
Inch of progress I've made
On this journey of life

As the me within lies
Dying, it's last breaths
Little gasps for mercy, for wisdom
My heart will officially crumble

Yes, I'm fighting a losing battle
Against the me within, the me holding
Me together, against the pain of the world
And it's a battle I'm going to win
A battle, a battle I really should lose.

Ashes

2011-12-15T17:57:00.000-08:00

King Midas had the golden touch
He killed through love
My touch, my touch isn't golden
It isn't even green or brown

My touch disintegrates everything
I love and work towards,
My touch makes it fall apart
While my back is turned

As my feet run away
The glance of my head
Tells me the truth
That I'm a killer

Maybe I run because I know
I know there are cracks
So fragile, so inevitable,
Or maybe I cause the cracks

These tiny lines that burst
Into suns and stars
Before breaking into shards
Cutting my love to shreds

From the glance
I can see the blood mingle
Among the ashes that once
Held my love together

Maybe, Maybe I am like King Midas
Killing through love
Love that kills, love that changes
Forms from life to death, to ashes

Yes Virginia, There IS a Santa Claus

2011-11-26T12:34:00.000-08:00

This blog was originally written last year when I was an English teacher in Russia. To read the original post or to read more exploits about my glamorous life as an ESL teacher, check out the American Nomad blogs from August 2010 to July 2011.

On Santa Claus

Many of my readers might believe that the above tribute to Santa is a playful exchange of words alluding to the childish spirit of Christmas. But I must confess, within my deepest soul I not only WANT to believe there is a Santa, I DO believe in Santa. While there may not be an actual man who flies to every country and slides down every chimney, who's to say there isn't. It is as possible me getting to come to Russia. As possible as a Georgian taking over half of Europe and Asia. As possible as the Titanic sinking. As possible as a man walking on the moon. Besides, even if there is no tangible MAN, there is definitely a tangible spirit of Santa though who has inherent magical qualities. (Although here most of my critics are going to try to tell me that a spirit cannot be tangible, I will persist in insisting that this one is.)

Today, I had my TOEFL students read the "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" article written over a hundred years ago. As we discussed it we pondered the different points like why is the author writing such a formalized letter to an eight year old. What is the real purpose of the letter? After some consideration, the conclusion I came to is that while the letter was addressed to the child Virginia, the response was directed at the "skeptic" readers themselves. It is such a passionate plea for a return to the innocence of child-like belief, alluding to faeries and magic. But it is also very sensualized and fervent in its endeavor to bring in rationalized arguments that the readers can relate to: among these being love, poetry, beauty and faith. Readers, remember that this is the time of the Bohemian revolution. Fantasy authors and romantic authors such as Shelley, Keats, Byron and Mary Shelley were in their prime. This plea is just a push trying to get these skeptics to go from Dracula and Frankenstein to a faith in the innocence and purity of Christmas. To go from an obsession with romantic love and drama to the purity of a child's love for all she holds dear.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, because in a world filled with skeptics who try their best to outshop, outcurse and outdo their loved ones, somehow, true Christmas innocence continues to exist. And that, Virginia, can only be because Christmas is magical. And Santa is magic.

Thanksgiving as Celebrated by the Robinson/Clifton/Newman Clan

2011-11-26T12:08:00.001-08:00

A good friend of mine and I were discussing Thanksgiving last night. One of the statements he made resonated with me. Basically, he was iffy about the whole holiday, as it was just another excuse for people to gorge themselves under the pretense of “family togetherness.”

And it made me think of my family. My whole extended Robinson clan of a family. Every Thanksgiving and/or Christmas, my mom’s side gets together and – celebrates. That means two grandparents, one great-aunt (who acts like a 50 year old), eight parents, eleven grandchildren, and an assortment of friends and significant others all gather into one three bedroom house to “enjoy” each other’s company.

Now, looking at it and the amount of food consumed by this clan of twenty-two plus people, it may be easy to group us into the category of superficial Thanksgiving-ers. But I don’t think that would be true. Now, I’ve never really celebrated Thanksgiving with any other family (well, I did celebrate it with my aunt-in-laws family once), so I don’t know how other celebrate holidays, but this is a little how ours goes.

One by one, the families trickle in. My memaw is already in the kitchen, her foster bedroom during these holiday days, and the house is filled with the aroma of freshly-baked, homemade rolls. A batch of fresh dough is sitting on the counter, because she knows that my aunts and uncles can’t pass by without taking a pinch.

The women congregate in the front living room and in the kitchen while the guys crowd around the tv in the den. Football is on. The Cowboys. And, even though most of the family has drifted away from their Cowboy-obsessed phase, it’s still football. Their boos, catcalls, and cheers can be heard down the block. Well, at least my brother’s voice can.

The grandkids have split themselves up, roaming about the house, sneaking into the kitchen for pre-feast bites, talking with aunts, cheering or booing the cowboys, facebook stalking their friends, inviting old friends over. We do it all.

“Dinner. Everyone gather round. Cassandra, go round up the guys.” My Memaw’s proclamation is like a magnet, attracting the family to her (or at least to the food in her hands). We gather round, hold hands, and then . . . “Ohhhhhhhhh say can you see, by the dawn’s early light…” Yes, we break into song. Yes, my family is very patriotic, but the tradition of singing the “Star Spangled Banner” before our great meal actually has nothing to do with that. It started several years ago as a joke. I’m sure it happened because the boys were watching football, and the national anthem got stuck in their head. Still, whatever the reason, before we pray, we sing the anthem (usually loud and out-of tune).

We then bless the meal, fill our plates, and recreate Darwin’s theory of Survival of the Fittest: The quickest get a seat, the losers get the floor (or a really uncomfortable, small, black chair). We go around and state our thanks as is “traditional” Thanksgiving behavior, but after that we talk. And we talk. And we talk some more.

Then, after the food has begun trickling its way down our digestive courses, the music begins. With four pianists and a whole horde of singers in the family (and a grandmother who doesn’t take no for an answer), the singing can last for a while. A long while. Days even.

Now, my family isn’t perfect by any means, and we do have our arguments, our petty differences, our annoyances, but we’ve been given a great gift. We have two parents/grandparents that have made it their life mission to make sure that they keep the family together. And because we all love them, and we deep down we really love each other, we get together. We catch up. We celebrate the love that has filled this house for over twenty years of family togetherness.

****************************************************************************
Now this year, Thanksgiving was a lot smaller. My aunt and her family couldn't make it, neither could my fav. uncle and his family, nor my great-aunt, nor my younger brother. This took our total down to a tragic eleven. It was still nice an homey. But it wasn't the same. However, as I learn every year, it's a good thing family holidays only happen once or twice a year.

Thanksgiving itself was wonderful. The food and company provide no room for complaints. I then went off to work and had an easy day of it there too. But between all of the tensions getting ready for the holiday, and the constant buzz of people flying here and there and everywhere, and the stress radiating off of my grandmother (although she will staunchly deny it), and the lack of sleep I had been getting, I broke down. I love my family and I love people, but I am truly my mother's daughter, and I can only handle so much of either set.

I am not one of those people that can operate without sleep. I know my limits. For the past three or four nights, I had not slept well at all. This also meant that I stayed in bed longer trying to sleep - wishful thinking, I know. Well, at my grandmother's house, where I have been living, sleeping till 8:00 is sleeping in. Sleeping till 9:00 is sinful (at least for the women). So, on top of not sleeping, I get the guilt trip of how she has so much to do and no help. The thing about my memaw is that she never actually knows that she's guilt tripping people, but she is the queen guilter. I seriously have never met one like her. And my personality naturally rebels against anyone guilting me (intentionally or unintentionally) or trying to manipulate me.

So, between too many people and the lack of sleep, and the getting sick part, and the guilt trip, and then the announcement that I was to be kicked out of my room and bed to sleep on the couch (which I usually wouldn't mind as I do it every time someone visits), I lost it. Completely balled my eyes out lost it. And I knew I was being ridiculous, but all I could think was that I wanted a nice, cozy bed, a couple of burning candles, and clean and open environment empty of people. So, after work last night, I took off. I drove into Roswell and checked myself into a hotel. And it was the best thing I could have done for myself. The bed was soooo comfortable and white and snuggly. The air was adjusted to ME. The room was clean and open and inviting. I slept. And I didn't wake up till around 7:00, then I slept some more. Then, this morning I went to the arts and crafts fair and found some marvelous prizes.

And at this point, I don't care if my family thinks I'm crazy or lazy or unsocial. I did what I needed. Because, although they love me, they couldn't understand that. But I did. I also know that if I had stayed at home, where everyone was laughing, playing games, and singing, I would have bitten somebody's head off. And felt horrible. This way, they got to go on and I got to go on.

Now, this morning afternoon, I have my cousin's wedding shower to attend. So, I am not being anti-social. I am not being lazy. And I am celebrating with family. I'm just doing it at my own pace.

The Beautiful Thief

2011-11-17T09:49:00.000-08:00

Cold, like ice.
This writer's voice of yours
Has chipped away, piece by piece,
The heart that was inside you.

I had always thought writers,
Poets, musicians, artists -
They were supposed to be emotional,
In tune with the harmonies and souls

Around which they live and breathe.
But your writing, as alive and wonderful
As it may be has stolen away
The breath inside of you, not me.

The shell that fills your desk,
The one that's on the cover of reviews and
Online sites, is not the you I once knew.
It's not the you I dreamed of.

I can't say fame has taken you away.
That I would understand, but THIS?
To be kidnapped by the power of your words
To be lost among an ocean of sentiment-

Sentiment that I don't even know
You feel. Do you feel the you
Within the words you spew?
Because I can't, and it all,

It all makes me wonder about
How something so lovely, can be so wrong.
And as artists all we search for is beauty,
But when beauty steals from beauty

All I can think is that I
Need a coat, because when I'm around
You and your words there is
No warmth any more. There is only ice.

2011-11-02T20:21:00.000-07:00

I've done my part
Now I'm stepping back
I've reached out my hand
Waved it into empty air

It's your turn now
Lead on if you dare
Or walk away without a care
The choice is yours

Replete with Me

2011-10-30T21:36:00.000-07:00

If thou could`st empty all thyself of self by Sir Thomas Browne

If thou could`st empty all thyself of self

If thou could`st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, `This is not dead`,
And fill thee with Himself instead.

But thou art all replete with very thou
And hast such shrewd activity,
That when He comes, He says, `This is enow
Unto itself - `twere better let it be,
It is so small and full, there is no room for me.`

I love this poem. I first read it back in elementary school, and in all honesty, I had no idea what it meant, but it reverberated within me, making it impossible for me to forget it. Now, about fifteen years later, I understand what Browne was trying to say, and I love it even more.
However, there is one line, where, while I agree with him and the point he is making, I believe can be read and applied to a different meaning.

First: Let's look at authorial intent. The basic essence of the poem is actually quite clear to understand (to anyone who's NOT seven, that is). When we are at the point in our lives where we can empty ourselves of us, of our ridiculous human pettiness, then God can come in and transform us by filling us with Himself. While the world may see our emptiness as a sign of death, the Lord takes it as an invitation to give us new life - His life. However, when we are "replete" with us, and all of our human foibles, then there is no place for God. He cannot work within us, so he walks away and lets us be.

However, as I was walking the other day, I felt completely satisfied and at peace. And it reminded me of the line "replete with very thou." For one of the first times in a while, I was completely okay with who I am and where I was going. I wasn't worried or stressing or insecure. I had a clear sense of who I was, and while my future was still unknown, I wasn't worried, because I knew I would make it, because that is who I am and what I do. And I knew God was okay with me being "replete with me" in this sense, because He is the one who made me and loved me as myself. In this regard, I was fulfilling one of my purposes as His daughter. In accepting who I was and trusting my future with Him, I was praising Him. Still, I was "replete" with me, without masks, without excuses, without interference or influence.

And maybe I've already been emptied (Lord knows I've been empty) and filled again, and Browne meant to say that we can't fully be ourselves until we are filled with Him first. But that isn't coming through necessarily. Because of this, I almost feel like this poem isn't finished. There's more to be written to complete the story. And most likely, it will always remain incomplete in written form, but our lives, our lives can finish it. We can find the answers to the implied and inferred questions within the poems just by living.

And I'm tired and medicated as I write this, so I apologize that I'm failing to get all of my racing thoughts and ideas down in a lucid and cohesive form, but maybe this skeleton will at least get you thinking, and maybe, just maybe, you will write your own ending to this poem. Or at least start a discussion in the comment section.

Sometimes It's Nice

2011-10-24T20:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's nice
Just to know you're not
Walking through this alone

Sometimes it's nice
To hear a voice on the other end
Saying nothing, nothing at all

And sometimes it's nice
Just to be held, safe and warm
Between two arms

And somtimes it's nice
Sometimes it's really nice
Just to know you're here

Nothing

2011-10-24T11:26:00.000-07:00

Empty and cold, like ice. This feeling washes over me, wave after wave,full of nothingness. But in that nothing lies everything. If I only knew the code, the secret password that would unlock all of the mysteries I cannot even name. Where can I find this Rosetta Stone for my soul? Please, tell me. Where can I find the key which will unlock Me?

The ice, it stabs the heart, but then I wonder, what heart? For my inside is empty, and I feel the pain that isn't there. All of the confusion and the hurt and the love and the gain. All of it circles around inside, over and over without end. And I wonder how can there be so much inside, so much to feel? When I am on nothing but empty. When I am nothing.

This displacement that separates me from the world I long to connect with. This disconcerting power that makes me long to run away and hide from those who love me, that makes me question those who love me. Better judgment? Where has it gone, when reason whispers seductively "Just leave." Yet, what holds me here? Is it fear, or the common sense I thought had left? How am I to know which way to turn when there is no right or left, only circles that bring me back every time I try to step away.

A break. A second chance. I had it. Did I blow it? No, I lived it, and it was nice, but it didn't feel permanent. But where is permanent? This place I long to find to appease the restless nature that causes my heart to beat too loud as it attempts to jump out of my chest, running to get escape, to drink in that last breath of air and exclaim FREEDOM. But, I've travelled and travelled. And no place lasts for long. That freedom I live for keeps slipping away, out of reach. And now, as I've settled down in this "home" which I knew was never meant to last, the beating pounds out F-R-E-E-D-O-M in a never-ending tirade against establishment. It beats bruises on the inside of my chest, and if it were a man I would fling it away in disgust. But how can you fling your own traitorous heart away? Especially when you even question its existence?

Everything within me screams to go. But where? Where am I to turn as I burn the bridges I would surely burn. Where could I get my second chance, my third, and my fourth when the world around me goes up in flames? The Bible says the world is not my home, but how can God be so cruel as to allow us to wander the Earth looking for something which He could provide, but He won't. When we need arms around us to root us into place, where are His arms? And why do I still love Him when all I want to do is leave him and forget Him? Why does part of me still believe that He will come through, when all evidence points to abandonment?

And why, as I write this, with my insides colluding together to beat me to a pulp, do I feel numb? How can I feel numb when I feel everything? How can I feel everything when I am nothing?

Toasting the Past. Here's to the Future

2011-10-23T09:17:00.000-07:00

Memories are some of our most precious and fragile possessions. They are owned by us, but they are held at the mercy of time. We can try to hold on to them through scrapbooks, tangible reminders of our bygone days. We can tell and re-tell stories over dinners and drinks with friends. Still, none of this changes the fact that memories, like much else in life, are as fragile as a porcelain doll for two primary reasons: 1) They can be forgotten and drift away into the past and 2) Memories are lighted in view of our perceptions at the time.

For these two reasons, I am always hesitant to take a walk along the windy, sometimes dangerous, path called "memory lane." I am always hesitant to return back to the physical locations where so many memories are held. Places, more than any other entity, can ruin memories more surely than anything else. Places like schools, churches, libraries change so easily, so inconspicuously, but to those who remember the "grand" days, the changes are huge.

And, it's not so much the changes themselves as the fact that the changes in places only reinforce the changes in administrations, in procedures, and in people. Let's face it. People change. They come and go. They are replaceable. And we never like to learn that the people we once loved are no more. That the friends we cherished so dearly have developed into someone we don't recognize. But, more than anything, we don't like to think that WE have changed so much that our past is no longer recognizable as ours. That new people walk down the halls we once traversed. That new people are winning the awards and accolades we once won. Or, even the reverse is true. We don't like learning that everything we had strove and worked for is being lost in a tidal wave of confusion and laziness.

For these reasons and more I was extremely nervous and worried about returning to the Texas Hillcountry, the place I called home for more than ten years. I had planned the visit for the express purpose of visiting my friend Kassie, my best friend in high school and a dearly, dearly beloved friend now, all these years later. (We actually calculated and discovered that this marks our 10th year of friendship!) I haven't seen Kassie in about three years, and although we converse through facebook and on the phone, it's not the same as seeing her face-to-face.

So, I decided to make the 8 hour trek on I-10 to see her and to re-unite ourselves with each other once again. Kassie now works and lives in Fredericksburg, Tx. I had planned to drive straight to her place and spend as much time with her as possible and then do some other visiting and memory-reviving on Sunday. Well, it's Sunday now, and I've learned one thing. I don't want to take any more walks down memory lane. I don't want to visit any place else.

Fredericksburg couldn't have been a more perfect location for this hesitant mission if I had to dream it up myself. I had never thought about it, but it served as the perfect foundation for my trips into my past life. For one thing, all of my Fburg memories are good. For another, they are few. Fredericksburg was a little over an hour away from my home, so we never went there often, choosing instead to do our shopping at Marble Falls or Austin. And while I noticed some changes in Fredericksburg, I never knew it well enough to be pleased or disappointed with what I noticed. So, it became the perfect place for Kassie and I to reminisce from as it had a sense of objectivity attached to it. I could talk about the people and places we once saw every day, without having the dread of change and replacement attached to it, because I couldn't see it to know or feel it. As far as I'm concerned, my home is still in tact.

Additionally, Kassie and I had a great time seeing the sights of Fredericksburg. We kept with tradition and went to the theatres, watching Ren MacCormack's fine form in Footloose. We sniffed the wonderful aromas of a variety of exotic teas at a gourmet coffee house. We sashayed up and down and up and down main street, trying the patience of sales clerks as we tried on Halloween and renaissance masks and questioned their choice in music. We walked through music shops and candle shops, browsed through and delighted in Christmas shops with little elf decorations. We salivated over platefuls of Southwestern, Oriental, and German cooking. And then, we basked in the glories of Texas wildflowers and interesting garden accouterments while lamenting the fact that the Texas sun has been overly brutal to the harvests this year. Nights we spent back at her place, catching up on the gossip of our old class, the miscellaneous details of our current lives, and the declining state of our once-great Llano Jacket Band. And while occasional stabs of nostalgia hit me, the pain I usually feel did not.

So, now I find myself in a new coffee shop in Kingsland, Tx, another old stomping ground. I am hoping to meet a friend here, in neutral territory once again, but as I had not planned on stopping here, I am not sure if she will make it. But, I will wait in the hopes of "what ifs" and toast to the future. A future of brightness and new things. A future full of pleasant memories to be made and kept. And, I toast to the past, everything good and bad that has brought me to this point, that has made me . . . ME.

What You Should Know:

2011-10-17T23:28:00.000-07:00

I am still enjoying my job. There are some aspects that I could do without, but overall, I feel like this is an amazing experience for me. Some of my favorite times on the job are when I can really talk with a client, one-on-one. When we can have a completely honest and open conversation with ideas, thoughts, and emotions flowing back and forth.

This being a domestic violence shelter, I've had the opportunity to have several conversations about relationships. These conversations coupled with my own experiences, past and present, have made me do a lot of thinking and re-evaluating of my own life and beliefs.

When outsiders hear about domestic violence, their first reaction is usually, "Why would a woman be stupid enough to put herself in that situation? Why wasn't she smart enough to leave?" And, yes, in a perfect world, these women would leave, but if I ever hear those questions come out of someone's mouth, I think I might just throttle them.

As part of Domestic Violence Month, let me give you, dear reader, an education so that, should we ever meet in real life, I wouldn't be thrown in prison. 80% of domestic violence is non-physical. However, it is just as dangerous. Domestic violence covers emotional abuse, manipulation, financial control, isolation, child manipulation, and more. Anytime a man (for the sake of efficiency I'm just going to use man, although woman could also be used) tries to force a partner to do something that she doesn't want to do, it's domestic violence.

This often begins small. He treats her like a princess, tells her she's beautiful. Then, one day, he makes a critical remark about her hair or her clothes. Small, but significant to the woman who adores him. Eventually it escalates. His critiques increase, and she spends her time trying to please him, because he is so loving and helpful in many other ways. He may help her with the kids or loan her money. He may take her out to her favorite restaurants or send her flowers at work. Since he does all that, she can forgive him his little opinions. She just has to work harder on herself.

Eventually, he can start using the small gifts and things as bribery or manipulations. If she dresses like he wants her to, he'll buy the shirt; he'll take her out to dinner. When they move in together, he gets mad if she doesn't buy the specific brand of cologne or deodorant. He keeps taking her places, so that she can't see her friends or family. But to her, he takes her places because he loves her. When she is isolated from friends and family, then he can really turn up the heat. He can assert his control more overtly, because no one will really be running to her. He's both her master and her savior.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg. There are some really sick bastards out there. And the worse part is that these abusers have two faces. The rest of the world usually never notices when an abuser is among their midst. Some of them even call the police and have their victim arrested if she tries to break out, and he's smart enough and charming enough to get away with it. Some even go so far as to use children to manipulate the victim, even custody battles have been turned into a form of domestic violence at times. And the thing is, many of the traits abusers use occur in common, healthy relationships, they just escalate and increase them. But, when a victim tries to describe how she is being abused, most people don't understand, they think, "Well, that's normal." They go by the single act, not the repetition or scale of the act.

So, where am I going with this information? What does this have to do with relationships? Well, I have two places I'm going to take this information: general and personal.

General:

As I talk with clients, I try to get them to evaluate their own relationships, both past and present in a new context. I've taken to asking my clients two questions. "What do you want, right now, from a partner?" and "Is your partner giving you want you want?" Then, depending on the answer to the second question, I'll take it a step further. "Knowing that your partner either isn't willing to or can't give you what you need, can you see yourself being with them in a long-term future?"

These women come to me for protection because they've been broken by the men they thought would save them. They went out looking for men and found predators, wolves in sheep's clothing. All because they needed to feel protected, wanted, desired. But they are not alone in that feeling. It's a basic human need on Maslow's hierarchy of needs. A healthy relationship is going to require some give-and-take. But, when a woman gives all, without being able to take, destruction takes place.

Personal:

I've long been skeptical of marriage and long-term relationships. Not because I've had a shortage of lasting marriages in my life. I'm actually surrounded by family after family of happily-married couples in my life (outside of work that is). I've seen them last and work. But, still something bothers me about them. It's probably because I'm an outsider looking in on a finely-honed relationship, but I still see small things in each relationship that make me think if that ever happened in mine, I'd want to bolt (especially when it comes to equality and my feminist instincts).

Additionally, I've long doubted that there was anyone really out there for me, who could handle both my many, many ups and downs. I'm quiet a force to be reckoned with when I get riled up. I remember being told when I was a tween to make a list of all the things I wanted in a guy and pray for it. I think most girls have a kind of "list," whether written or mental. I always hated the word "list" when it relates to a guy, because I feel like it kind of makes one close-minded to the different options out there in the vast ocean of fish. Still, it happens, and throughout the years I've kind of honed my list as I began to really learn myself. The thing is, compared to my friends and other girls I've met, my list is fairly short, yet I'm probably the most picky chooser out there. I don't necessarily need every qualification filled, but I refuse to settle. Still, at the same time I have my "list," I feel like with or without it, I'll just know.

Anyways, if I have you curious now as to my standards, here they are:
1. Christian. While I will probably not agree with everything my husband says or believes, I do want him to be a strong male and "head" of the family. He cannot do this without being a strong Christian man.

2. Musician. There's no ifs, ands, or buts about this. He has to have musical talent. There's no point in me giving up Josh Groban, if my husband can't do something with an instrument (and yes, a voice is an instrument).

3. Funny/Fun. As part of my emotional roller coaster life, I tend to take myself too seriously at times. I need someone who can help balance me out. Someone who can help lead me into the fun times life has to offer. However, he has to be able to take himself seriously at times.

4. Intelligent with ambition. I require someone who is at least as smart/intelligent as me if not more so. I don't mind being told I'm wrong. I quite enjoy a good, heated debate, and I plan on having many with my future husband. But I will not settle for a guy who is content to let their God-given gifts go to waste. He doesn't have to be rich or famous, but he needs to inspire and encourage me through actions, not just words.

5. This one is mainly for fun. But it would be nice if "my guy" rode a motorcycle. :D

Anyways, this is my list. 5 things. That's all I'm really looking for. I have nothing about looks or specific personality types. But, you can see why it's taking me a while to find "the one." I read an article the other day stating that girls who look for guys just wanting to have fun usually end up with the long-term relationships, while girls who look for the long-term relationships usually end up with squat. My thing is I'm not really looking for either one. I feel like if I try to label something it will never appear. My philosophy is to take what comes as it comes. If it comes in the form of a friendship great. If it comes in the term of a short-term something- let's have fun. If it comes as a long-term thing, let's talk about it. But I'm not going out in the world "searching."

Conclusion:
Which leads me to my next point. Going back to the domestic violence and relationship questions, one of the things I've picked up on (long before my job actually) is that most girls and women get in trouble because they are searching. They are searching for the "knight-in-shining-armor" who will rescue them and fill them. These women end up getting torn to shreds by the sharpened swords of their so-called "knights." But they continue to look. Why? Because, let's face it. As women, we want to feel safe. We want to know that there is a guy out there who is willing to protect us. But, we are not patient enough to let him come to us and court us.

My deepest desire in life is . . . to be held. That's all. I want a guy who is willing to hold me through all the bad crap the fates throw in my direction. I don't need a guy who has all the answers, or one who can take away all of life's pain. I just need a guy who is willing to hold me through it all. But, if I go through life, trying to find those qualities in a man, then I'm going to read into men what I want them to be. I'm going to force my standards on them. And them I'm the one who is going to get hurt, and I feel that is why many women get hurt over and over again. In their desperation to be held and loved, they search and search instead of letting it come to them. Then, they get tired and start to see man after man who "fits" their "list." When in reality, they are seeing them through dreary, sleep-deprived eyes.

So, to all women readers of this blog, single or taken, take a pledge with me. Promise to love and respect yourself enough to trust that their is someone out there for you. Someone who will love you and cherish you. Promise yourself that you won't settle for someone who sweet talks you without depth. Promise yourself that you will give yourself time alone to learn who you are, so that when you meet your match, you will feel the "fit." Respect yourself enough not to throw your love away on someone you know will not satisfy you. Keep asking yourself, "What do I need?" and "Is he able and willing to give me what I need?"

I never thought there would be anyone out there for me, and I was becoming quite content and happy in my single life. I basked in the freedom. Now, I don't know who is out there for me, but I have faith that he will come to me one day. One day, I will have my hug. Until that day, I will love myself enough to be content in what I have.

*****************************************************************************
I once heard this song by sheer luck on a friend's facebook wall (although she denies all memory of it). Ever since then, I have been enamored by the words. It's written by Jason Robert Brown (a true genius).
SOMEONE TO FALL BACK ON
I’ll never be
A knight in armor
With a sword in hand,
Or a kamikaze fighter;
Don’t count on me
To storm the barricades
And take a stand,
Or hold my ground;
You’ll never see
Any scars or wounds -
I don’t walk on coals,
I won’t walk on water:
I am no prince,
I am no saint,
I am not anyone’s wildest dream,
But I can stand behind
And be someone to fall back on.

Some comedy -
You’re bruised and beaten down
And I’m the one
Who’s looking for a favor.
Still, honestly,
You don’t believe me
But the things I have
Are the things you need.
You look at me
Like I don’t make sense,
Like a waste of time,
Like it serves no purpose -
I am no prince,
I am no saint,
And if that’s what you believe you need,
You’re wrong - you don’t need much,
You need someone to fall back on...

And I’ll be that:
I’ll take your side.
If I’m the only one,
I’m used to that.
I’ve been alone,
I’d rather be
The half of us,
The least of you,
The best of me.
And I will be
Your prince,
I’ll be your saint,
I will go crashing through fences
In your name. I will, I swear -
I’ll be someone to fall back on!
I’ll be the one who waits,
And for as long as you’ll let me,
I will be the one you need.
I’ll be someone to fall back on:
Your prince,
Your saint,
The one you believe you need
I’ll be - I’ll be
Someone to fall back on.

Mirror Mirror On the Wall

2011-10-17T22:12:00.000-07:00

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Am I the prettiest of them all?

Am I tall and thin enough?
Is my skin tan enough?
Is my face just soft enough, smooth enough?

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Do these pants help at all?
Does this shirt fit me right?
Are these shoes a stylish sight?

Mirror, mirror on the wall
I'm tired of being the lonely one.
I want to be liked.
To be popular too.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Will you be my friend today?
Will you tell me I'm alright?
Will you help me fit in tonight?

Mirror, mirror on the wall
I'm tired of being the ugly one.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
I'm tired of being the lonely one.

Mirror, mirror in my skin
Why couldn't I fit in?

I Don't Know Much About Love

2011-10-16T05:36:00.000-07:00

I don't know much in the way of love,
But if I had to imagine it
I'd think it feel something like:

The heater, blowing gently in the car as
The sunset rises in the horizon
And the music softly serenades you with its hum.

It's the blanket wrapped around you
The cup of hot chai tea held in one hand
A book in the other
As the rain washes away the outside.

When the rain begins slowly then begins to pour
And you go outside and dance, just dance
Feeling the joy and happiness
Instead of the chaff of soggy denim.

That's love.

Love, it's feeling of someone being there,
Holding you close.
Just a hug for better or for worse.

I don't know much about love.
But if I had to imagine.
I'd imagine it like this.

Crazy Aunt Syndrome

2011-10-13T07:04:00.000-07:00

I have completely taken upon myself the persona of "crazy aunt." Yet, I technically have no biological nieces or nephews. How did this phrase become coined? You ask. Simply put, I refuse to be called mom.

Let me explain further. While I'm not saying that somewhere down the line, I won't actually enjoy having children of my own, but that's in a future past my vivid imagination. As my friends put it, my children will either save or destroy the world, and they are going for destroy. I have two main hangups about having biological children.

1. For me, a family means a more permanent tie with roots and everything. Granted, I no matter what type of family I have, it will probably never (thankfully) be normal, I like my freedom to bounce, bounce, bounce. But, rest assured, if I do have children, I will always do what's in their best interest. I just don't want to do that now.

2. I really can't see myself doubled in a child again. The idea of mini-mes running around the world gives me nightmares. Arguing with myself, etc. I just hope my husband has a kick-butt temperament and personality that will be passed on, if and when, the time comes. Just as long as it doesn't come too soon.

Then there is a third consideration. If and when I ever have children, I want to adopt. I always have. I even remember an eighth grade conversation when I vowed that I was going to adopt children instead of having biological ones. I have been blessed with an amazing and supportive family, and I want to pass that on to someone who needs it. I want to take in an unloved child or teenager, and I want to look them in the eyes and tell them I love them, before gathering them in my arms for a huge hug.

Now, in the meantime, I play and thoroughly enjoy Crazy Aunt Syndrome. I have a passel of kids that I get to hug and tell I love you to at the shelter. I get to get down on the floor and roll around with them. I get to hug them and tell them how special they are, and how beautiful and precious they are. I'm not their mom, and I refuse to let them call me mom, but I am their crazy aunt. And I will never forget them.

Back to Scratch, or, at Least Reviewing It

2011-10-12T17:53:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been so focused on getting away from the analytical side of my personality (and the apathy that inevitably follows) that I feel I have completely swung to the other side. I've become overly emotional, and it's driving me crazy. For so long I had practiced control, and I've let my control slide. Now, I'm not saying I want to go back to the analytical me that kept involuntarily analyzing her favorite movies and finding too many faults, but I do want to find that balance. Tonight, I was going through some of my old school papers to try to "find" the me that I took pride in: the objective historian and the witty bibliophile that could spin a word web with ease. I haven't written anything academic in a while, and I need/want to. To inspire me, I'm going to start posting some of my old papers and eventually (hopefully), a new research paper. I love research, and if I can find the time, I hope to hone my skills and test them on you, my poor, dear, guinea pig of a reader.

This first paper is called "We are the People." While I have a bibliography to go with it, I have left out the original footnotes that went along with it to reserve my ownership integrity of the paper.

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We Are The People

“We are the people that use the Navajo language to make contribution to the war efforts for the freedom of our nation. And many people take it for -what we have, you know, the freedom, many people take it for granted. It's there, but what it takes is sacrifice of somebody in order to make it -- to enjoy the things that we have.” These are the words of Keith Little, a World War II Veteran, a Navajo Code Talker and a proud American. Little proudly served his country as a private in the Pacific Theatre of World War II where he sent and received messages in the intricate and difficult language of the Navajo people. After serving his country Keith Little made it back to his family safely, eventually becoming treasurer in the Code Talkers Association.

However, Little was not the only Native American to serve as a code talker in the war. Over 400 other Navajos served in the Marine Corps. In addition, Native Americans from nineteen other tribes served as army code talkers in the Western Theatre. Until recently the involvement of Native American tribes has received little attention, but they have served the United States in wartime since World War I when the military first discovered the usefulness of tribal languages for coding messages. Native American war-time contributions should be honored, not just because they brought a unique, almost unbreakable code to the wars, but because they served the United States before the government viewed them as citizens, before they were social equals, and because they were willing and happy to fight without recognition.

Throughout the first half of the twentieth century, Native Americans had many obstacles keeping them both socially and economically hindered. Until The Citizen Act of 1924, American Indians lacked governmental recognition as legitimate citizens, which also meant that they had no legal rights within the country. Even after gaining citizenship, they did not gain the freedoms under the Bill of Rights until the Indian Civil Rights Act of 1968. By the 1930s the United States government had begun enforcing mandatory education for Native Americans. In some families, like Keith Little’s, the parents would hide their children whenever an enforcement agent came around. The parents needed the children at home to help with the fields and animals. This self-imposed isolation propagated tribal customs, values, and languages, but constant reliance on their native languages kept them ostracized from the rest of society. When the children did go to school, they were banned from speaking in their native tongues. Today, it appears ironic that the children were forced to abandon one of the most vital war-time resources.

The lack of legitimate recognition as citizens did not stop the Choctaw and Comanche Indians from fighting in World War I. In 1917 Choctaw Indians fought as part of the American Expeditionary Force in France. Realizing that he had several men with the ability to converse in a tribal language, one commanding officer decided to utilize them to facilitate communications and coding. After being discovered by Captain Lawrence, James Edwards and Solomon Lewis became the first code talkers. The military had just begun using radios, and even then it proved risky due to German eavesdroppers. The unbreakable code of the Choctaws, as exhibited by Edwards and Lewis, helped with the reliability of radio usage. From thence forth many of the tribal soldiers were stationed in communications. This became the first use of Native American code talking in United States military history. Their resourceful use of their native language as a code helped save military personnel and supplies and facilitate preparations for the final assaults on the German army in 1918. In fact, the Choctaw participation in code talking led to victory at Forest Ferme. Commander of the 142nd Infantry stated, “The enemy’s complete surprise is evidence that he could not decipher the message.”
Eventually, the Germans discovered that the seemingly unbreakable code used by the American forces was a tribal language. As a result after the end of World War I, German spies flooded Indian reservations on the pretense of being tourists and scholars. However, out of all of the reservations that they visited, infiltrated and studied, for some reason no one came near the Navajos. By the time the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, the Navajos were among the few who possessed what one newspaper columnist described as a “hidden language.” For this reason, the Navajo Code Talkers are the most well known Native American contributors to World War II, and therefore the most well-known Native American contributors in this period. Only about twenty-eight non-Navajo peoples could understand the complex language, mainly scientists and missionaries.

As the son of a missionary, Philip Johnston grew up on a Navajo reservation, learning Navajo customs and language. Shortly after the United States entered into World War II, Johnston began developing the idea of code talking with the Navajos, essentially an “unbreakable code within a code.” After a test run involving Winston Chee from the Tribal Council, Philip Johnston and Major James E. Jones, Major General Clayton B. Vogel, Amphibious Forces commander, requested 200 recruits; however, Commandant Thomas Holcomb approved a pilot program of only 30 recruits. Later into the war code talkers from the various tribes attended a training base in either Georgia, Louisiana or California. Many soldiers could not pass the required language tests and never became code talkers.

The pilot program was developed on a volunteer basis. “Original 29” member Navajo Indian John Benally heard of the volunteer program through his work with the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA). Carl Gorman also joined the group, viewing the military as a good alternative to unemployment on the reservation. Carl Gorman and Keith Little are both examples of Navajo involvement despite the treatment suffered at the hands of the U.S. government. Gorman’s willingness to master the Navajo language and assist in its transformation into code is surprising considering that he was once chained to a pipe for a week after speaking in Navajo at his school.

Not only did the Navajos (and other Indian tribes) display a willingness to fight for the United States, they forged documents and lied about ages in order to join the military. Keith Little and a friend found a random stranger who agreed to thumbprint their papers, while Carl Gorman lied about his age in order to get into the Marines. At the time, he was too old to enlist. By the end of the war, 420 Navajo men had been enlisted and trained as code talkers in the Marine Corps. Thirteen men gave their lives in the line of duty.

Over and over again commanders have agreed that the active involvement of the code talkers in the wars proved vital to success, and that these men saved hundreds of lives. Major Howard stated, “Were it not for the Navajos, the Marines would have never taken the island: The work of the Navajos on Iwo Jima was impressive, but the larger point is that wherever they did their work they provided an indispensable advantage to those who wore the Globe and Anchor.” In 2001, Congress recognized the Sioux for their involvement in both the Pacific and Europe. In 2005 the Meskwawki gained recognition for their bravery in North Africa and were “credited with saving the lives of countless members of the United States Armed Forces and contributing significantly to the victory of the United States and its allies.”

These men fought for a variety of reasons. Some, like Carl Gorman, viewed the military as an employment opportunity. At a time when jobs for Americans, let alone societal outcasts, were scarce, the military served as a viable option. Others viewed the military as an extension of their heritage. Scholars have drawn several parallels from the tribal myths passed on from generation to generation to the involvement of the Indians in the wars. Symbols of some of these myths can even be seen in the colors worn by the Navajo Code Talkers. William Newmiller explains, “The symbolism of color remains important to the surviving Navajo Code Talkers, who appear in public wearing their uniform of red hat, gold shirt, khaki slacks, abalone colored shoes, bedecked with turquoise and silver and patches commemorating battles fought in the Pacific.” One Code Talker added, “The Red cap denotes the U.S. Marine Corps; the jewelry represents the Dine; the gold shirt symbolizes corn pollen; light-colored trousers represent Mother Earth; abalone-colored shoes stand for the sacred mountains."

Today these brightly-colored uniforms bring prestige and honor to the few remaining wearers, but this honor has only recently been given to the deserving men. For almost half a century after the end of World War II, very little mention or ceremony was given to the hundreds of code talkers who risked their lives in both theatres. No mention was given to those few who had served in World War I.

Part of the reason for this lack of recognition occurred due to military secrecy. Although a few leaks had occurred during training operations, little notice was given to the activities of a few Indians. When Arizona Highways leaked information about the training project during the war, Philip Johnston wrote a letter to the editor expressing both his disappointment over the leak and his appreciation of their high-quality “All Navajo” edition, of which he bought ten copies. Johnston understood the pride of the Navajos to be so recognized, yet their training and missions could only succeed if the language and project was kept a complete secret, which is why Keith Little recalls, “One of the things that they tell you is kept...don't say anything about what we're doing, not to anybody, not even to your girlfriend. Don't speak what we are doing into her ear.” Even after the war ended and the soldiers returned home, they were told not to talk of their involvement or any part of their wartime experience. For many, this imposed silence forced them to keep all the war’s terrors inside, ultimately leading to psychological scars.

Like any soldier serving in the war, the Code Talkers saw their share of the action. They witnessed their brothers-in-arms being killed right beside them. They saw American planes being bombed and shot down. They trudged through marshy waters and muddy embankments - all because they were told to do so. And while all of the chaos of war raged on around them, they used their code to quickly send and receive messages. At Iwo Jima alone, over 800 messages were sent with almost one hundred percent accuracy, and the Navajo Code Talkers sent these messages faster than any coding machine. Still, despite their bravery in the face of battle, their homecoming proved to involve a bleak reception and empty arms. The public had little to no knowledge of the affairs of the Code Talkers and their vital role in the war. These men who fought bravely and saved countless lives remained social outcasts. From their Asian-like features to their unintelligible language, the social barriers that existed before the wars remained in place. In addition many families of the Code Talkers still lived in primitive conditions and possessed neither the communication resources nor the money to meet their loved ones when they docked.

Coming home, many of the Code Talkers did not even realize the full impact of their involvement. They coded messages when they were told to code and kept silence when told to keep silent. With all of their bravery and quick-thinking, the Code Talkers rarely, if ever, received promotions. They entered and left the war with the rank of Private or Private First Class. Still, while the soldiers may have remained quiet about their affairs during the war, many used their veteran benefits in order to further their education. Carl Gorman eventually ended up teaching at the University of California at Davis, while Keith Little ended up teaching at a School in Brigham, Utah.

The first legitimate, national recognition occurred in 1969 when the government bestowed commemorative medals upon the 4th Marine Division. In 1982 President Ronald Reagan declared August 14th National Navajo Code Talkers’ Day. These first initiative steps were later followed by a series of award commendations, resolutions and acts passed by Congress in 1995, 2001, 2002, 2005 and 2008.

Today very few Code Talkers are left to give their stories. Every year, Code Talker reunions are held by the participants in order to finally share the stories of battle and remember the fallen comrades who died during. Congressional orders have brought the much needed recognition to their heroic service, but much of it has come too late. They served and lived their lives without recognition. Even now, when they can finally talk, they want the accolades to be used in order to honor their heritage, not themselves. “I think we are making the effort that the young people don't really know about their heritage, and that's what we're working on. We are the people that use the Navajo language to make contribution to the war efforts for the freedom of our nation . . . my weapon was my language, and that language probably saved countless lives.”

Bibliography
Primary Sources

Keith M. Little, interview by Ann Ramsey, July 19, 2004, Veterans History Project, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. http://lcweb2.loc.gov/diglib/vhp/story/loc.natlib.afc2001001.28922/#vhp:clip.

Letter from Philip Johnson to Raymond Carlton in "Addendum from Gallup, New Mexico." War, Literature & the Arts: An International Journal of the Humanities 17:1/2 (November 2005): 22-30.

Newmiller, William. "Addendum from Gallup, New Mexico." War, Literature & the Arts: An International Journal of the Humanities 17:1/2 (November 2005): 22-30.

Marder, Murrey."NAVAJO CODE TALK KEPT FOE GUESSING.” New York Times, September 19, 1945.

Thomas, Robert, Jr."Carl Gorman, Code Talker in WWII, Dies at 90.” New York Times, February 1, 1998.

U.S. Congress. Senate. Recognizing and Commending the Lakota and Dakota Code Talkers. S. Res. 116. 104th Cong. 1st sess. (May 8, 1995) from Thomas Collection: The Library of Congress. http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/z?c104:S.RES.116.

U.S. Congress. House. Sioux Code Talkers Recognition Act of 2001. H.R. 3250. 107th Cong. 1st sess. (November 7, 2001) from Thomas Collection: The Library of Congress. http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/D?c107:1:./temp/~c107MqwoCd.

U.S. Congress. Senate. Honoring the Choctaw and Comanche Code Talkers Act of 2002. S 2491. 107th Cong. 2nd sess. (May 9, 2002) from Thomas Collection: The Library of Congress. http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/z?c107:S.2491. .

U.S. Congress. House. Meskwaki Code Talkers Recognition Act of 2005. H.R. 3466. 109th Cong. 1st sess. (July 27, 2005) from Thomas Collection: The Library of Congress. http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/z?c109:H.R.3466.

U.S. Congress. Senate. Code Talkers Recognition Act of 2008. S. 2681. 110th Cong. 2nd sess. (February 29, 2008) from Thomas Collection: The Library of Congress. http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/z?c110:S.2681.

Winn, Marcia. "Front Views & Profiles: The Empty Saddles." Chicago Daily Tribune, March 6, 1946.

Secondary Sources

Aaseng, Nathan. Navajo Code Talkers. New York: Walker & Company, 1992.

Barsh, Russel Lawrence. “American Indians in the Great War.” Ethnohistory, 38:3 (Summer 1991), 276-303.

Durrett, Deanna. Unsung Heroes of World War II: The Story of the Navajo Code Talkers. New York: Facts On File, Inc., 1998.

Gilbert, Oscar E and Raffaele Ruggeri. Native American Code Talker in World War II. Oxford: Osprey Publishing, 2008.

McClain, Sally. Navajo Weapon: The Navajo Code Talkers. Tucson, Arizona: Rio Nuevo Publishers, 2001.

Meadows, William C. "'They Had a Chance to Talk to One Another ...': the Role of Incidence in Native American Code Talking." Ethnohistory 56:2 (2009): 269+. .

---. The Comanche Code Talkers of WWII. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2002.

Newmiller, William. "The Navajo Code Talkers and Their Photographer." War, Literature & the Arts: An International Journal of the Humanities 17: 1/2 (November 2005): 6-21.

“Origins of the Navajo Code Talkers: Cryptologic Brilliance, Linguistic Expertise, Dedication to Duty,” www.nsa.gov (accessed 27 April, 2010).

Walker, Willard. “The Comanche Code Talkers of World War II.” International Journal of American Linguistics, 66:4 (Oct., 2000), 563-564.

---. “More on the Cryptographic Use of Native American Languages in Tactical Operations by United States Armed Forces.” International Journal of American Linguistics 49:1 (Jan., 1983), 93-97.

On Russia: AKA The Things I Learned

2011-10-08T17:06:00.001-07:00

Question 1. Did you have a lot of good experiences? Was Russia really bad?

Yes, I would say about 85-90% of my experiences were good, which compared to many bloggers out there, makes me feel extremely lucky and blessed.

Question 2. Would you do it again if you could?
Yes and No. I could do Russia again. In fact, I was strongly considering staying in Zgrad. I have made so many friends there, and I loved the people I worked with. But, as much as I enjoyed my time there, Russia itself is not for me. I want to see more of the world, to experience life and different cultures. But most importantly, I want to work as more than a ESL teacher. I want to be in a place where I can use my skills to work with and help people on a more personal level.

Top 15 things I've learned:
1. Friendship is as much about being humble enough to take and accept help as it is about giving help.

2. Ice hurts. It is my mortal enemy.

3. No matter how long the winter may last, spring is always on the other side.

4. Even when you feel absolutely alone and isolated from everything familiar, the stars and moon are so much bigger than you. In fact, they are big enough to connect you and your loved ones back home.

5. It's as important to have laughter in your work atmosphere as it is to have professional respect.

6. When your AD isn't happy, no one says a word.

7. Students come in all shapes, sizes and personalities. The trick is to find out more about them than their name.

8. It is possible to have your favorite student in your class be your worst nightmare.

9. I absolutely love and adore my New English File Intermediate class and my English in Mind Intermediate class. Which basically makes me think that intermediate is the best level to teach.

10. I am extremely blessed to have such a wonderful group of coworkers and friends.

11. I don't have to feel guilty when things go well for me. When I do get gifts and blessings, I should accept them with thanks and realize that maybe, just maybe, I might deserve them after all.

12. Life is full of ups and downs, but I worship a God is absolutely in control.

13. There are no such things as coincidences. Everything is a chain of events with a purpose.

14. Sushi really is fantastically amazing!

15. When you work hard and refuse to give up, dreams really do come true, even if they're not what you expected.

Well, here they are dear readers. The faithful few who have kept up with my journey know some of the highs and lows of my life as a ESL teacher in Zgrad, Russia. Maybe I've inspired you, scared you, or just entertained you. Either way, thank you for taking this journey with me.

It's a Love-Hate Relationship

2011-10-06T23:05:00.001-07:00

Here's the thing. For those of you are aren't obsessed with this underrated blog, I am an advocate at a domestic violence shelter. And I love it! I love working the people (especially the little children), and I love working with the clients, and meeting challenges head-on.

However, I am beginning to THINK that I'm not so good at it. This bothers me more than a little. Anyone who has known me for a while (since my high school days or before) knows that my personality type is geared toward perfectionism. And, even though I have worked extremely hard on that, and have geared down a whole heck of a lot, my basic instinct tells me that if I don't get something right away, I'm a failure at it.

Logically, I know this isn't true, but when I'm used to getting, doing, and understanding things easily, it becomes frustrating to know that there are things you just can't do. Now, notice that I emphasized the word THINK in the previous paragraph. This is because I'm not sure. My main problem comes from the fact that I've been working four weeks, and I've already made one client and one teenage child of a client mad at me. Well, pissed beyond reason is more accurate.

But, I have two theories as to why this is so.
1. When I was interviewed for the job, I was told that the supervisors were looking for people who would stick to the rules and make sure the clients followed the rules. When the advocates get relaxed, then the clients get relaxed and too comfortable, and the shelter falls apart. Well, I'm definitely one to follow the rules. As much as possible, I try to make the clients follow the rules and several of them complain about it.

Additionally, I don't yell. I have never raised my voice, even when "reprimanding" a client. I say reprimanding, but there's not much I can do. I have never used language. I keep my voice steady and even, slightly monotoned. This makes them even angrier I think. I even got called prissy today. I didn't know to laugh or cry at this accusation. Sometimes, I think they would prefer it if I yelled. They may be much more used to it and know how to handle it better.

2. The second theory could be that my personality is just not suitable. While I do have some good relations with some of the clients, I may be slightly off-putting with my forceful rule-following, and low, even voice. I know I'm not a natural conversationalist, but I am a good listener and problem-solver (most of the time). But I'm also direct (usually).

Anyways, the past week has been rough. Just when I think I'm making progress and growing, a bomb explodes with force. And I've only been working four weeks. I think back to Russia and remember how bad I was at first, and that gives me hope. But still, when you are being attacked by the people you want to help, then . . . And, despite it all, I still really enjoy my job. And, as depressed as I get about these matters, I still am actually rather happy and hopeful in general right now. I feel and see things working out. I know who holds my future, and I can rejoice and "be exceedingly glad."

The good news is that I have amazing friends. Seriously, I have been blessed by God with so many amazing people in my life that are great encouragements to me. And, I know that I can always call and vent to one of them when things get extra stressful. They always know how to put a smile on my face. Yes, you guys know who you are, and I thank you a thousand times over for putting up with me and seeing me through. You guys allow me to express anger and sadness, but you also allow me to be my general kooky self without judgment or amazed shock.

Since I have now poured out and purged myself of all emotion regarding tonight, I'm going to go back to being happy and light-hearted. Because, that's the me I want to be.

I am Woman. See me . . . Cook?

2011-10-03T12:49:00.000-07:00

God bless her. I love her. I really, really love my dear Memaw, but unfortunately she is a prime example of where the Church is well … stuck.

Reared in the good ol’ Little House on the Prairie days, my Memaw is a stubbornly hard worker, who knows no bounds in what she can accomplish. Growing up on a farm, she learned how to cook everything from scratch, pick cotton, beans, and various fruits, and keep a meticulous house. The whole family would tease her that her purpose in life was to wake the roosters. And, no one has a more generous heart than my Memaw.

However, her upbringing has made her a firm believer in the traditional roles that males and females are to play in the game called “House.” While she has no qualms in women working, she does have something to say about a wife not having three meals on the table (at a set time) and a clean house. My papaw unfortunately only perpetuates the stereotype by picking on the small things that aren't done to his satisfaction. She then takes it even further by lamenting the fact that young girls today have no idea or inclination to cook. (Which to my historian’s mind and personal experience is a huge exaggerated generalization.)

My cousin is getting married this December; she is the first of the grandkids to enter holy matrimony. And she has been getting an earful from my dear grandmother about wifely duties. While hearing it at first may make one laugh to think that such things are still expected in our modern world, after a while, it has slowly taken an edge in her life. And understandably so. Especially since her fiancé actually enjoys cooking.

Now, to bring this back around to the Church. I just began the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge, and I’m loving it. For those who have never heard about the book, it takes a new look at Christian men and women from the viewpoint of excepting and embracing who you are instead of feeling like you’re not living up to the Church’s standards. Because, let’s face it, the Church has a way of making us feel inadequate and/or tiredly depressed if we do meet all of the demands.

One point the authors make is:
“The church has not been a big help here. No, that’s not quite honest enough. The church has been part of the problem. Its message to women has been primarily ‘you are here to serve. That’s why God created you: to serve. In the nursery, in the kitchen, on the various committees, in your home, in your community.’ Seriously now – picture the women we hold up as models of femininity in the church. They are sweet, they are helpful, their hair is coiffed; they are busy, they are disciplined, they are composed, and they are tired.

Think about the women you meet at church. They’re trying to live up to some model of femininity. What do they ‘teach’ you about being a woman? … Like we said, you’d have to conclude that a godly woman is . . . tired. And guilty. . . . Is that supposed to be godly – that sense that you are a failure as a woman?”

I LOVED this passage, because I think it hits the proverbial nail on the head. No one is that perfect, to serve in all of these capacities. Well, at least to serve and NOT get too run down to enjoy life. Most of my life mantras have come from watching the people around me, and one thing I have come to insist upon in my own life is that I am going to enjoy it. I watch my mother and me memaw work so hard to get everything on their lists accomplished. But, at the end of the day, they are too tired and worn out to get any enjoyment out of their labors. My thought is then “why bother.”

I understand that we all have responsibilities in this life, and many of them we don’t/won’t enjoy, but to work solely for work and enjoy nothing…THAT is extreme. And when it causes us to lose focus, it becomes completely unbiblical.

Now, all this being said. I cook. Yes, I have lunch on the table every day for my mother . . . at a specific, set time. I also bake cakes and cookies (or at least I’m learning). How does this mesh with my firmly-set (Christian) feminist attitude I parade around? Easy. I cook because I enjoy it. I love experimenting and creating dishes that other people can enjoy. And, yes. I will whole-heartedly agree that cooking is a great survival tool. But I am never going to condemn someone because they don’t have a meal on a table at a specific time (as long as they aren’t starving or mal-nourishing children because of their lack knowledge and/or skills).

What does this mean for my future game of “House?” Easy. It means that I will cook when I want or need to, but I won’t let anyone make me feel guilty that 1) I’m a woman and 2) I’m not the perfect Susie Housekeeper. If my future partner wants to cook, all the more power to him. If he especially likes something I cook and requests it – GREAT! But, I’m not going to slave around a house when there are two (or more) people who are capable of working in it with me.

Basically it comes down to the fact that I have OPTIONS. As long as no one is assigning me and boxing me into one role, it will all work fine. I'll cook. I'll clean. I'll do what needs doing because I want to; it needs to be done; and I can. But Lord help the person who tells me "I have to because I'm a woman."

For my great feminist opinions, I’ve been blessed with my own home. I had a father who was willing to cook and clean right along with my mom. Even my brothers and I had our turn cooking during the week as well as weekly chores. Although if my father knew that he was encouraging my feminist mind, he would probably balk (although not in the usual way because he is not anti-feminist, just that males and females were created differently and therefore should not be called "the same." But that's a whole other post.).

Basically, taking it back to the bible again. A house is like the church which is like the body. It takes everyone. We can’t assign one role to one person based on gender anymore. After all, if an artist can paint with their feet and mouth, then a man can cook a casserole and a child can vacuum a floor.

The Stalker in Me

2011-10-02T17:12:00.001-07:00

Let’s face it. Anyone who knows me knows I get depressed easily. This can be attributed to a variety of reasons – at least that’s what I’ve been told, or at least led to believe. Some of my favorite reasons are because “I’m an artist,” but more importantly “It’s genetic.” While some of these factors may be true, I refuse to let them define me, control me.

Yes, my mother is bipolar, and depression runs in the family, but I’m not bipolar. I don’t have to let my feelings take control. Yes, I’m an artist, and a single song can put me through an emotional roller coaster ride, but I can choose not to act out because of that roller coaster.

It’s hard. Man, is it hard sometimes. And for the longest time, I had no idea had to get my emotions under control, so that they wouldn’t affect my life, my choices. But then God started showing me, in small, understated ways, things to do, thoughts to dwell on – to make me, well, saner. It's a daily fight for me, to keep a more cheery disposition. Some days, I do really well. Sometimes I can go days and weeks at a time being pure sunshine. But that doesn't mean it's not a fight. It just means that I'm good at fighting.

Basically, it all boils down to one key: the simple things. However, among my greatest cathartic sources are:

1. Music – Like I said, a single song can put me in an emotional tailspin, but eventually I circle the 360 degrees needed to put me back on top. The trick is to find the right genre, the right theme, the right words.

2. Art – This one only works when I can get completely out of my head. I have to get so involved in the piece itself, that the entire world slips away. Whether it’s poetry, writing in general, or actual art, as I put my emotions on paper, through graphite or the alphabet, it gets out of me. It changes me. I start to see and understand things which I had been oblivious to before.

3. Reading – This is pretty much self-explanatory.

4. Walking - Long, long walks. 3-4 miles of music and walking. Loud, quiet, soul-wrenching. Walking.

5. Stalking – Let me explain, because this is probably the most important reason for my sanity, for my strength. All of the other cathartic exercises are good, in that they help me get everything out of my system. But, at the same time, they also keep others out and isolate me. A catch-22, because the more I’m isolated, the easier it is for me to become depressed.

Now, I’m not a social person by nature, but I’ve learned through the past 22 years that I need society. Well, at least I need my own social circle. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve had to learn how to do, to reach out. By nature I keep things in, hidden where no one can see. But, I’ve had examples in my life that show me the dangers of that. So, naturally I swung to the extreme. Where I used to keep everything in, now I keep nothing in. I rarely keep a personal secret.

Part, if not most of this lack of balance is due to fear. I’m so afraid that if I slip up, then I will turn into my mother, and while that’s not a completely bad thing as my mother is a completely WONDERFUL person, she’s also in permanent pain.

So, all this is to say that I “stalk” my friends, to keep me in check. When I’m hurting or upset, I’ll constantly text or facebook comment in order to keep ties to someone other than myself. We all want to feel like we’re listened to, heard. But for me it goes beyond that. Personally, most of the time I couldn’t care less if someone actually paid attention and listened to me. I would be just as happy hearing them speak of themselves. I just want to know that there is someone out there I’m connected to. That I’m not alone. Even if we’re carrying on two different conversations.

Often times I think I over-chat to the point of annoyance on the part of my friends. Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But, in the end, I keep my sanity (well, sort of). :D

On a side note, I would like to add that I don’t ONLY talk to my friends when I’m upset. I also speak to them and listen and stalk them when THEY are upset. And oftentimes, I like talking to them when I’m happy. Let’s face it. It sucks seeing something or hearing something that makes you smile, but you have no one to share it with. So, I share it with my friends who are hundreds and thousands of miles away. :D

When the Dark Comes: Bad Dreams vs. Nightmares

2011-10-02T12:25:00.001-07:00

Nightmares and Bad Dreams

Last night I suffered through a plague of bad dreams. Seriously, it was just one bad dream after another. I miserably woke up in a bad mood. I hate that!

My dreams, realistically disturbing as they were, took more of a surreal approach. Filled with demons, goblins, alternate dimensions, running and searching for the unknown, I felt like I was partaking in an episode of Buffy meets the Twilight Zone. Which is weird, because I haven’t watched an episode of Buffy in about a month, at least, and I’ve only watched a tiny fraction of the Twilight Zone when I was, like, 8. Nevertheless, here I was plunged into so many demonic variables, that my brain could not settle down because the me in my dream was constantly running.

And, that’s the thing I hate most. When I dream, I know I’m dreaming – that it’s not real. But, I can’t pull myself out of it. The vivid reality of the dreams traps me into this dreamland possession, kidnapping my mind. I can’t wake up by myself.

But, I did get to thinking. As bad as the dreams were, they weren’t nightmares – at least not to me.

See, everything that happened in these dreams last night was physical. It was a physical terror that plagued me. It made me slightly afraid, and uncomfortable, and worried. But, it was just a BAD dream.

No, my nightmares take on a whole new realm of fear. My nightmares terrify me with psychology. Let me explain. I rarely ever have nightmares. But when they come, I wake up shaking. Not just in a bad mood, I’m terrified, nauseous, and panicking. Basically, my nightmares target my biggest issue – Trust.

My nightmares may follow different paths to get there, but they all focus on the same theme. They start out solely as a BAD dream. Something bad happens. Either myself or my family or friends are getting attacked. Panic and fear occur. Darkness creeps up. We are separated. But I see something. Some vital clue that would solve everything (of course my ego has no place in my dreams). I race, trying to find somebody to share this life-saving piece of information with. But… Here’s one of my most recent nightmares.

My family comes to visit on campus at Liberty. It’s graduation time. I’m so excited to show them the place I’ve made my home for the past three years. It’s the place where I’ve learned to learn, love, laugh, be a friend. I meet them on that first day. And everything is good. We’re all happy. I show them around South campus, DeMoss, North campus. I introduce them to my friends. Everything is good.

But then night comes. We’re all sleeping in a dormitory, my bed is in the room next to theirs. I hear shots from down the hall. I don’t know what’s happening, but I climb under my bed, letting the bedding hang over the side, hiding me from view. Then I peek out from under the bedding, and I see two girls running past. I’m shocked. I know them. I had just introduced them to my parents. They were my friends. Sisters. (For privacy I won’t reveal their names, because I know in life they are really not homicidal killers, and I would hate to give them that reputation).

Anyways, they run to my room and look in. They see nothing and move on. I run into my parents room, and to my astonishment they are asleep. I try to wake them up, and just as I do, the sisters run into my family’s room sans guns. Acting all concerned and what not, they fill in my dazed and sleep-deprived family on the recent shooting events, excluding themselves as the killers of course. They ask my parents about their well-being and make a big to-do about making sure they feel safe. They offer to take my parents to their dormitory.

I don’t know why I didn’t make anything of this at that point in my dream. Why were they busying themselves about my family? At that point in time though, all I knew was that I was too scared to say anything in front of them.

That’s when the BAD dream turns into a nightmare. I couldn’t tell my parents that these two, seemingly innocent and thoughtful girls had just slaughtered a dormitory full of people a few minutes ago, with these two maniacs standing in front of us. I couldn’t even explain why they didn’t kill my family or myself in the shooting. I just knew that I couldn’t let my family go with them. I pulled out excuse after excuse, trying to get my parents to listen to me, and understand that we could not go with the Sisters. But I was ignored.

That’s the beginning.

They went with them. And I felt my heart begin to crumble right there. I spent the rest of the night wandering the streets, wondering what I could do to keep my family safe. The next morning I went to find them. I had to tell them. I had to make them see.

The Sisters had gone all out. They were charming and persuasive. They took good care of my parents. When I found them the next morning, my parents …they were not MY parents. I talked to my mom when I found a second. I told her what I had seen. She did not believe me. She left me and walked away. I tried to tell my dad. Again and again and again I did everything I could to make them listen, understand. To believe me. I was desperate and hurting. These were MY parents, who promised to love me and keep me safe. How could they believe these strangers over ME? How could I become some second-rate daughter that they would ignore and swat away. How could they turn from me when all I wanted was to save them, protect them.

I felt miserable, dejected, isolated from everything I had once loved and believed in. Nothing I tried would help. And I kept seeing the smiles on the Sisters’ faces. I was nauseous and high-strung. I was helpless to get my own parents to believe in me when I had done nothing wrong. They made my parents turn from me. I was alone. I had trusted and believed in them, and they let me down. I was alone.

I walked away. Alone. I had no other choice.

That is my nightmare. And as bad as last night’s dreams were, they couldn’t touch the heart-wrenching agony I go through in my nightmares.

Providence and Victoria: Two Serendipitous Beings

2011-09-19T21:53:00.000-07:00

Today, I continued to try to "get glad in the same pants I got mad" in (except they were actually different pants of course, it being a different day and all). To do this I did a couple of things.

1) I talked to my best friend Victoria, who is an amazing and wonderful woman and mother (and probably the only reader of this blog so I have to lavish on the praise generously). :D Victoria is the person I freely rant and rave to. I tell her who I'm crushing on, who I'm about to kill, etc.

2) I realized that despite everything, God has been really good to me. I came home to help things settle down at home, to cook and clean and help my mom. And while I don't know how much of a help I've been to my mom, I do know that she sounds about a hundred times more positive. And I know that I love her beyond words.

I also realized that God has blessed me with an incredible job that I love. For the past two and a half weeks, I have been training to work at a Domestic Violence shelter for women and children. I get to help protect and defend those who have gone through physical and emotional tragedies. I get to be a voice and a light. And I love it. Not everyone is grateful, and there are problems upon problems that occur every day. But, I love it.

I love working with the moms, but I especially adore the children. I love the challenge that comes from solving a problem, whether it be logistical or emotional. I love helping people and showing them that life can be different. That they DO have power, and that they don't have to stand alone. The shelter is behind them. I am behind them.

Many of the women who come in don't know how to do basic things like cooking or cleaning. Some of them have never been allowed to handle their own money and finances. A few of them are in custody battles or are afraid of losing their beloved children (because they do love them, they really do) to the state.

My job allows me to speak out and to guide. I am able to defend them, not only from their abusers but from themselves. And, while I know and understand that I can't help/save everybody, I love that I am in a place where I can try.

Thank you God. You know just what I needed, what I wanted, even when I didn't.

Flashes of Red

2011-09-18T16:55:00.000-07:00

Red. I'm seeing red. Nothing but red. Why you ask? One word: VERIZON!

My entire family have been loyal Verizon customers for about ten years now. I remember my first cell phone; it was a KRAZR. My second phone was a LG Envy2. I had that phone until I went to Russia. While in Russia, I ended up getting a phone I fell in love with. My baby was thin, black and silver, very light, and it fit in this beautiful sheath case with a cool art-deco design. I could download my itunes library on it, and I had access to the internet, with a special icon for facebook. But, more importantly, it was about a tenth of the cost as an American cell plan through Verizon (or anywhere for that matter). Part of that love had to do with the European way of handling mobile phones - basically pay as you go with low rates. So, I could access internet on my phone at my whim without paying a monthly data package.

But then I had to return home. Now, I'm all for capitalism, and I truly believe that companies should, for the most part, have free reign to increase profit margins, etc. But let's remember customer service. When I was in Russia, I always bragged about American customer service, especially in regards to Russian customer service. But then Verizon comes into the picture.

To begin with, my lovely Russian phone will not work with a Verizon plan, so I ended up getting a Blackberry Curve 3G 9330 in a lovely shade of - well, it's a shiny dark pink/rose color. And, after I got used to it's quirky personality, I really liked it. I especially liked the data capabilities - GPS, 24/7 facebook, google and wikipedia at my fingertips - it was GREAT!

Now, when I first got my phone the first week of July, there were some issues getting everything activated. After about 6 hours on the phone over a 2 day period, it was discovered that my phone was programmed incorrectly. But, never fear, it was resolved - AND I got Verizon credit to assauge my frustration over the fact that some nincompoop made me spend six hours on the phone with a company. Thankfully though, after those initial problems, my love affair with my blackberry went on rather smoothly, and my Russian phone never said one word of reproach.

Then, out of the blue this week, around Tuesday or Wednesday, my internet connection disappeared. I called and after about an hour of reprogramming, manually registering and re-registering, activating and deactivating and reactivating, the technician told me my phone, my beautiful phone, needed to be replaced. So, he over-nighted me another Blackberry Curve.

This new phone was beautiful, and I dialed the number to activate it in eager anticipation of the new facebook status updates just waiting to be read. But NO! That would be to easy. "Activation Unsuccessful" popped onto my screen. Love affair ended. But, like a scorned mistress trying to keep her man, I called Verizon and begged to get things back to how they were. An hour and a half later, I was told that there were issues with the Blackberry PIN number, and that nobody would be able to use this phone. But, "never fear," the poor, tired guy told me. "I will over-night you another phone, and you will have it tomorrow."

Tired and weary, I trusted him and said good bye. But, later that day, the technician called me back. "I have been checking into your problem," he said. "And it seems that you are not the only one with this problem. There is a network issue with all blackberry users in the area, and a master ticket has been started. In the meantime, feel free to use your original phone for calling and texting."

The next day the replacement for the replacement phone arrived. I called Verizon to check and see if the issue had been resolved, and I was told that it had been. There should be no trouble activating the new phone and enjoying my data services. But, there was. The new phone was programmed on an Altel system and would not recognize Verizon services. Verizon could not activate it. So, what did we do? The technician had me go back to the original phone, and put me through all the tricks and tests that I did the first day. Still, no luck. But, by this point I could have told him that. Then, we activated the first replacement phone. And it worked. There WAS no PIN issue. Never had been. But, did I get data services? NO!

Once again, we reactivated, deactivated, manually registered, and programmed, and reprogrammed the phone. By this time, I could get a job as a Verizon technician. I knew what they were going to try before they did. Still, no enchiladas appeared on my plate to satiate my growing hunger (a metaphor for the intense frustration and weariness I felt after now hours of Verizon abuse). To make matters worse, I knew the technician was unhappy and getting mad at ME. Because of course, their lack of competence was all MY fault. Finally, he told me, "Well, it's not your phone, and it's not the network coverage, so it must be your plan. I'll put in a ticket and have the guys review and recreate your plan and profile." My response: "Sure, anything at this point."

Today, I get a voicemail saying the issue had been resolved. What I would need to do is drive three-four hours away, across state lines, into TEXAS, in order to reconnect to a Verizon tower. Then, I could reprogram my phone and everything would be dandy.

Let me get this straight. I have to spend a DAY driving in order to do a 30 second programming call? ARE YOU CRAZY?!? So, me being my masochistic self, I call Verizon demanding an answer to my three questions.

1. Why did I not have to do this when I first got my phone? I was in the EXACT same location, with the same phone. Yes, there were programming errors, but those were handled without me spending a day and $75 dollars driving out-of-state. What is so different now?

No Answer

2. Why now? Why has it worked fine for three months, and THEN nothing?

Well, technically we recommend that any customer with a data services of any kind reprogram with the Verizon tower every ninety days or so. Your phone really isn't the best phone for your area.

Follow-up question to #2: REALLY!?!? Then why did you not tell me this when I ordered it over the phone, and you asked for my zipcode and address? Why did you not tell me this any of the ten or fifteen times I called you?

No answer.

3. Why is it just me and my phone. My papaw lives in the exact same house I do, and he has the EXACT same phone. Why does he not have to drive to a different state to get his data service?

No answer.

Then, to add insult to injury, the manager (which I had demanded to speak to by this point), tells me that he can let me out of my contract or send my a dinky free phone (I had three whole options, none of which he would recommend to me, which was probably why they were free). I finally asked him if I could update my service coverage in Albuquerque since I would be going there in about a week and a half. He said yes. And, being so benevolent, he offered to give me credit for the amount of one month of data services. There was no help or credit on how I'm supposed to do this every three months though. Does he really think that I'm going to be fortunate enough to have a conference in Albuquerque every three months? Or does he think I'm stupid or rich enough to run into Texas every three months?

Anyways, I have another week or more without the full use of my Blackberry. Sadly, I will have to find a new love for my life as this affair is now over. Any takers out there? Anyone?

*****************************************************************************************

Additionally, this week I had my TB test done for work. The thing is I was warned up front by my memaw and mom that our family are carriers. Almost everyone, my memaw, mom, aunt, and uncles all test positive for TB on the skin test, but they never have it (as proven by the x-ray).

So, I told my doctor right away that my family are carriers and that everyone has tested positive. And they always have to resort to x-rays. Does he listen? No. He does the skin test anyway instead of sending me straight to x-ray. Surprise, Surprise. I develop a large, red, raised circle around the injection shot. This MUST mean I have TB. So, I get an x-ray. I haven't received the official results yet, but I'm 99.9% sure that he's going to tell me that I'm negative for TB. Go figure. In the meantime, I have an itchy, red rash that isn't going away. An increasingly large doctor's bill. And a doctor that wants me to get re-tested every year, despite the fact that leading officials say that's the worst thing a carrier can do as the skin test will actually increase chances of carriers developing TB.

And, to top things off, my foot, which has been hurting me for months now and makes working out impossible, is not responding to medication, which means I have to shell out $30+ to see a specialist.
********************************************************************************************
And, because I'm on a ranting roll, I'm lonely. I miss my friends and I miss that seemingly non-existent guy. I just want someone who will say to me, "Look, I'm not going to tell you that this doesn't suck. And, I'm not going to tell you that I can solve all your problems. But, I will tell you that I will be here with you. And you can yell and rant at me all you want, and I won't leave you. I'll make you laugh, and I'll hold your hand. And I'll stay with you."

Now, I know I'm insane. But, I'm a firm believer in making the impossible possible as shown by my dozen or so calls to Verizon. Sometimes I'm lucky; sometimes I'm not. In the meantime, I'm going to watch Moulin Rouge and purge by giving into my sappy romantic notions and dreams.

Anyways, I'll end by saying quoting my mom. "You can get glad in the same pants you get mad in." Mom, I'll work on this, starting now. Love you!

Pope's Essay on Man: Biblical Foundations or Not?

2011-09-11T09:09:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer
This essay was written in preparation for a debate on the relevance and congruence of Pope's Essay with Christian principles. The position taken in this essay was the one assigned to me, and henceforth not necessarily my complete opinion. In order to keep the spirit of debate and intellectual stimulus alive, I would love to hear your stance on the issue.

Derived from Pope's Essay on Man, Epistle 1
While Pope’s Essay on Man does contain religious principles, his religious outlook should not be taken as a Christian, biblical worldview. For within his essay, Pope’s emphasis lies purely on the natural order of things, without taking into consideration that man is a fallen being and that earth itself, while filled with the wonders and signs of God, also possesses the handprints of its fallen inhabitants. As a result, this essay will dispute Pope’s claims of the Great Chain of Being (and all of its implications), the faulty assumption that man is as perfect as he can be in the here-and now, and Pope’s reliance on reason through general revelation and knowledge without considering the implications of faith and special revelation.

Drawing on his Catholic background and faith, Pope advocates for the Great Chain of Being and draws most of his arguments from this rigid hierarchy which states that the great order is God, Angels, Man. While the basic concepts of order, placing man under God is correct, the underlying layers of the concept which come from it, and to which Pope alludes, do not align to a Christian worldview. Among these concepts is complacency with the status quo.

Lines 69 and 80 read, “Then say not Man’s imperfect, Heav’n in fault; Say rather, Man’s as perfect as he ought.” While the claim that heaven is not to be blamed for the bad tidings on earth holds to a biblical standard, the claim that man is as perfect as he should be disagrees with the Christian belief that Christians should strive toward perfection and Christ-likeness. Because man is fallen, he is not as perfect as he ought to be. Romans 1 is just one example where God condemns men for becoming “filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity.”

In addition to the rigid hierarchy, Pope uses Nature and the natural way of things in order to establish man’s place in the world. However, while man is organic and natural, the Bible clearly places humans above the natural order of things. The fact that man was created in the likeness of God, takes men out of the realms of angels, fauna and flora. By using the reason and knowledge of which Pope speaks, we can see that while most of the natural world runs in a cyclical sphere (seasons, the “circle of life,” etc), man, as represented in the Bible, runs on a linear scale ranging from the Creation to the Crucifixion and ending at the New Jerusalem. The comparisons Pope uses in section II therefore, are out-of-context for his argument.

Another point deals with Pope’s, almost deistic look on man and reason. Pope expounds on the concept that man is just part of a whole. As a result, he can only see part of the way things are or are to be, and therefore has no right to judge or assess himself or God. In many ways, Pope models the dialogue between Job and God. God does rebut Job for questioning his fairness and remarks on Job’s limited scope of knowledge, but this man who dared to question God ends up with more rewards than the men who passively accepted the way things were. In addition, while man does not have knowledge of everything, God has seen fit to give men wisdom and understanding, prophecies, visions, and other knowledge outside the scope of reason. According to James 1.5 this information, while usually outside the scope of man’s “order in the hierarchy” comes specifically when man refuses to be content with his state of “perfection” and asks for it. As such, it is a form of special revelation.

The idyllic manner in which Pope portrays the Indian draws on the Indian’s use of general revelation in order to come to some understanding of a higher power. General revelation can be an excellent source for reason. As observations are made about the natural world and its systems, conclusions can be drawn. To this extent, Pope draws conclusions about man’s limited, finiteness and places him on the hierarchal scale as a result. However, while many of his conclusions are true to an extent, the use of reason as a whole end in and of itself does not allow for the use of Special Revelation as sent by God. The psalms are filled with special revelations, as are Jesus’ miracles. According to Psalm 8, God created man just a little lower than Himself and in Genesis we find that man is made in the likeness of God, whereas the angels were not. According to natural observations and reason and through perverted pride, the Great Chain of Being has dictated that man is below both God and angels, but this does not hold with scriptures which, while speaking of man’s inferiority, also speaks of man’s great potential.

Essay on Man from http://www.fullbooks.com/Essay-on-Man1.html
EPISTLE I.

Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things
To low ambition, and the pride of kings.
Let us (since life can little more supply
Than just to look about us and to die)
Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man;
A mighty maze! but not without a plan;
A wild, where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot;
Or garden tempting with forbidden fruit.
Together let us beat this ample field,
Try what the open, what the covert yield;
The latent tracts, the giddy heights, explore
Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar;
Eye Nature's walks, shoot Folly as it flies,
And catch the manners living as they rise;
Laugh where we must, be candid where we can;
But vindicate the ways of God to man.

I. Say first, of God above, or man below
What can we reason, but from what we know?
Of man, what see we but his station here,
From which to reason, or to which refer?
Through worlds unnumbered though the God be known,
'Tis ours to trace Him only in our own.
He, who through vast immensity can pierce,
See worlds on worlds compose one universe,
Observe how system into system runs,
What other planets circle other suns,
What varied being peoples every star,
May tell why Heaven has made us as we are.
But of this frame, the bearings, and the ties,
The strong connections, nice dependencies,
Gradations just, has thy pervading soul
Looked through? or can a part contain the whole?
Is the great chain, that draws all to agree,
And drawn supports, upheld by God, or thee?

II. Presumptuous man! the reason wouldst thou find,
Why formed so weak, so little, and so blind?
First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess,
Why formed no weaker, blinder, and no less;
Ask of thy mother earth, why oaks are made
Taller or stronger than the weeds they shade?
Or ask of yonder argent fields above,
Why Jove's satellites are less than Jove?
Of systems possible, if 'tis confest
That wisdom infinite must form the best,
Where all must full or not coherent be,
And all that rises, rise in due degree;
Then in the scale of reasoning life, 'tis plain,
There must be, somewhere, such a rank as man:
And all the question (wrangle e'er so long)
Is only this, if God has placed him wrong?
Respecting man, whatever wrong we call,
May, must be right, as relative to all.
In human works, though laboured on with pain,
A thousand movements scarce one purpose gain;
In God's one single can its end produce;
Yet serves to second too some other use.
So man, who here seems principal alone,
Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown,
Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal;
'Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.
When the proud steed shall know why man restrains
His fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains:
When the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod,
Is now a victim, and now Egypt's god:
Then shall man's pride and dulness comprehend
His actions', passions', being's, use and end;
Why doing, suffering, checked, impelled; and why
This hour a slave, the next a deity.
Then say not man's imperfect, Heaven in fault;
Say rather man's as perfect as he ought:
His knowledge measured to his state and place;
His time a moment, and a point his space.
If to be perfect in a certain sphere,
What matter, soon or late, or here or there?
The blest to-day is as completely so,
As who began a thousand years ago.

III. Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate,
All but the page prescribed, their present state:
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know:
Or who could suffer being here below?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food,
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Oh, blindness to the future! kindly given,
That each may fill the circle, marked by Heaven:
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or systems into ruin hurled,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Hope humbly, then; with trembling pinions soar;
Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore.
What future bliss, He gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never is, but always to be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears Him in the wind;
His soul, proud science never taught to stray
Far as the solar walk, or milky way;
Yet simple Nature to his hope has given,
Behind the cloud-topped hill, an humbler heaven;
Some safer world in depth of woods embraced,
Some happier island in the watery waste,
Where slaves once more their native land behold,
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold.
To be, contents his natural desire,
He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire;
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him company.

IV. Go, wiser thou! and, in thy scale of sense,
Weigh thy opinion against providence;
Call imperfection what thou fanciest such,
Say, here He gives too little, there too much;
Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust,
Yet cry, if man's unhappy, God's unjust;
If man alone engross not Heaven's high care,
Alone made perfect here, immortal there:
Snatch from His hand the balance and the rod,
Re-judge His justice, be the God of God.
In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies;
All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies.
Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes,
Men would be angels, angels would be gods.
Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell,
Aspiring to be angels, men rebel:
And who but wishes to invert the laws
Of order, sins against the Eternal Cause.

V. Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine,
Earth for whose use? Pride answers, "'Tis for mine:
For me kind Nature wakes her genial power,
Suckles each herb, and spreads out every flower;
Annual for me, the grape, the rose renew
The juice nectareous, and the balmy dew;
For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings;
For me, health gushes from a thousand springs;
Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise;
My footstool earth, my canopy the skies."
But errs not Nature from this gracious end,
From burning suns when livid deaths descend,
When earthquakes swallow, or when tempests sweep
Towns to one grave, whole nations to the deep?
"No, ('tis replied) the first Almighty Cause
Acts not by partial, but by general laws;
The exceptions few; some change since all began;
And what created perfect?" -- Why then man?
If the great end be human happiness,
Then Nature deviates; and can man do less?
As much that end a constant course requires
Of showers and sunshine, as of man's desires;
As much eternal springs and cloudless skies,
As men for ever temperate, calm, and wise.
If plagues or earthquakes break not Heaven's design,
Why then a Borgia, or a Catiline?
Who knows but He, whose hand the lightning forms,
Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms;
Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind,
Or turns young Ammon loose to scourge mankind?
From pride, from pride, our very reasoning springs;
Account for moral, as for natural things:
Why charge we heaven in those, in these acquit?
In both, to reason right is to submit.
Better for us, perhaps, it might appear,
Were there all harmony, all virtue here;
That never air or ocean felt the wind;
That never passion discomposed the mind.
But all subsists by elemental strife;
And passions are the elements of life.
The general order, since the whole began,
Is kept in nature, and is kept in man.

VI. What would this man? Now upward will he soar,
And little less than angel, would be more;
Now looking downwards, just as grieved appears
To want the strength of bulls, the fur of bears
Made for his use all creatures if he call,
Say what their use, had he the powers of all?
Nature to these, without profusion, kind,
The proper organs, proper powers assigned;
Each seeming want compensated of course,
Here with degrees of swiftness, there of force;
All in exact proportion to the state;
Nothing to add, and nothing to abate.
Each beast, each insect, happy in its own:
Is Heaven unkind to man, and man alone?
Shall he alone, whom rational we call,
Be pleased with nothing, if not blessed with all?
The bliss of man (could pride that blessing find)
Is not to act or think beyond mankind;
No powers of body or of soul to share,
But what his nature and his state can bear.
Why has not man a microscopic eye?
For this plain reason, man is not a fly.
Say what the use, were finer optics given,
To inspect a mite, not comprehend the heaven?
Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er,
To smart and agonize at every pore?
Or quick effluvia darting through the brain,
Die of a rose in aromatic pain?
If Nature thundered in his opening ears,
And stunned him with the music of the spheres,
How would he wish that Heaven had left him still
The whispering zephyr, and the purling rill?
Who finds not Providence all good and wise,
Alike in what it gives, and what denies?

VII. Far as Creation's ample range extends,
The scale of sensual, mental powers ascends:
Mark how it mounts, to man's imperial race,
From the green myriads in the peopled grass:
What modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme,
The mole's dim curtain, and the lynx's beam:
Of smell, the headlong lioness between,
And hound sagacious on the tainted green:
Of hearing, from the life that fills the flood,
To that which warbles through the vernal wood:
The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line:
In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true
From poisonous herbs extracts the healing dew?
How instinct varies in the grovelling swine,
Compared, half-reasoning elephant, with thine!
'Twixt that, and reason, what a nice barrier,
For ever separate, yet for ever near!
Remembrance and reflection how allayed;
What thin partitions sense from thought divide:
And middle natures, how they long to join,
Yet never passed the insuperable line!
Without this just gradation, could they be
Subjected, these to those, or all to thee?
The powers of all subdued by thee alone,
Is not thy reason all these powers in one?

VIII. See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth,
All matter quick, and bursting into birth.
Above, how high, progressive life may go!
Around, how wide! how deep extend below?
Vast chain of being! which from God began,
Natures ethereal, human, angel, man,
Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see,
No glass can reach; from Infinite to thee,
From thee to nothing. On superior powers
Were we to press, inferior might on ours:
Or in the full creation leave a void,
Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed:
From Nature's chain whatever link you strike,
Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.
And, if each system in gradation roll
Alike essential to the amazing whole,
The least confusion but in one, not all
That system only, but the whole must fall.
Let earth unbalanced from her orbit fly,
Planets and suns run lawless through the sky;
Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurled,
Being on being wrecked, and world on world;
Heaven's whole foundations to their centre nod,
And nature tremble to the throne of God.
All this dread order break -- for whom? for thee?
Vile worm! -- Oh, madness! pride! impiety!

IX. What if the foot, ordained the dust to tread,
Or hand, to toil, aspired to be the head?
What if the head, the eye, or ear repined
To serve mere engines to the ruling mind?
Just as absurd for any part to claim
To be another, in this general frame:
Just as absurd, to mourn the tasks or pains,
The great directing Mind of All ordains.
All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;
That, changed through all, and yet in all the same;
Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame;
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees,
Lives through all life, extends through all extent,
Spreads undivided, operates unspent;
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart:
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:
To him no high, no low, no great, no small;
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

X. Cease, then, nor order imperfection name:
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
Know thy own point: this kind, this due degree
Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee.
Submit. In this, or any other sphere,
Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:
Safe in the hand of one disposing Power,
Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.
All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;
All partial evil, universal good:
And, spite of pride in erring reason's spite,
One truth is clear, whatever is, is right.

Thoughts on Originality

2011-09-11T09:05:00.001-07:00

“Originality does not consist in saying what no one has ever said before, but in saying exactly what you think yourself.” This astute quote by James Stephens surpasses the surface concept that we hold of originality: it makes the bold assertion that originality is not in the entity that is dreamed into existence; rather originality exists in the dreamer. True originality occurs when the dreamer, remains true to themselves and has enough belief in their own abilities to create a better world.

Perhaps one of the hardest struggles for the human race is learning to be content with oneself amidst an environment that continually offers enticing inducements for conformity. When the millennium bells rang clear seven years ago and the gigantic glittering ball dropped from Times Square, Americans everywhere were issuing new hopes and making new goals, not that they would stay true to their own desires, but that they would become like everyone else. Wanting to lose weight, wanting to get a more fashionable car, wanting happier lives, they gave up more than a passion for junk food: they gave up their passion for themselves – for originality.

Eliot claims that the artist’s ultimate work should link the past to the present and to the future. As a link in time, a piece of art can only shine when it conforms, to some degree, to the precedence (Eliot 1093). When it accomplishes this goal, then the work can be objectively compared, and it gains a place in history. Yet, art should also strive for a sense of newness, of uniqueness in order to evoke new responses and feelings in the reader, to create meaning. Due to innate archetypes and pan-temporal themes, creating a completely new icon remains inconceivable to most minds. However, as Eliot argues, the success of uniqueness lies not in creating a new icon, but rather in creating an iconoclast: in other words, the artist should juxtapose old motifs in implausible positions and relations in order to break the established pattern. As a result, the mixture of past and present creates a new genre that continues into the future, and the artist links the past to the future.***

Originality cannot coexist with conformity. Like a rose choked amongst a host of weeds and brambles, instead of blooming it becomes suffocated and dies. When humans lose contentment with who they are, they voluntarily commit homicidal suicide because they murder every chance they have of living a fruitful life.

***Part of this essay was taken from one of my Lit Crit essays for Dr. Woodard's Literary Criticism class

Red (combined parts)

2011-09-11T08:39:00.001-07:00

Chapter One

It was the coldness found in the red plastic cup that caught her attention. She hated it, hated how it changed people, and hated how something so intoxicating could be found in something so innocent. Most people saw just the red cup, one of those cheap, disposable cups that are sold in bulk for barbeques and picnics, and thought nothing about it, but she knew better. Ok, maybe the cup itself was innocuous but the contents, the contents of that cheap cup were poison.

She had known that toxin all her life. It contaminated her home like a cancer, beginning in one small corner of the body only to spread its ugly fingers until all appendages began to rot. Tears began to pour down her face as she thought over all the pain that fought to claw its way deep into her heart. Gripping the cup tightly Katie poured its contents onto the dry dirt road and threw the cup as far as she could, hoping that with the cup she could throw away all the old memories, all the scars, and all the pain. Then she began walking farther and farther away.

Leaving it all, she began to walk away from everything she had ever known. However, despite her new intentions, the memories persisted, memories that brought nothing but pain and destruction. Everything that brought her to this point was poison and it clung to her like the smell of Hugo Boss cologne and whiskey.

“Oh God,” she sobbed. Sinking to the ground by the side of the road, she cradled her head between her knees. Before she had a chance to block them, the voices took control inside her head.

*********************************************************************************************

“Come here sweetie!” Katie’s mother’s voice rang through the backyard. “Mommy has something for you. She picked it out special, just for Momma’s pretty girl.”

Four year old Katie hopped off the swing and ran to her mommy. “Mommy! Mommy! You’re back.”

“Yes baby, of course I’m back! I was only gone a few hours.”

“But I missed you. And you missed Sar-ry take her first step. Mimi missed it too. She just talked on the phone to some boy named Eric.” At this Katie gave a little pout, as if to say “How dare anyone miss Sarah’s first step.”

“Shame on me. I’m sorry I missed it, but maybe Sarah will walk for me later. Come inside the house. I brought you a surprise.” Angela’s voice was soft and musical as she tried to cover the laugh that refused to be silent and led her daughter inside the house. At the thought of a surprise present, Katie instantly forgave all and joyfully skipped at her mother’s side. Angela knew she probably should have resisted. Really, it would have been better had she fought the urge, but when she saw the box with the ragged “For Sale” sign, well…she just couldn’t resist. Trying not to think about what the consequences her actions would bring, she gave all her attention to the bright-eyed angel at her side.

“I got a surpri-ise! I got a surpri-ise.” Katie chanted as she skipped contentedly into the living room. Then she saw it. Actually, she heard it first for there, on the red and yellow carpet, stood a tiny, golden-haired cocker spaniel. The instant Katie saw it she ran for it and scooped it into her arms, allowing it to displace the red-headed Sarah doll.

“Puppy!!!” The girl’s delighted squeal brought a smile to her mother’s lips, temporarily replacing the thoughtful frown that had graced her countenance only moments before. The girl needed a puppy and this small runt would be the perfect companion for Katie. Now all she had to do was convince the man she called “husband.”

*********************************************************************************************

Katie looked up as headlights broke through the tears swimming in her eyes. Standing up, she stuck out her hand, willing to take her chances with the oncoming stranger than to go back and face the past. As the vehicle grew closer, she could make out the petite woman driving the cherry-red Ford pickup. When it crawled to a stop in front of her, it took only a second for Katie to gather her backpack in her hand and hop into the passenger seat.

“Where ya headed?” It was a soft, purposeful voice with a southern twang, the kind you only hear in movies and to Katie, it sounded like an angel’s voice – like her mother’s, or maybe she was still hearing her mother’s voice in her head. She honestly didn’t know anymore. The woman looked questioningly at Katie, waiting for her answer and Katie forced herself back into the present.

“Anywhere but here. Wherever you end up will be fine by me.” The woman shook her head as if this answer pleased her and then directed the truck back onto the highway. Katie turned slightly toward her rescuer and could dimly make out her profile in the light of the setting sun and headlights. Beneath a mane of curled red hair lied a pale freckled face. Deep-brown, almond shaped eyes, a contrast to the pale skin. Her nose was slightly too long, and her lips were slightly too large to make her a dashing beauty, but kindness shone in her eyes and her lips seemed to automatically smile, giving the face a distinct and comforting beauty.

“My name’s Lola and I’m headed West, New Mexico, to be specific. What’s your name?”

“Katie.”

“Well good to meet you Katie. I hope you don’t mind the desert…” No, it wasn’t her mother’s voice, but it sure was close. Close and comforting. Katie leaned her head back against the worn headrest and closed her eyes, soaking in the voice as Lola continued to talk despite Katie’s silence. Soft, gentle, southern…so much like home. Like home used to be…before…

“So anyway, after I heard the news I knew I couldn’t wait one more moment. I mean, who’s gonna turn down their own grandmother. I sure couldn’t, especially not her. Memaw practically raised me. So when I heard how sick she was I just jumped in Ol’ Prince and sped away. Haven’t been stopped yet thankfully. But then, Texas always has had decent roads and speed limits. You have to be grateful for decent speed limits…”

*********************************************************************************************

“Please, don’t be angry. Just listen; I had to get him. Katie needs him. Can’t you see how much she loves him?” Her mother’s broken sobs echoed in her head, replacing Lola’s chatter. “Can’t you see…? Can’t you see…?” No one cried like her mother- no one. Even in the bitterness, there was something sweet. Her mother was a true southern belle, graceful and genteel, so even her heartbroken pleas conveyed a dignity through the drawling vowels.

“That girl does not need a dog, she needs discipline, a firm hand. And she does not need molly-coddling from you.” Her father also drew his vowels, but only when drunk, as he was that night, and even then it was only a slight drawal. Her father’s voice was usually very direct, concise, cultured. Outsiders would never know when he was drunk; he was just that good. But she knew and her mother knew, because her upright father only let his guard down when he let the alcohol take control. His sober voice was soft, deadly, like a snake waiting to strike. And his sober voice always knew exactly where to bite. His drunk voice, however was louder and obtrusive, striking everything within range. And tonight, the puppy was in range; Angela was in range and Katie was in range.

“Please, just let her keep the puppy. She’s already attached.” Angela was down on her knees, staring up into his cold eyes. Katie sat in the corner, trying to keep Sammy silent. She knew better than to make a noise when daddy was in one of his “moods” as her mother called them. The squirming puppy wouldn’t be still and it frightened Katie. If he looked their way…

“Please be still…pleeeeassse be still. Shhh…” Katie frantically whispered to the puppy as it tried to escape and capture the nearest ball. Katie hugged Sammy closer and closed her eyes as she rocked back and forth, slowly, trying to block out all sounds. In her head she tried to picture the room. Her mom had taught her this game.

“Try to remember everything exactly the way it is. Concentrate hard so that everything else is completely blocked out…See the lamp over in the corner. How many light bulbs does it have? What type of flower is on the rug? How many cups are on the table?” On and on it went until everything was in its place. Mommy said the game would improve her memory, but Katie used it to block out the voices. The yelling hurt her ears.

Angela knew it was a losing battle by the hard line of Garek’s jaw. He was adamant; Sammy must go. But when she looked at Katie rocking herself in the corner she had to press him, just one more time.

“It’s just a puppy Garek, just one puppy. It’s not going to spoil her. Please, just this once, just this once.” Not even Katie could block out the sound as her father’s hand came in contact with her mother’s face. The sound echoed throughout the room. Katie peeked at her mother and saw the tears leak from the corner of her eye.

*********************************************************************************************

“Rise and shine!” The voice pushed through Katie’s clouded mind, demanding to be heard. Slowly, she opened her groggy eyes and made out Lola’s face peering at her from beneath the flaming hair. “We’re here. You slept right through the night. You didn’t even wake up when we stopped for gas. Anyways, Memaw’s been expecting us. She has a room all ready for you too. So you just grab your bag and come on inside.”

Katie looked out through the window and saw, well…not much. There was a row of houses with a line of cars parked by the curb and some dirt and more dirt. “Where are we?”

“Artesia, New Mexico.” As if reading her thoughts, Lola continued, “I know it doesn’t look like much now, but believe me. Artesia is the best place to be when everywhere else is just too painful to be. It’s like a haven, and it’s a treasure all its own.” As she spoke, Katie detected a hint of sadness in the young woman’s voice, and she wondered if Lola had once needed Artesia to be her haven. However, before she could think things through Lola continued, “Now, Memaw’s already said you are welcome here as long as you want to stay. That’s just Memaw’s way. However, please don’t let Memaw talk you into letting her do all the cleaning and cooking. She never realizes that when a person is sick, that person needs to rest. Memaw just keeps on working and working. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t already have a batch of biscuits and gravy cooking in the kitchen.” At this Lola chuckled and then turned to look at Katie. “So, are you ready?”

“Ready or not, here I come!!” Katie peeked out of the bushes serving as her hiding spot to see Marcus spin around and begin his quest. “I’m gonna find you Katie and Arnold, so you might as well give up now.” Katie resisted the urge to giggle. Marcus always began like this, but it was only because he was the worst seeker in the neighborhood. It always took him forever to find anyone. Katie and Arnold were the best. They always knew the best places to hide, so they also knew where to look. Right now, Katie curled herself under the prickly bushes next to Arnold’s house.

“Sammy,” go away. Katie tried to gently push the hovering cocker aside. However, as Sammy began to earnestly cover her in puppy kisses, Katie halted her protests and broke out into childish laughter instead. Sammy always knew where to find her…and how to make her laugh. He had grown about a foot and a half, his medium-length, silky hair curling into ringlets. Katie loved to wrap her fingers around his hair, holding him close.

Daddy hadn’t wanted to keep Sammy. After hitting mommy he went into the kitchen, filling a cup with coffee. Mommy got up and sat on a chair, wiping her face. She smiled as she looked at her daughter, curled in the corner, holding her present. As her dad walked back into the room, the doorbell rang.

Katie could do nothing to stop Sammy this time. As the chimes echoed throughout the house, he burst into loud yaps, rushing out of her arms and straight towards the door. Katie didn’t know whether to laugh at the picture of Sammy circling the door or to cry at the look on her dad’s face as he battled Sammy for the space to open the door.

“Angela, get this mongrel out of here,” he whispered to his wife. Angela rushed over to shepherd the dog out of the way, as Garek managed to open the door.

“Malene, what are you doing here?” Garek’s concerned voice covered his frustration and anger from the last five minutes. “Come on in. Is everything okay at the office?”

“Well, not really. Sybill misplaced the files on the Elrick case, and now Jackson’s freaking out and Mr. Jameson is storming about. They sent me to ….” Malene never had time to finish her sentence before Sammy bounded out into the living room again, jumping up and down at Malene’s ankles. “Ahh, what a cute puppy. You never told me you had a dog Garek. How old is he?”

Angela could see the calculating look in Garek’s eyes and knew that this might be the break she and Katie needed. Before he had a chance to respond, Angela answered Malene’s question. “He’s only a few weeks old. Garek thought Katie could use a puppy to keep her company and teach her responsibility. Katie, why don’t you take Sammy back to your room. You can make him a bed out of the extra blankets from the guest room.”
As Katie followed her mother’s instructions, she could hear Malene’s response, “How sweet Garek. Every girl needs a pony or a puppy. You’re such a good father. I bet you are going to make Katie a daddy’s girl for sure. Now tell me, about these missing files…” Katie didn’t hear the rest, but she did see Malene’s hand touch her father’s arm briefly before they sat on the couch.

Katie and Sammy now lied together underneath the bushes. “Sammy, if you don’t get your bottom covered, Marcus is going to find us.” Katie always liked talking to the dog like he could understand her. He was her best friend, and he followed her everywhere. Her mommy always laughed when they came home together, covered in dirt and leaves. “But mommy,” Katie would plead, “Sammy just had to roll in the leaf pile. He said he would run away if he didn’t.”

“Well, you and Sammy better get a bath then, before your daddy comes home.” Angela would always respond, as she did now, after Katie’s game of hide-and-seek. “Now go get out of your dirty clothes, and I’ll come help you with your bath in a few minutes.” Taking another sip of the wine in her glass, she stared after her only child as she skipped out of the room, with the growing dog at her side. Only she and Garek knew why the puppy had stayed. He couldn’t very well tell his mistress that he wanted to throw the dog out, not after she made her “good father” speech. For the first time, Angela had actually been grateful for Malene’s presence. Exhaling softly, Angela looked into her glass, picked up the nearby bottle and refilled her dwindling drink.
*********************************************************************************************
“Memaw,” Lola called out from the doorway. “We’re here. Come on inside Katie.”

The first thing Katie smelled upon entering “Memaw’s” house was the smell of freshly-baked biscuits and bacon. As she followed Lola into the kitchen, she noticed the fluffy, pink-colored carpet, the flowered upholstery and the upright piano sitting underneath a large, gilded mirror. Stepping into the kitchen, Katie saw the grandmotherly lady Lola called “Memaw.”

“Hello Katie. I’m so glad you could join us. Lola told me that you needed a place to stay for a while, and you are more than welcome to stay right here.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your generosity. Are you sure I won’t be in the way? Lola mentioned that you’ve been sick. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Nonsense, this house has always been here for those who need a bed to sleep in, even if that bed is just a pallet on the floor.”

“She’s right too,” Lola interjected. “I remember waking up one morning, walking out into the living room, and seeing body after body scattered around the floor. My cousin had invited ten of his friends over for the night. When Memaw saw the group, she fixed enough of her famous biscuits and gravy for thirty boys.”

“Speaking of biscuits and gravy. This batch is getting cold. Now, why don’t we all sit down and eat.” Saying this, Memaw set the pans on the round table centered in the cozy kitchen.

Breakfast turned out to be a fairly quiet affair. Lola and her memaw graciously avoided asking her any prying questions. Instead, they used the time to chat quietly with each other, catching up on the news from their time apart. Apparently Lisa Sanford had another baby a couple of months ago, and Jeremy Bryant became engaged despite the fact that the entire town of Artesia had given up on that happening. Memaw had been to her usual circle of doctors: the clinic doctor, the chiropractor, the oncologist and the orthopedic doctor. Now, she was just waiting on results.

“This was delicious Memaw.” Lola stood up and started gathering the dishes. “You definitely haven’t lost your touch. If you want to take Katie to her room, I’ll get the kitchen back in order.”

Katie grabbed her backpack from its present location on the floor next to the kitchen entrance, and followed the matronly lady down the hall, looking as she pointed out the different bathrooms and bedrooms. “It really is too big for one lady most of the time. However, when Thanksgiving and Christmas roll around, it seems as if there are arms and legs protruding from every crevice. Now, this bedroom will be yours for as long as you need it. The dresser drawers are empty; however, I will need to clean out the closet today or tomorrow.”

“You really don’t need to worry about that. I didn’t bring many things with me.” Katie shrugged and gazed at the bag in her hand.

“Hmmm . . . well, I bet there are some clothes in the closet that just might fit you if you need them. The grandkids always seem to leave random pieces of clothing around the house, and I just place them all in there. Seeing as how the girls are the worst, I’m sure there are a few items that would fit you. You are welcome to anything you find in there. Anyway, I’m sure you must be tired. I always enjoy a long nap after hours on the road, but if you would prefer to look around, I can give you a few general directions and tips.”

“Thank you. You are right about the nap though. I am fairly tired, and sleep sounds nice.”

“Well, I’ll just leave you to get settled in then. If you need anything, just holler.”

As Memaw left the room, Katie set her bag on a nearby rocking chair and settled onto the bottom part of a bunk bed; only, since the top bunk was missing, there was plenty of room for her to sit up straight and look around at her new quarters. It was a modest-sized room, probably ten by ten. The bed which she was sitting on stood against the back wall. Katie had seen a window against the wall on her way in, and now the sun was shining through lacy white curtains. Next to the opposite wall, there were three small bookshelves. Each shelf was full of books. Religious books, fantasy books, mystery books. Scanning the titles, Katie was surprised that she even recognized a few. She had read Jane Eyre in her British Lit. class junior year. A book of poetry by Auden was also familiar, as were the collections of Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost poetry.

On top of two of the bookshelfs, someone had placed an assortment of family photographs. People, lots of people, stood in various poses – standing, sitting, laughing, kissing, hugging, running. One frame stood apart though; it sat alone on the third bookshelf, the one closest to the door. The frame was silver and had a wave design etched along the sides. On the photograph inside, there was a woman, probably in her late thirties or early forties. Her face was a three-quarter profile. She was smiling, but barely - absentmindedly. Her brown hair was cut short in an almost boyish fashion, but on her, it was very feminine. She had wrinkles at her eyes, but they only emphasized the far-away look present in them. When you looked at her whole face together, she looked happy, but when you only looked at the eyes, or at the mouth, the mystery woman was sad. The whole effect puzzled and intrigued Katie. A frame set apart, within reaching distance of the door. A woman neither happy nor sad, but both.

“Oh well.” Katie thought. “It’s not like I’ll be here long enough to care or unravel the mystery.” Pushing thoughts of the mystery woman out of her mind, Katie turned and looked out the window. There was a pecan tree towering in the backyard. It overshadowed everything, wrapping the backyard in a dark filmy shadow.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine . You make me happy when skies are gray.” As Katie began singing the words to her favorite childhood song, she reached into her backpack and pulled out a raggedy doll. The plaid dress was worn and faded and the hair was a tangled mess, but Katie held her close. “Sarah, we did it. We finally did it. We left him. The question is, where do we go from here.” With her old Sarah doll held tightly at her chest, Katie curled up into a ball on the bed and began to drift into sleep as the last line of the chorus ran through her head. “Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

*********************************************************************************************
“Mommy, sing me a song.”

“But sweetey, I already sang you a song, and now it’s time for bed. Look, here’s your Sarah doll, and Sammy is already asleep at your feet. How can you play with him in dreamland if you don’t go to sleep? ” Angela hoped the mention of Sammy would convince Katie to go to sleep. Lately, Katie had been convinced that whenever she and Sammy slept at the same time, they were able to meet and play together in their dreams. Angela didn’t have the heart to tell her that dogs didn’t dream.

“Just one more song. Pleeeaassse! I promise I will go to sleep right after you finish. I’ll even keep my eyes closed while you sing. Sammy will wait for me. Besides, I think Sammy has found himself a girlfriend. Hehehe.”

Unable to resist, Angela questioned her daughter, “And why do you think that?”

“Because he keeps on running away in the middle of our tea parties. He leaves his tea AND his cookies and just disappears. So, will you sing the song?”

“Okay, but close your eyes. And you have to go to sleep as soon as I am finished. Here goes.

‘You Are My Sunshine
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are grey.
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.”
As Angela looked down, she noticed the steady rise and fall of Katie’s chest. She knew the girl had to have been tired. Still, she kept on singing, just in case Katie wasn’t completely asleep yet.

‘The other nite, dear,
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms.
When I awoke, dear,
I was mistaken
And I hung my head and cried.

You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are grey.
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.

‘Good night baby. I’ll see you in the morning.” Bending down, Angela gently kissed Katie’s cheek and then tiptoed out of the room and toward her own bedroom, singing the next verse to herself as she walked past her husband’s office.

“I'll always love you
And make you happy
If you will only say the same
But if you leave me
To love another
You'll regret it all some day.”

“What was that Angela?”

“Oh nothing Garek. I’m just talking to myself. I’m going to bed. Will you be up late?”

“Of course I will. I told you earlier that since Larry’s out for the next two weeks, I’m left by myself to do all this work. Do you ever listen to anything I say?”

“I remember you saying Larry’s out, but I thought you had paralegals and assistants to help you with the caseloads. Why can’t you leave the work for them and come to bed early tonight?”

“Because the assistants don’t have half a brain between the three of them. That’s why. And if I can’t get any peace around here, then I’m going to the office. Now, are you really going to make me drive all the way back there this late at night?”

“No, of course not dear. Good night.” Reaching her room Angela shut the door and began to get ready for bed. As she finished her nightly routine, the rest of the words to her song played on in her head.

‘You told me once, dear
You really loved me
And no one else could come between
But now you've left me
And love another
You have shattered all my dreams.”

“Where did you say you found her?” Memaw questioned her granddaughter as she entered back into the kitchen.

“Oh, I’d say about four miles outside of Fredericksburg. She was just sitting down by the side of the road. I almost didn’t see her, but when I did I just had to stop. She looked so small and dejected.”
“Has she said anything about where she is from or why she’s running, or even how old she is?”

“No, she was really quiet on the way here. Slept most of it. There’s just something about her though that looks familiar. That look, in her eye. I’ve seen it before.”

“We all have sweetey. Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s sleeping right now, but maybe she’ll be ready to talk when she wakes up. In the mean time, why don’t you go make your rounds about town.”

“ Oh, so Katie can sleep but I can’t. I’m the one that drove all the way. I’m sure Jake and the office can wait an extra day while I reintroduce myself to the lovely land of dreams and blissful ignorance.” Katie knew that her grandmother was just waiting for her to get out of the house so that she could use the outing as an excuse to throw a couple of errands her way, but it was more fun trying to get her grandma to confess to the ruse.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get out? It’s not too hot today and I know Jake and the others would love to see you today. Besides, the office is right next to Bealls and you could use the chance to browse around the store. And, if you’re going to go ahead and browse around, you might as well drop off my bill. Let’s see, I have it around here somewhere.” Saying this, Memaw searched through the papers on the kitchen counter, looking for her Bealls payment. “And if you’re going by Bealls, you might as well stop at Finns and pick up a couple of items for dinner. They have a sell on pork tenderloins and chuck roast. You always did like my chuck roast with green beans and potatoes.”

“Memaw, is there anything else I can do for you while I’m out making my rounds instead of sleeping? Perhaps you would like a nice, juicy goose or maybe an extra pecan tree for the back yard? I’m sure I can stop by the pecan orchard and dig one up for you.” Lola went and placed her arm around her memaw’s waist, giving her a one sided hug.

“No, I think I have all the pecans I want right now and geese always have such a tough skin, but I could use some beans from the Horner farm, and if you can pick up my clothes from Mrs. Mason on Roselawn I would appreciate it. She called today and said she finished hemming and mending them. Ah, here it is.” After double checking the name and price on the bill, she handed it to Lola, along with an accompanying check. “Now, just take this up to the front and give them my number. Mrs. Packer usually works at this time, and she’ll take care of everything.”

“Ahhh the benefits of living in a small town. So, that will be Bealls, Finn’s, Mrs. Mason, and beans. Got it. Will do. Let me just find my keys and I will be out of here.” After scouting around for a minute, Lola picked her keys up from off of the piano and headed out the door, listening from one last reminder from her grandmother.

“Don’t forget to tell Jake and co. hi from me!”

Back in her truck Lola’s thoughts drifted back to the girl currently sleeping in the back bedroom of her Memaw’s house. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get the haunting look of Katie’s eyes out of her mind. “Oh well,” she thought. “I guess I’ll just tackle this day one problem at a time, and right now it looks like I have to find myself some Horner’s beans.” With this in mind, she drove off into town.

“Katie dear, it’s time for dinner. Katie?”

“Hmmm…” As the voice broke Katie out of the darkness of sleep, she opened her eyes and saw the elderly lady standing over her. “I’m sorry. What were you saying Mrs…”

“Addison, but why don’t you just call me Memaw. Everyone does. And I was saying that dinner is ready. You’ve been asleep all day.”

“Oh?” Katie sat up, stretching her arms up over head. “All day? It felt like I was only asleep for a minute.”

“You must have been exhausted. Which is another reason why you need a good, hearty meal in you. Why don’t you take a minute to finish waking up and then you can join us in the kitchen.”

“Ok, thank you.” As Mrs. Addison, or Memaw as she was determined to be called, walked out the door, Katie stood up and ran her fingers through her hair, thankful that it was short enough not to tangle while she slept. Then, after making a quick stop to wash up in the bathroom, she joined the two ladies sitting at the table.

“Mmmm, it smells good. What is it?” She asked.

“Oh, just a few things I threw together. A little chuck roast, some greens and potatoes and for dessert, JELLO! Now, Lola, why don’t you say the prayer, and then we can begin.”

Katie watched Lola and Memaw bow their heads and did the same, grateful that she wasn’t the one asked to pray. At the “AMEN” everyone looked up and Memaw began dishing out the food. Lola shared a look with her grandma and then, between bites, began to start the conversation. Katie caught the look, and knew that questions wouldn’t be far away. After all, how many people would take a perfect stranger into their home without questions. No, Katie expected the questions, she just wasn’t sure how she was going to answer them.

“Did you sleep well Katie?” The first question wasn’t what Katie expected and it kind of threw her off. “No where are you from?” or “Why did you run away?” Just a simple “How did you sleep?”

“Does it make sense if I say that I’m not quite sure?”

“Actually, it makes perfect sense. I’ve had quite a few of those myself. You wake up and can’t believe that its already been several hours, yet you don’t remember anything but darkness, so you know you must have been deep asleep. You’re both awake and sleepy which leaves you slightly unsettled. Is this what you mean?”

“Now aren’t you glad you didn’t sleep?” Turning to address Katie, Memaw continued, “See, sometimes us old ladies know what we are talking about. Lola tried to sleep away the afternoon, but just think, if it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t be eating these fresh green beans or this tender roast.”

“Well thank you Memaw for looking after me. Now, if you could only point me in the direction of a non-desk job and maybe a man, I will be eternally in your debt.” As the light-hearted conversation continued, Katie silently ate her food and listened to the women. That they deeply loved each other was evident. Lola kept on urging Memaw to eat a little more, and Memaw would keep suggesting different jobs or men or activities that Lola might enjoy – in spite of the fact that Lola just laughed off and waved each suggestion aside.

“Memaw, the problem with Memaw,” Lola told Katie, “is that she knows everyone in town. She’s lived here for over thirty years. However, her intimate knowledge of the ins and outs combined with her optimistic faith in humanity means that . . .”

“What it means is that I was always able to find a summer job for you whenever you wanted it.” Memaw’s interruption only caused Lola to smirk and reply with a “Whatever you say Memaw. After all, you do know best.”

Before Katie knew it, everyone had finished their dinner, but no uncomfortable or awkward questions had been posed to her. The three women worked at cleaning up the kitchen in comfortable silence before Lola posed one last question to Katie. “Why don’t you come take a walk with me Katie? The night sky is beautiful and I can show you some of the local sites.”

“Ok.” Katie responded, thinking that maybe she wasn’t as lucky as she thought. “She probably wanted to hear my answers without her grandma present in case I said that I had robbed a store or was pregnant or something. Here comes the interrogation.”

“Good night memaw. We’ll just be in after awhile, but you shouldn’t wait up. I know you must be tired.”

“You two have fun.” And with that, Lola and Katie walked outside into the enveloping darkness of the New Mexican night sky.

“I love Artesia and New Mexico. I always have.” The sound of Lola’s voice jarred Katie out of her reverie. They had been walking for several minutes in silence before Lola began to speak. “When we first moved to Texas, I hated it. It took me years to finally appreciate it. But New Mexico was, is and will always be my first love. There’s just so much here, in the barren openness.” Katie paused and Lola knew her turn would be next, but before she could think of how to begin, Lola continued. “Katie, I’m not going to ask you why you were on the side of the road, or what’s happened in your past. But I do want you to know that you have a home here. Like I said earlier, this place doesn’t look like much. There’s not much to see or do. But there is magic here. All you have to do is look at the stars to see that. Smell the air. It’s healing – this emptiness and nothingness. It’s like magic.”

After hearing all this, Katie stopped walking, and without thinking blurted out, “But why? Why do all of this for me? You haven’t even asked me a question and you’re saying that I have a home with you and … and …your grandmother. Are you even sane? I’m sorry if that came out wrong, I’m just . . . why?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense and it does sound like both my memaw and me are insane. And truth be told, most of the time I feel like I am insane. And, I could stand here and make my memaw happy and tell you that you that we love you because God first loved us and throw in some stuff about entertaining angels in disguise, but the truth is that that’s all well and good and true but it’s not why I’m helping you. I’m helping you because I know everyone has a past and every single person on this earth is messed up and too much bad crap happens. I’m helping you because the look in your eyes haunts me every day, and while I know that you can’t understand that now, you should know that I’m here and you’re here, at this time and place. That’s all that matters. That being said, let’s head home.”

Katie, not knowing what else to do, turned around and joined Lola in finishing their walk in silence. Bits and pieces of Lola’s response kept echoing in her head. “I’m helping you because the look in your eyes haunts me every day. . . I’m here and and you’re here, at this time and place. . . let’s head home.” Before closing her eyes that night, Katie looked around her room again and whispered to herself, “I’m home.” Maybe if she said it out loud, she’d believe it.

Chapter Two

Awkward didn’t even begin to cover how Katie felt the next few days. While Lola and Memaw did everything possible to make her feel comfortable and “at home,” Katie knew the truth. She was a stranger and she had no right to be here. She couldn’t even pay them for their hospitality, even if they would have let her. Her money was dwindling down to nothing more than a few tens and some pennies. If only she had enough courage to contact her bank and transfer some money out of there. If only her dad wasn’t listed as a cosigner. Why were there so many “if onlys” in her life?

In addition, there was the whole time issue. Specifically, there was too much of it. Lola had a job. Memaw had friends and some sort of missions work to keep her occupied. Katie had nothing. There was tv. She could walk around and explore the town. But still, she had nothing. She didn’t even know if she wanted to stay here.

Eighteen was the age kids left home for college. For the past couple of months her friends had talked about nothing else but college parties, boys and beer. Katie had been excited too. Not for the same reasons, of course. Yes, college meant freedom, but it more than that, it meant separation.

“Oh, excuse me. I didn’t see you. I’m so sorry. Let me get these for you.” Katie bent down to pick up the stack of papers that now carpeted the floor of the Artesia Public Library. She had been enjoying the company of Jane Eyre in the serenity of the old, retro-styled building, but the increasing relentless grumbling of her stomach told her it was time to go. It was on her way out that she bumped into the man loaded with a stack of papers.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. In fact, I think some of my students would be rather relieved to find that their papers had been stepped on or otherwise rendered un-gradable.” Katie glanced up at the man, only to find him smiling in amusement.

“Students? Are you a teacher?” Right after she spoke, she knew it was a stupid comment. Of course he was a teacher. Who else has students?

“Yep. Monday through Friday I am teacher extradonaire. Master of 10th grade English grammar, senior-level compositions, World literature, American literature and British literature.”

“Only Monday through Friday? So, what happens on the weekend? Do you turn into pirate or maybe a prince from one of your books?”

“No, alas. On the stroke of midnight, the turning point that separates Friday from Saturday, I go from master of the classroom to servant of the papers. My evil stepmother keeps me locked in my office or the library and only lets me out to buy new red pens.”

“Ahhh, Artesia’s own Cinderman. Such a tragic life. Have you ever thought of escaping?”

“All the time.”

“What stops you?”

“The door. I always make it as far as the door, but then I hear a question from one of my students or I remember a ridiculously grammatically incorrect sentence from one of their papers that both infuriates me and makes me laugh. And I stop. I never can get past the door.”

“So, until your fairy godfather conjures you up a knightess in shining prada, you’re stuck serving the papers, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, good luck with your servanthood. I’ve got to go.”

“Good bye . . .?”

Katie knew he was waiting for her to answer his unspoken question of her identity, but something held her back, so she just echoed good bye and walked out the door, back into the blinding heat of the desert sun.

“Man, today’s a scorcher Katie-bell. How would you like to get out the sprinklers to cool off? You and Sammy can run through the water for a while.”

“The sprinklers? Really? But, daddy doesn’t like the sprinklers. He says it wastes money and makes the yard all muddy. I’m okay. Sammy’s hotter than I am. Look at him. His tongue is sticking out. Gross.” Six-year-old Katie giggled at the image of her large ball of fur panting in the summer heat with full frontal tongue-age.

Six-year-old Katie was much more aware of how to stay out of her father’s way, much more aware of how to avoid his anger. Her mommy thought she was too serious for her age, but Katie knew if she slipped up, then mommy would get another bruise.

Angela and Katie had been sitting in the back yard. Katie played fetch with Sammy, making him run after a small, orange rubber duck. Angela lied back in her blue and white-striped lawn chaise, sipping her wine, watching her daughter and her playmate running back and forth, back and forth across the dying blades of grass. Katie was right. Garek would be angry if they played in the sprinklers. He was getting more and more controlling about the money. About everything actually. Angela no longer knew how to keep him happy, or even calm for that matter. She no longer knew who he was. She just knew to keep out of his way. And, if she couldn’t give her daughter the sprinklers, then she could at least get her away from the increasingly prison-like house.

“Katie-bell, why don’t we go get an ice cream then. Just you, me and Sammy. Would you like that?”

“Can Sammy get his own ice cream cone?” Katie’s eyes perked up at the mention of ice cream. They always perked up at the mention of ice cream. It was her favorite food in the whole world, especially the birthday cake kind because it was blue, pink and purple, and it came with colored sprinkles. She liked sprinkles.

“Sure, Sammy can have a cone. Let’s go Katie-bell.” Downing the rest of her wine, Angela, somewhat unsteadily, got to her feet.

Shoutout to My Friends!

2011-09-10T22:10:00.000-07:00

After going back and rereading some of my recent posts, I noticed that the topics have taken a slightly darker tone. Yes, things have been difficult recently, but that doesn't mean that I haven't been able to enjoy life at all. And, I've decided to count my blessings, beginning with my wonderful and bestest of best friends.

To begin with, I had a wonderful time in California. During training for Camfel, I met some wonderful people, made some great new friends. Additionally, I got to spend a couple weeks with the coolest great-aunt ever. Seriously. We went to the Reagan Library (Museum), the Norton Simon Art Museum, Hollywood Blvd (serious disappointment), Santa Monica (very cool), and the Dutch village Solvang (where I got mooned by an ostrich).

Then, there are my friends. No matter what happens, they are available for me at any time. Yes, they are far away and aren't always there for a needed hug or a face-to-face, but they are there for me.
Liv - You always has a place for me to crash and is always available for a good marathon or movie. We were study buddies and fellow procrastinators rebelling against the teachers.

Victoria - You accept me at my craziest, even when I go through 4 of the 7 dwarfs in a 3 hour period. You let me be Balian's crazy, wackadoodle aunt. NCIS will always bring us together, as well as a general love of laughter and crazy antics.

Kassie - We've been together since 7th grade when you were mistakenly assigned to boy's P.E. You hooked me into country music, laughed at my bizarre pics, and together we tackled "the bullies" with laughter.

Victoria, Kassie, Liv: I love you all. You have blessed my life so much with your incredible friendship. You make me laugh (although I think you all tend to laugh at me more. :D) You make me a better person. And I can't wait to see each of you again in person.

Coming Home: A Daughter's Perspective on Bipolar Disorder

2011-09-09T23:53:00.000-07:00

*** From 2005***

“Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling…come home.” As the soft chords gently sounded from the piano, tears pooled at the corners of my eyes. A peace settled over me as I sat enraptured by music I once thought extinct; it was the music of my mother’s heart – her life song.

The summer of 2005 was perhaps the worst experience I have endured. I was a normal sixteen year old managing an adult life, an adult load. The most traumatizing experience came in the form of my mentor, best friend, and mother. She was diagnosed a few years earlier as bipolar, but this past year, she peaked.

Some of the earliest memories of my mother include her laughter as she played and sang with me, taking me here and there, scratching my back, brushing and braiding my tangled hair. Now, I can’t remember her laugh. In my memories now, I can’t see light in her eyes; it’s been extinguished like a candle flame. That summer, my mom merely existed: she never lived.

There are movies that portray mental hospitals. The inhabitants walk around like zombies. That summer, I was in the movies. For the second time in six months, my mother was hospitalized. I hated the place, my prison from which I could not escape. Ironically, my prison was her haven, her shelter from the burdens of life, her escape from life.

I never thought a person could transform so drastically, but she did. Eventually, she returned home, but it was not her. There are no words to vividly describe her state. My mother, who could once remember songs at a snap, could no longer remember what she ate five minutes ago. My mother, with the fingers of an angel that could transform a silent piano into a harmonious choir of chords, struggled to remember the notes that had been instilled in her since childhood. She was my mother, yet she was a stranger. I could not penetrate her cold empty shell – no one could. Together we were alone.

Just smile and nod became my motto; I too now wore a facade. I swore to myself over and over that if I heard one more person ask, “How is your mom doing?” or “How’s everything going?” or “How are you?” I would explode, burning in anger. The questions were harmless but numerous. I just wanted them to end; they were constant reminders of what I no longer had.

I hurt, and at times I could feel my heart bleed great drops of anguished grief. Soon my grief turned to agonizing. I wanted her whole; I needed her whole. But whole she did not become; in fact, she worsened, and as she declined, so did I. It’s a good thing God is faithful and patient, for that summer, I became a David, arguing with God one moment and pleading with Him the next. There wasn’t a night that summer that my pillow went unsoaked, and yet no one but God ever knew.

While at night, I wept, during the day, I became mother and sitter. My mother had previously accepted a job caring for a child with William Syndrome (for our purpose, she will be called Alice). My mom was not capable of fixing her own food; needless to say, she could not take care of a special needs child. So each morning when my dad went to work, I assumed the role of caretaker, caretaker of my mom as well as Alice. Alice was unique; she was enthusiastic and energetic one moment and then lethargic the next. A junior high student with the understanding and comprehension of a first grader, it was necessary to keep an eye on her while giving her freedom. “I want to take a nap now,” she would tell me, and I could only reply,

“Your grandmother says you can’t take naps anymore.”

“Yes I can, only a short one.” And her sweet innocent face would plead with me. Keeping her occupied and entertained was challenging, but I could handle it; I had to handle it. I did what was needed because I was the dependable one.

To say home life was not paradise is an understatement, but there were two bright rays in my life every week. Their names were Susan and Peter. They, too, were handicapped, confined physically and verbally, but definitely not mentally. Some might find it strange to find that two handicapped adults were my light, but they were. Susan and Peter were my peace, my regularity. I could always count on a smile and a silent but exuberant laugh.

Unfortunately, not even those two rays could keep my heart and mind from breaking. I listened to the news, stunned. “Your mom will need electric shock treatments three times a week for six weeks.” I hated doctors; my mom was already a living pharmacy and now this. With my mom’s treatments, she was not able to eat the mornings of her “visits”. Unfortunately, she could not remember that she even had treatments, so her memories and schedule became my own. I organized her bags so I could store and find what she needed when she needed it; I shared the responsibility of driving her to her appointments. She was my mother and I loved her with all my heart; I would do anything if it would help.

My world was increasingly slipping out of my control; I was spiraling headfirst into my own pit of depression, but God was faithful. The week of my mom’s first treatment, He placed me among new friends from the All State Texas Baptist Band. They were virtually strangers, but we were so close. There I was encouraged and supported.

The road was long, but eventually I began to heal. I still cared for my mom, Alice, and my two sun rays, but I could manage it easier; the burden became lighter. With the support of my new friends, I was able to commence school with more hope, and even though the doctor’s report said, “There is nothing more I can do,” I could handle it, not because I had to, but because God had given me strength.

During this time, several quotes and song lyrics frequently visited my thoughts like Christmas carolers spreading the Christmas cheer. In the song “Vincent” the words perfectly described my mother when it said, “The world was not meant for one as beautiful as you.” There’s a tragic beauty in these words that sang to my heart, but the song that really cheered me is “Farther Along”. I can still hear it now. Three generations of Robinsons singing a prayer to the Lord to bless his children and hear their pleas of desperation. “Farther along,” we sang, “we’ll know all about it. Farther along we’ll understand why. Cheer up, my mother, live in the sunshine. We’ll understand it all by and by.” As grandfather, mother, and daughter sang, it was like God’s love enveloped us in his promise.

The beauty of the world has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder. ~Virginia Woolf. This quote never made more sense until one day the doctor’s report was drowned by the soft sweet strains flowing from the once-silent piano. “Jesus is calling…come home, come home.” As angel’s hands strummed the smooth ivory keys, for the first time in months, I was home.

Maybe

2011-09-09T23:29:00.000-07:00

This blog is changing a little. It's no longer just for my wanna-be poetic ramblings. It's now just for my ramblings in general. Whatever enters my head.

Right now I'm listening to "L" by The South Beach Riot. It's melancholy strains pull at me, at the me I've been ignoring, trying to make go away. I came home to be with my mother, to help my family get back up on its feet. But in doing so I've been swept off my feet. How can everything seem so right and deep inside it's right. But it feels so wrong. I feel like my life has stalled. Yet, the strange thing is I like what I'm doing.

I'm an advocate at a women's shelter for women and children of domestic violence. I get to stand up for and help people who feel like they have no voice. Well, I have plenty of voice. Additionally, I get a chance to cook lunch for my mother everyday, and help relieve my father of a tiny portion of his heavy burden. Not to mention that my memaw always has a mile long list for me. And, for the first time in a while, I'm involved in a church and a community. I've missed that.

Still, something is missing. People. All of my friends have spread out, and talking against time differences and distance isn't the same. I miss having friends to regularly hang out with and share with. A text doesn't replace a hug when I'm blue. Laughing alone is never as fun as laughing with a group.

Then there is school. I am totally confessing and showing my nerd factor, but I miss school. Learning is such a huge part of me. My head is constantly speeding pell-mell down a rabbit-train of thoughts, and I miss like-minded people I can talk things over with. I revel in challenges, but the only thing challenging me, really challenging me, is life - figuring out where I'm headed, where I'm supposed to go from here.

And then there is the single factor. I was enjoying and reveling in my single factor. I had complete freedom to go where I wanted when I wanted. Family ties are enough to tie one down, I didn't need any other chains. But recently, I don't know. I'm way too young to have a biological clock ticking and frankly, I don't know if I'll ever have one. But the thought of someone is getting nicer and nicer. Someone to be there to just hold me or scold me. Either one will work as long as they're there. In the end, that's all I want. Someone to be there for me when my world goes black and blue with spots of purples and greens. Where is he? I don't know. Maybe I won't know for a while. But I'm beginning to miss him.

Friends, School, Soulmate: Life isn't perfect, and I've given up on feeling truly blissfully happy right now. Maybe I just need sleep. Maybe I just need a new perspective. Maybe I just need to change the music. (After all, melancholy music = melancholy thoughts) Either way, I will be appreciative in what I have. In the meantime, I will learn to serve. I'll serve my family, my church, my community, and maybe, just maybe, through it all I'll find happiness again; I'll learn to be content.

The Protector

2011-07-21T21:16:00.000-07:00

Cassandra
The name comes from Alexandra or "protector."
Cassandra
It means "she who shines upon man."

The tests tell me my personality is INFJ
"The Protector."
It's no coincidence.
It's fate.

I've spent my life fighting.
I fight for my family, for love, for safety.
I am a fighter, the family protector.
And I don't give up. Ever.

My life I will gladly live to to help the weak.
To give life back to the lifeless.
My life I will gladly give up,
If it means my loved ones are safe.

But, who is there to protect me?
Who will fight for me when I'm too tired, too weak?
As I fight these battles for others,
Who will come and rescue me?

Distance

2010-05-25T19:21:00.000-07:00

run and hide. run and hide.
why can't we ever take a stand?
and sleepless nights turn in to restless days,
of dances and of masquerades.
only death lies behind those masks.
death and painful agony.

Endless

2010-02-26T12:19:00.001-08:00

I look around
And all I see is death.
The table turns
Around and round
Different faces,
Same old places
Churches and Cemeteries
I’ve been here before

The table turns
This wheel of time
It goes forward
Always forward
But the past keeps recurring
Two weeks, four deaths
Injury and heartbreak
I’ve been here before

This blackness envelops
And closes in
Buried alive in a coffin
I never chose
Surrounded by life
Trapped by life
‘Cause life, it always comes
Life, it always goes

Progress

2009-04-02T17:58:00.000-07:00

A very old man
Gets up everyday
And pours himself
A bowl
of Cheerios

On his head
Rests his glasses
And God bless his soul
He sees nothing

His wife comes behind
Shaking her head
And mopping up
The spilled milk

His shirt's inside-out
And St. John's Bay
Is proudly displayed
From the tag sticking up in the air

Every morning follows the same
The man and his wife
Have their patterns perfected
And each have a role that they play

I Will Always Remember

2009-01-22T21:23:00.000-08:00

If I forget you
Will I become new
Will the part of me
That you stole

Be restored

Can I forget you
Forget the pain
You caused
When you forgot me

When you gave up

You gave up on me
You gave up on yourself
You gave up on everyone
Who ever loved you

You left us behind

Do you expect me to forget
To you expect me to forgive
How you let me go,
How you chose to leave

I love you

I always will
But I will always remember
And I will always hurt
Because of you

But I will never leave you
That is your job isn't it
That is what you do
When the going gets tough

I fought for you
I held your hand
And protected your heart
And your broke mine

You broke it when you left

And I
I will always remember

Looking for Light

2009-01-22T21:22:00.001-08:00

I reach out through a tunnel
Grasping for a hand to pull
Me up toward the light

Yet as I get close
The hand becomes
Cold and hard as marble

My hand slips and
I fall down once again
Down into the tunnel

Groping in Darkness
I stumble
Waiting to be lifted

Taken up into the
Air, into the light
Help me please

Back

2009-01-22T20:52:00.000-08:00

In pain, I struggle to keep up
But my heart is breaking, going asunder
Aloud I cry, yet no sound escapes
From my killing pain

Where have you gone
Leaving me behind
In a world I don't understand

Where have you gone
With my heart in your hand

Save me
Take me with you
Come back

Do not separate yourself from me
Don't leave me behind
A remnant of the love you once possessed
Where have you gone

We were like one
I knew your thoughts
And you knew mine

Where have you gone
I love you

Now you're going to another place
One I cannot reach
I see your pain
And long to ease your mind

Reach out your hand
Take me with you
Make me understand

I want you back here with me
Safe and sound

I see your tears
Let me help you
Just let me in

Let me take you to the light
Let me bring you back
I love you
I need you

Mother, come back

Just Fine

2009-01-02T21:52:00.000-08:00

What if I tell you
That I'm not fine
That every new breath
Hurts, so, so much

What if I tell you
That I'm struggling
Just to hold all of
Me together, inside

These pieces of me
Are pushing forth
At the seems of my skin
Trying to fly apart

My mind, body, and heart
All fly in different directions
And I'm the one left hurting
But you wouldn't care

Would you, in your apathy
Take a second look
At the pitiful me
Cowering behind the mask

No, you go right on by
And you think I'm holding
Together fine, just fine
Because that's what I say

Isn't it? That is how
I answer the unending question
Of "How are you doing?"
Because I know you don't mean it

No one ever means it
Do they? No, they just ask
A polite nicety
Just obeying mom's orders

So, I play along
And I give the answer
You want to hear
"Yes, I'm doing just fine."

Only You

2008-12-19T11:59:00.000-08:00

There are times
When things just
Spin
Spin
Spin

When the world
Flies out of focus
Out
Of
Control

Nothing can be grasped
Not even
Hope
Love
Truth

The world turns
In dizzying movements
Making
Me
Sick

Confusion and longing
Run rampant
In
My
Mind

And nothing I do
Will ever, ever help
Nothing
Will
Help

But You.

So, I ask you now
To quiet
The spinning

To refocus my eyes
And my heart and mind
Focus them on you

Only You.

Fall and Winter

2008-10-18T18:50:00.000-07:00

Its something about this time of Night
This darkness that pervades to lighten my soul
There's something about this time of year
That can make my heart melt despite your chill

The air I breathe
The steps I take
The footprints I leave
The heart that heals

It is this time of year
Enchanting, delicious
That makes my feet dance
To the beating of my now free heart

This fall, this winter
Joy becomes my mode
Light becomes my heart
Illuminating I can now walk

Happiness shining through
A gladdened heart
Bounciness coursing through
Each and every step

Stay here fall, stay here winter
Never leave, don't take
Away this feeling
This joy and this desire

You make me whole and happy
Free and new
The breath of God
Stirs my soul due to you

So stay here always
Bring the sun and bring the rain
But keep your coolness
Calming, enticing, entoxicating

The Power of the Moon

2008-10-16T19:59:00.001-07:00

Here in the darkness
The moon shines down
Showering me, showering us
With its glow and warmth

Enveloping us,Wrapping us
Pushing us closer
Into its encircling embrace
Into each other's arms

We stand alone, forgotten
By the world, Yet
Here we are together
Where we find our meaning

This giving of life
and significance
Of finding one's self
Completely whole for once

This is the power of the moon
As we find ourselves lost
In its magical power-
As we find ourselves.

Forever Friends

2008-10-13T18:14:00.000-07:00

We used to have forever
Days that stretched and stretched
Times filled with drama, laughter, and love
We were the same once

But forever left us long ago
Something changed between us
And forever days, they drifted by
Floating out of reach

Why did you walk away?
Was the difference that much or
Was there some pain deep inside
That you kept out of sight?

Forever is no longer
Now is where we are at
Now is where we struggle
Now is when we need each other

Yes, we write
And our writing skills improve
But those tender, forever moments
Have all but disappeared

We can't go back to forever
Those days are long and gone
Yet, if you come and meet me
We can make forever new

Will You Stay?

2008-09-25T09:44:00.001-07:00

What if it gets too hard;
To stay around when things get tough?
What if I'm not perfect;
Will you stay or run away?

Would you find it worth it,
The beauty and the pain?
Would you find me worth it,
The heartache and the gain?

Will my love keep you here,
Close to my side,
Deep inside my heart?
Will you stay?

When the darkness closes in,
Will you be my light?
Will you pull me through
When I'm drowning, out of sight?

Can you see the beauty
When the pain is overwhelming?
Can you keep on loving
When loving is too hard?

Will you stay?

They say nothing easy
Is ever worth the while.
Well, if that's so then
Our love is everlasting.

I won't promise roses
Or fireworks everyday
But I promise you my love
Will always find a way.

I know things will get tough.
Problems always find a way.
But what I need to know is
Will you always stay?

2008-09-09T18:40:00.001-07:00

Prove.

Prove it.

Prove it to.

Prove it to me.

Panic Attack

2008-09-09T18:33:00.000-07:00

Racing.
Pounding.
Beating.
Why this? Why now?
I thought I had learned to overcome it, defeat it;
I thought I had conquered this.

My mind is strong
I know it is.
So why does my body refuse to obey?

Why won't it stop?
And leave me alone?
Why won't the panic flee?

I was not scared
Not desperate or worried
Until on and on and on it raced

With no cause or reason.

I just want it to

Stop!

Yours for Life

2008-07-05T07:19:00.000-07:00

How can I reach you
When you always pull away?
How can I help you
When you listen not to what I say?

In my arms,
I want you there
Let me shelter you and keep
You safe from all life's harm

Why do you resist
And close your heart
Keeping out all good
Holding in all bad

I can read your mind
Like its my own
And I see what you
Refuse to share with me

I know you're scared, angry
I see how trapped you feel
So let me help you bend those bars
And let me wipe away those tears

Because every time
I think of you
My knees no longer stand
And I fall down in dread

Not from who you are
Not from what you do
But because I know
I know

My heart breaks from
The heavy load of grief
That comes unbidden
When I think of you

They say that it's wrong
To have favorites
But my secret to you
Is that no one can surpass you

In my eyes
And in my heart
First you will always be
So stay

Stay close with me now
Even through the distance
And I will hold your hand
If you want or I

I will let you go

Just tell me, show me
How perfect you will be
Tell me you're not broken
Not struggling to be free

Our minds have always
Been so alike and yet
So far apart, but still
I see you

And right now
As I look down the road
To what you will become
I cry

And a little more
Inside of me dies
Because that is
What has happened to you

But I know
Deep down inside
There is light
And your future will be bright

Because that is you
Despite what you may think
You were born light
And you will die light

Even though
Your present may be dark
Even though you stumble blind
The light will shine

So if you won't stay
Near to my heart
For life or money or fame
Or family or pride

Then do it for me
Please, stay for all my love

Yet know that even
Should you choose to leave
Your way
Always and forever
Unconditionally
No matter what happens

My heart will always bear your name

Even when so doing
Leaves me cold and dead
I'll always love you
More than anything in life.

"I know; I caught you; I held you." The Fountain

Always Lost

2008-06-20T22:16:00.000-07:00

They are called by many names
Hedonist, Hellenist, Modernist
Labels all, but what the difference makes
I simply call them Lost

Knowing not where to be found
The simplicity eludes
So they wander trying to fill
Meaningless lives

Getting drunk in pleasures
Making sense out of lies
Trying to find the only
That turns lust into love
or Love into Lust

I recognize the hunger
That looms deep within the soul
The hunger that drives their
Every action and mood

Their words bemoan the fact
That they struggle without
A hope that fills
I see it in their eyes, hear it in each word

I know the pain that
Gnaws the insides and drowns
The spirit in despair
I know that feeling

Wanting just something
Just one thing more
Searching always for
More, just more

But more never ends
And circles become drawn
Endlessly traveled paths,
And we find ourselves

Always lost

Good-bye

2008-06-06T16:34:00.000-07:00

After about six months I think I can finally say good-bye to you.

I was not there
To see your pain
To hear one
Last good-bye

I was not there to
Give you one final
Farewell hug
Good bye

I did not kiss
Your weathered cheek
A symbol of
Farewell

But I do remember
All the times
You held me in
Your arms

You squeezed me tight
And then let go
"Good-bye" you said
It was time

As your coffin closed
I was far away
And I did not, could not say
Good-bye

It was too fast
You were just fine
I left just one day,
One day too soon

And before I left I knew
I said good bye but
I could not face
That dark and horrible truth

Did you know too?
Is that why we held
Just one minute longer
Staying in each other's arms

Holding each other tight

Before we we said good-bye

For good

I love you Grandad!!!

God’s Figurine

2008-05-12T12:21:00.001-07:00

She is God’s figurine
Pretty and serene
With head bowed down
Knees on the ground
She is God’s figurine

Her head is cracked
And held on by glue
Her dress is torn
Masked by paint

Yet despite it all
Despite the glue
Despite the discoloration
She stands strong

The crack is where He broke her
Sending her to her knees
Surrendering both heart and mind
Now she is pure

The tear came from serving
From seeing others
And grieving
And then bowing down

The world sees the glue
The discolored paint
And through the scars that remain
Her beauty becomes magnified

She is God’s figurine
Pretty and serene
With head bowed down
Knees on the ground
She is God’s figurine

“Come, let us return to the Lord.
He has torn us to pieces
but He will heal us;
He has injured us
but He will bind up our wounds.”
Hosea 6:1

Dandelions

2008-04-03T20:05:00.000-07:00

Restfully reposed, the blond headed child snuggled deeper and deeper into the white down coverlet. Her snow-white skin and rosy cheeks were a stark contrast to the dark purple and brown bruise that covered her closed left eye. Still swollen and throbbing the mark was a reminder of all the evil present in her life. It was only in her dreams that the child could escape the pain of everyday life.

Years of scars buried deep within her subconscious broke through in unconscious mannerisms. A lisp and a stutter betrayed her ever-present fear while awkward and clumsy movements were traitors to the fact that she possessed a mangled leg. Throughout her eight years of life, the child had learned what evil and suffering truly were, yet despite her trials, her innocence remained to teach her joy.

Marrisol loved sleeping, for when she slept, she dreamed, and when she dreamed Rose and Sabastian visited her. She loved playing with them because around them, she was complete. No mangled leg slowed her down in their friendly games of chase and no stuttering lisp hindered their intimate confidences. They made her forget her past and taught her to enjoy her present.

Beloved Rose was princess of Maicely, the realm of dreams and fantasy. She and her twin brother Sabastian were opposites in look and character, but they both shared a fondness for the shy six-year-old. Rose was every bit as beautiful as her namesake. She had a soft, pale skin with a sprinkling of freckles. Slim and graceful, she bore her 5’ 6” frame with all the nobility with which she was born. Her fiery hair sparkled and danced like flames, crowning her head with an aura of majesty. Her silky pink-tinted lips frequently broke out with song or laughter while her slender fingers were just as quick to offer aid to needy and helpless victims.

Sabastian stood commandingly at a solid 6’ 5”. At seventeen he was training for the day when he would inherit the realm from his father. Inheriting his mother’s darker complexion, his skin constantly glowed with a healthy tan. Chestnut and auburn hair stuck out at all angles around his neck and ears while the rest curled in ringlets, tempting foreign fingers to get trapped in its wilderness. Although slow to anger, when stirred, his temper burned hotter than a raging fire and was just as hard to control. Born with a decisive nature which would help him rule the kingdom, he was a realist, taking little time to consider the more fantastical factors of his world.

Rose and Sabastian, had been taking their daily flight around the realm one fatalistic day when they heard a distant cry that echoed through the mountains. Tracing the woeful voice back to its source they entered into the cave of mortality and peered into the pool of reality, where they viewed a small child crying as a foot violently kicked her over and over again. The duo was moved to pity at the sight of the poor, broken creature and in that first glance, they knew that they had to help the child who had stolen their hearts. From then on they carefully watched the child and every time she slept they would jump into her world through the pool and fly into her dreams to rescue her.

They wished they could comfort her more, coming to her outside of dreams. Alas, for although they could see her at anytime from the pool of reality, the pool blocked them from all contact except during dreams, when reality ceased to exist and the two worlds became one. So it was that they patiently watched and tended to her from the sanctuary of their realm while she was awake, and fleetly flew to her any time her eyes would close and her mind wandered. What they saw of her life frequently troubled the two for they had never seen such barbarism and brutality, and never dreamed that it would be inflicted upon the innocence of childhood.

**************************************************************************************

The day was young still but Marrisol was wide awake. Her dollies were sick and needed someone to nurse them. Giving each one a hug and a kiss, Marrisol applied fresh band aids and much love. Her dolls meant everything to her. She loved acting as their mother. Feeding them, dressing them, bathing them and taking them on errands. She was a natural mother and never felt better than when playing pretend with her dolls, because to her, they were not pretend but real people who needed her help. Marrisol knew how miserable it was to have no one to help her so she gave her dolls everything she herself lacked.

Fresh cuts issued forth streams of blood from various locations of her young body. One on her head, three on her legs, two on each arm; the scars were becoming too numerous to count and she knew these would join the ranks of the other ghastly red marks on her body. She hated it when he came home like this, drunk and violent: evil. She had smelled the stench of his breath and clothes the minute he crossed her bedroom doorway the night before and she knew she was in trouble.

It always began the same way. She would hear the front door open and slam close; that was her signal to jump into bed. Lying perfectly still, she pretended to be asleep but that did not hinder his advance. She heard him swore as he tripped over one of her dolls. Bending down he roughly grabbed Susan by her hair and flung her out the window. The glass shattered as the doll flew through the window and landed on the grass outside.

“Wake up girlie!” He roared at her. “I know yer awake.” Stopping beside her bed he yanked back her covers and backhanded her quivering cheek. A moan involuntarily escaped her lips and seemed to encourage him further. “I said wake up!” This time he grabbed her hair and yanked her off the bed. Marrisol landed with a thud as her head hit the iron claw foot of her bed.

Dazed, Marrisol lay still. “Don’t give me this. I told you to get up!” Marrisol dimly heard her father repeat his original command and knew it would be futile to stay in place. Struggling to her feet the silent six- year-old bravely stood before her drunken father.

“That’s more like it.” Taking her arm he led her out of the room and across to the bathroom adjoining their two rooms. She knew what was coming and stood silent and still as her father recited the nightly command. “It’s time for you to take a bath.” He told her, but he had already started undressing her. Marrisol knew it would be useless to admit that she had already had a bath; that in fact, she bathed after every time he touched her. First he quickly unbuttoned her flannel Care Bear pajama shirt. Marrisol watched dejectedly as Daydream Bear was carelessly tossed aside. Wishing she could escape into her own daydream, Marrisol held back tears as her father’s calloused hands moved down to her pants and then onto her underwear.

Leaving her standing there naked her father turned his attention to the bathroom faucet. Testing the water he made a few changes then allowed it to collect in the bottom of the tub. While the water was drawing, Marrisol closed her eyes while her father began taking off his own clothes. When the bathtub was half full, he picked Marrisol up in his arms, cradled her naked form close to him for a second, then carefully set her in the water. Climbing in after her, he sat down and pulled her slight form on top of his own.

Knowing better than to cry in front of him, Marrisol did not utter a peep as he began to gently caress her with the wash cloth, making sure to clean every part of her. Sighing he leaned back against the tub and pressed her close to him. His hands lingered on her bare chest and then moved on down to rest on her thighs. Remaining like this for a while, Marrisol used the time to escape into her own dream world while her father became trapped in his own twisted fantasies.

Rose saw her fall asleep first and sent an air message to Sabastian who was busy working with their father on making official realm visits. After waiting for a few minutes Rose decided to go on without him. Flying swiftly into her dreams, the fairy princess met Marrisol in a lovely garden.

“You came!” The little child was so excited to see her friend. “I didn’t know if you’d show up.” Marrisol spoke the last in a whisper. Rose’s heart wanted to break at the hoarse response to her arrival. She longed to carry Marrisol out of her miserable world and into her own world of dreams and ectasy. She wanted to lead her to a world of joy and happiness and healing, but she could not and so she contented herself to helping the child forget about her pain for this moment.

“What is your favorite flower in all the earth?” Rose asked her young companion.

“Dandelions! I love dandelions!” Marrisol exclaimed as the ground broke forth with the vibrant white and yellow plants. Rose reached down to pick one of the white blooms and examined it closely. She saw little beauty in its white fuzz to make it attractive and compared to her own namesake, the fragrance was minimal, the beauty nonexistent. It was an odd flower for one so young to pick as a favorite, for anyone to pick.

Inquiringly she questioned Marrisol. “Why do you like dandelions?”

“Because they are free and can fly wherever the wind carries them.” The child’s astute yet simple answer amazed her. She continued to study the fluffs of white pollen in her hand. Dandelions, they were stubborn weeds that never went away yet at the same time they traveled and flew away with the wind, escaping death and pain for a chance at life. For all of its apparent fragility, it was a strong and persistent plant that survived even the harshest toxins. Looking from the flower in her hand to the girl running and laughing amidst the flowers she saw not the bruises and scars, but the strength of the heart. Breathing deeply, Rose gently blew the remaining fragments of dandelion into the surrounding breeze. “Fly free, my friend,” she whispered to the wind. “Fly free.”

This is as yet unfinished.

And I Am Desperate

2008-03-04T19:33:00.000-08:00

No matter how hard
I try and try
I face a losing battle
When by myself I try to hide

This apathy that
Lies in wait
Trying to break free
This nothingness that
Surrounds me

I am desperate
I am broken
I am in pieces
On the ground

Hope eludes me
By myself I have
Nothing that can
Sustain this dying life

The Darkness closes in
Choking and trapping
And all light is blocked as
I am blinded by lies
That I cannot see

And I am desperate

Oh Lord! I pour out
To you my soul
Because I need you
To save me now

Sustain me please
If you will
Because I have nothing
Nothing left inside
This cold and empty shell

I am desperate

An Ode to my Bear

2008-03-03T19:55:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry
I know that that
will never be
enough

That those two
words will never
ease your pain and
confusion

I wish I could tell
you why
something like this could happen
to you

I wish I could
explain away the seeminlgly
arbitrary actions
of circumstance and God

But I can't

All I can do
is hold your hand
and whisper a prayer and give you
all of my love

Because more than anything
I wish
that this would have let you
be

More than anything
I wish
that I were the victim
of this disease

But I am not
and I feel so helpless
but I wish that
it were me

instead of you
Because I
Love
You
My
Brother

I
Love
You

Just Know

2008-03-02T19:02:00.000-08:00

Is it worth it?
On this dark and
lonely night
as you walk

alone.

Is the cost minimal
to the lives with
whom you touch and
interact or is it too high

for them to bear - alone.

Before you act and
take that fateful leap
into the dark
before you try to erase

all the pain alone - know

The cost

Know whose lives you
Will kill as you kill
you. Know
that alone is never quite

alone.

Despite what our traitor
thoughts whisper in
our straining ears. Despite

the lies that our pleading lips
deny. Know
Know that there is beauty in the dark and
desperation and

there is beauty in the pain that
stabs and kills and there is
beauty in life although it lies
hidden and

alone.

But most of all please know,
Just know

You're not really all that

ALONE

Emotional Ramblings

2008-02-19T16:56:00.000-08:00

For the first time, I found out that someone actually does read my blog, if only once and I want to thank any that take the time to read any part of my work, even if they only happen upon it by accident. I know nothing I write will ever be a great work of literature but I hope that something I say might be able to touch you, to relate to some point in your life as it has mine. Mostly writing serves as my therapy. Some might argue that the great works are written by people with experience and in many cases that might be true but I think imagination, empathy, and even apathy can be utilized to touch the masses just as well.
As far as experience goes I may not have much in the way of life, but I have enough in the way of emotions. I know what depression feels like and I know what it is like to watch one you love with all your heart struggle with death and life and hopelessness. I spent several years taking care of my mom as she struggled with bipolar. I was her personal caretaker as she underwent electric shock treatments, as she was hospitalized, as she tried to take too much medication. I was there when the one person I had always trusted and depended upon suddenly transformed into a stranger, a zombie, before my very eyes. Perhaps that is why what I want more than anything is to give people hope, to tell them that there is a reason for pain on earth and that it can be overcome.
I know what pain feels like but I also know what hope feels like. I know what love feels like even but I know what anger and despair feel like. I have been angry at God, angry at the world, angry at myself and my friends and family. I have pushed love away and savored bitterness yet I finally found that bitterness does nothing but rot you inside and the miserableness is not a real companion.
I know I may be rambling but if you do read this maybe a small part may be able to help you in at least some small measure. I hope and pray.
By the way, I do love to receive any comments whether you disagree or agree or have no thoughts. Thank you for taking the time to share your heart with me.

Had Holes been Wholes

2008-02-14T15:38:00.000-08:00

Why does my heart
Continue to cry
For what we never had
For what could never be

With such incompatibilites
As we shared
That made unity
A forgotten dream

And yet against all odds
We are united
Both minds intertwining
Even as hearts

Dive here and there
Amidst the crowds of people
Drowning and surfacing
Stopping and starting

Because one never
Could become two and
Two could never become
One

You and I survive
Alone, both
One and two
Halves and holes

Yet my heart keeps crying
Because it saw what
Once could be, had
holes been wholes

Happy Valentines Day

Stop the Dream

2008-02-09T21:53:00.000-08:00

Firstly, I would like to begin my post by screaming, "ACCHHHH!!!""

As I sat pondering
The world and all
Its ins and outs
And subtleties

People and places
Things, memories, and occupations
Of hope and misery
Dreams and hilarity

Despite the promiscuity
The saling of the soul
For thirty silvers
And a rope on a tree

It is not for us
To be what and who we are
To be stuck in a rut
Of vanquishness and poverty

Rather, ours is to be strong
To be sublime and multiplied
By grace unto thee
He comes, why can't you see

You who mock
Scorn and provoke
Who cause to stumble
Those you love

Achhh to you
And yet can't you see
That you still I love
Because I refuse to stop the dream

I AM ME

2008-01-26T15:29:00.000-08:00

This is an old one I did a long time ago

Who are you
To stare me in the face
To look upon my life
My unforgiving fate

Who are you
To judge me in my weakness
To tell me I'm all wrong
To tell me I'm a mess

You have no right
You have no authority
I am me and you,
You are you

Ashes Rising

2008-01-21T14:28:00.000-08:00

Now is the time
When I need someone near
Someone to hold me tight
And to keep my head clear

The fog has descended
And has blinded me from life
The dark has wrapped its cold fingers
And pierced my heart like a knife

I need someone to shelter me
From the storms of life
Someone to keep me warm
And steady from all the strife

I used to be strong
A rock for all to lean
But I forgot myself
Until I was swept clean

Just put me on pilot
And keep my path clear
And cover my eyes
Shield away all fear

For I am so tired
I am anxious and weak
I want nothing more
Than forevermore to sleep

Like a phoenix as it rises
From its ashes after death
I will rise up strong again one day
And breathe in a deep new breath

But till that day
I am struggling to hold on
And I need someone else’s strength
To help me face each new dawn

Looking for Light

2008-01-10T09:00:00.000-08:00

Catharsis

2008-01-07T14:59:00.000-08:00

I took a walk today; I probaby ambled along the road for 2-3 miles and sat on square dock for about 15 minutes - just thinking. I have to say though, that walk was the best thing I have done for myself in months because for the first time my head was clear and I felt empty, null of all feeling. I finally had a chance to just clear it of everything that was cluttering, troubling or excessive.
If even for only a few short hours, that feeling of complete nothingness was amazing. Apathy is no stranger to me, neither is empathy or sympathy but this feeling wasn't like any -thy you could imagine. During my time of intense meditation, I discovered that music is truly my opiate; it worked better than any drug or drink I could imagine because it took me away from myself and allowed me to sort through everything that had been torturing me and to just get rid of it all (or block it all).
For the past two months or so I had been emotionally tortured, split in two almost. I won't go into complete details but part of it was that I know in my head what I am supposed to do, but I was just in a mood of complete apathy and wanted to ignore it, to do nothing. Rebelliousness is ingrained into my system and it takes everything I am to fight it and sometimes, it is just wearisome. The internal fight was just stretching me too thin.
Today, that apathy just slipped away and peace was restored to me .and everything was made exceedingly clear.
I don't know why I am putting this out here for public viewing except that writing this has been sort of a catharsis and maybe it will inspire you to take your own walk and look inside your own head. Find your music, go out into perfect weather and just release.

The Reaping

2008-01-05T19:31:00.000-08:00

Did you know when you saw me
That you would change my life
That you would chain and bind me
In never-ending strife

I cried out in the night
But you ignored my pain
My grief blinds my sight
So with you I remain

Had you planned to torment
To capture and to keep
My heart is now your victim
How can you deign to sleep

I wish I would have known
Wish I would have stopped
But life is what is sown
When all dreams have been popped

Predator

2008-01-05T19:30:00.000-08:00

Depression dips its cold, dark wings
Into the nearby souls of those
Who battle with multiple sorrows and foes
And leave this world and all it brings

Its sinister nature leaves no choice
And once its dark depravity sinks
One merely exists, nevermore to think
It takes away all mind and voice

Its victims, now strangers to all
Who once knew such joy and such life
Have now been replaced by wallowing strife
Which drones out the love and peace which calls

Attached to the mind, one it becomes
With sharpened claws it takes a firm hold
Preying on fears and worries, it leaves one cold
A testament to the darkness from which it comes

This bird of night sneaks in despite
All attempts to thwart its roaming
As greasy and oily it slips through the combing
And gathers newborn speed and height

Once it attacks there is no amending
Its progress is inevitable, an imminent binding
For its talons sink deeper and the poison is spreading
It goes for the kill, to keep the soul from living

Paradoxes Above

2008-01-04T21:46:00.001-08:00

Heaven’s layers manifest
Their intricacies
All too wonderful
Bedazzle and befuddle

Hidden under misconceptions
The truth remains covered
And causes rejection
And causes acceptance

Golden streets
Pearly Gates, or
Fantasies fulfilled
A heaven on earth

Two realities
Intertwined and opposing
Two truths
Now converging, now dividing

Misconceptions about Who I AM

2007-12-30T21:12:00.001-08:00

For my first blog, I want to explain who I am and who I serve. I am a Christian, yet for anyone who has any preconceptions about Christianity and religion, let me tell you the real meaning of Christianity.

Misconception #1
First off, Christianity is not a religion!! It is a belief. Christianity relies 100% on faith, without faith there is nothing. Now, I am sure most of you have heard some spiel about salvation and heaven and hell and redemption and justification, etc... and I am sure to most of you it sounds like mumbo jumbo, blah, blah, blah. Yet it is more.

Simply put, here is the story. Everyone sins and messes up at some point and we all deserve to be punished in some form or another; agree? Ok, so God exists and created us (that issue is another blog but for now just continue reading) and is so upset and saddened at how his creation screwed up the world he created for our benefit. Think of it this way, it is like a dad who saves and saves to buy his son his favorite toy - let us call this toy be a remote control car. Instead of thanking his dad and playing with his toy responsibly, the boy immediately runs off with the toy and purposefully drives it straight into a tree which damages it and renders it useless. God is like the dad, and like the dad except that as God He can change something. He can place a substitute in the world to take away the punishment we deserve; that substitute is Jesus.

Jesus was the only human who could take away the punishment from the world and he did it by dying for each and every person on the earth. As such, he is the only way into heaven. That is where faith comes in; all we have to do is believe and we will be "saved." Saved here just means that you have been saved from hell and will spend eternity with God.

Misconception #2
My next topic is on heaven. Ok, so most people with whom I have come into contact imagine heaven to be some celestial place where everyone is dressed in white and they live in mansions and walk on streets of gold, etc... I am sure you have pictured it like this once; it is the simplistic Sunday School picture. Another misconception is hell. Most people picture hell as a simple fiery pit where demons and devils with pitchforks poke and prod victims. I will not claim that these visuals are entirely false, but I will claim that they are misconceptions.

Heaven, or what we call heaven, is God's home and throne. Hell is Satan's home. God is good and God is love. Satan is evil and evil is bad. That is what heaven and hell are: the absence of bad and the absence of good. Start with heaven. God cannot exist around anything bad; that is contrary to His nature, therefore nothing bad can exist in His prescence. Heaven is therefore the lack of evil or anything that could be considered bad. Vice versa, hell is filled with every bad thing, every evil thought or action or every bad object; nothing good can exist, whether it is a flower God created or animals, or love or trust or kindness or money. That is hell.

Misconception #3
Now I will get down to the meat of Christianity. Christianity does not promise smooth sailing; it is not all daisies and sunshine and warm, cozy feelings; yet, it is definitely NOT a CAGE. Many people consider it a list of "do's and don'ts" (you probably have too and that is okay). You may consider this merely a euphemism but they are more like guidelines. Take the dad from the first example. A dad will set forth "guidelines" for his children so that they are not hurt. Does this mean that the child never has fun again? No, it merely means that the son will go and play with his bike or toy truck rather than with fire and guns. The guidelines are there to protect us, not to cage us or limit us. Rather, when you combine faith with the guidelines you find that your life is suddeny an adventure with purpose rather than a predictable path of self-seeking pleasure that never quite fulfills. There is so much more I could say but to avoid "preaching" I will end it here (at least for now) but I will answer any questions that you may have.

Misconception #4
This final one will be relatively brief. Christians are not expected to be perfect. That is impossible and any sane person will agree. The mere difference between Christians and secularists is that Christians simply strive to improve toward a common goal. We will fail and fall miserably but we will be picked up and be given strength to continue onward. We will not have all the answers but we will search. But the clincher is that Christians alone can truly love. Now call me presumptuous, but I see it like this. God is love, apart from Him it cannot exist. God exhibited His love for humanity when He sent His only son to die on the cross for His creation. Christians alone can experience this feeling of ultimate love, the perfect love and therefore they are the only ones who can learn to pass it on to others. How can you share something of which you have no knowledge? Now not all Christians love perfectly and in fact few rarely, if ever, do. But Christians are the only ones with the capacity and potential to truly love.

I am not claiming that no one who is not saved cannot love. That would be too huge of a lie. But to truly love without jealousy or quick temper, to love infinitely and patiently and compassionately, and self-sacrificingly: that is truly loving someone.