Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Wacky, Wondrous, Whatever Wednesday #2

Emily Dickinson is one of my favorite poets. Some of her work is challenging for me to grasp, others seem too dark to want to grasp. I came across this one and it reminded me of spring, my yard, gardens, flower beds, a memory from along this my 49th year, and my soul.

We should not mind so small a flower-
Except it quiet bring
Our little garden that we lost
Back to the Lawn again.

So spicy her Carnations nod-
So drunken, reel her Bees-
So silver steal a hundred flutes
From out a hundred trees-

That whoso sees this little flower
By faith may clear behold
The Bobolinks around the throne
And Dandelions gold

Years ago, very early '80's I taught exercise classes. One place I was asked to teach was at the state mental health facility. Here, the class was a small group of in patient Down's Syndrome young adults. The class posed a challenge for me as I had to keep it so simple. After about the third class we kind of had a routine. One of the students, a young man, came running in late, full force towards me. I braced myself for impact, grateful he stop inches away. He had his right hand behind his back and he bore the most beautiful, innocent smile I have ever had the honor to see. His eyes sparkled and danced as he swiftly brought his right hand out from around his back and held a clinched fist up before me. "Open!" he said. The others in the class gathered around with shrieks of joy. I carefully pried his fingers open, one by one. His knees bounced up and down in anticipation for me to expose his palm. Lying there, in his hand, was a ruffled little yellow dandelion. "For you!" excitedly he said with pure love.

To this day, I never pick the dandelions from my yard or gardens, for they are as gold to me. May you too be graced with dandelions!

(a Bobolink is a song bird)

Friday, March 25, 2011

Inspiration of Spring

Another over cast, chilly and yes snowy day outside but Spring does whisper her presences. She whispers her inspiration and isn’t Spring full of inspiration? Yes, even when the day is cold, gray, and snowy we can choose to see the tiny snowflakes as Spring’s sprinkling of powder sugar, white confetti, or maybe even her tiny fairies coming to bless the earth for planting. We can choose to revel eachtime the clouds part and expose the sun. It is my desire that as you read these words today, you will learn something about the maiden of Spring, her history, the connectedness of ‘the whole’, but mostly I hope you will allow Spring, Ostara the goddess of the dawn, to bring a renewal of light, hope, and inspiration to you; that you will hear her whispers.
Ostara is only one of the ancient goddess names for the Spring Equinox. Early Saxon cultures called her Eostre. From this goddess’ name we have the word Easter. Esther is also inspiration for Easter. Her story is quite beautiful; it is a celebrated story of deliverance. If you read her story in the Hebrew Text (Old Testament) you will notice how often she is referred to as a maiden, she is strikingly beautiful, brave, strong, true to herself and her heritage, worthy of being a queen. The question asked of her is a question we all should ask ourselves at some moment(s) in our lives, “…who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”
It is from Ostara’s story we get the Easter Bunny. Now, I have read many accounts of this story, so as I usually do, I kind of make it my own maintaining, hopefully, respect and honor. As I have mentioned Ostara is the maiden/goddess of Spring, the coming Dawn. She would arrive in her season bringing renewed life, by emerging from a cave. One season, she arrived a bit late and lying before her on top of the snow, was a bird. The delicate bird had frozen to death. Upon seeing the tiny creature her heart filled with great sorrow and a sense of responsibility. Had she arrived on time this small bird would be alive. Through her grief and her compassion she brought life back to the little bird, but not as a bird, as a rabbit. She chose the form of a rabbit because of its agile and quick speed and also its ability to be a great companion to her. She held such esteem for a bird’s ability to lay and nurture eggs as well as the symbolism of the egg to the season of Spring, she decided to allow the rabbit to lay eggs but only once a year. Since it was but once a year she decided the eggs would not be ordinary but extraordinary, colorful eggs. What other colors would Ostara choose but the colors of the great rainbow.
Spring offers an abundant amount of symbolism to life and from her we can be renewed and restored especially following a long, dark winter. As the season unfolds I know I will have many things to share as Spring has provided many of my life’s lessons along this my 49th year journey. Today, along with my desire that these stories have opened your mind to seek the symbols of the season; I’d like to also encourage you to grab a few plastic Easter eggs, as many as you’d like, and place inside each an affirmation. Also, keep one empty, I'm sure you know why and what its affirmation is. Then, each day, with the approaching Easter celebration, take one, ‘crack’ it open, and embrace the affirmation you receive.
Below are a few of the affirmations I’ll be putting into my eggs. Don’t shy away from creating your own as they are simple to write. Just remember to be positive, addressing yourself using “I” or “me” and not “you”, being aware of your specific desires and needs, and mostly remember to keep it so simple.
Here are a few of mine -              
                I am a child of God who is loved and I will feel His love throughout this day
Today, I will plant seeds of creativity, love, hope and all good desires within my heart. I will nurture and manifest these seeds to bring forth new life from within.
I will greet this day, facing the dawn, allowing the Sun to fill me with warmth, knowing I have a place on this great earth.
I am enough right where I am and where I am is enough.
Today, I will be awakened to know I hold a marvelous, purposeful place in this universe.
I will choose openly and freely to be a blessing to someone else today knowing by doing so I will bless my Creator, my God, myself.
Just be inspired by Spring, celebrate Spring, learn of Spring and by doing so, as the wheel of the year turns, you will find the inspirations, celebrations, teachings of each season. Regardless of your position or station in life, they are simply there for you to enjoy, partake, and grow.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Wacky, Wondrous, Whatever Wednesday #1

During prayer last night and again during meditation this morning, I was compelled to set Wednesday’s aside as a wacky, wondrous, whatever day, here at keeping it so simple. Now, I’m not completely sure what this will evolve into, but I’ve chosen to follow the compelling whisper.
Today’s wacky, wondrous, whatever Wednesday has brought me around to two things. The first is something which struck me while writing at another blog. As I wrote, I discovered (why I didn’t take notice of this before is beyond me) that the words scared and sacred have the same letters. It is only the placement of the ‘c’ and the ‘a’ which alters the two words. 
Of course, I had to ponder and discover something about myself through this, as it struck me curious. Is it possible when we face and proceed through things which render us scared that we become slightly altered ourselves, arriving in a sacred place?
I know I have mentioned within this blogspot before that I’m participating in an online workshop called BIG. Let me tell you, it has been a great awakening for me. An awakening much like what I stated above; being scared and knowing by facing those fears and going through them I will find myself altered, for the better, and arriving at a sacred place within.
Along with working on my BIG workshop exercises I have been working on this simple, silly or maybe I ought to refer to it as a wacky, whatever collage. It is the other thing I felt compelled to share here, at the very first ever wacky, wondrous, whatever Wednesday; it kind of hints towards this great awakening and alteration of self.
...Shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings...

May you find something wacky, wondrous, or simply whatever on this Wednesday as well.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


Yes, I know, I said I was bursting with much to say about the Moon and Spring, and I still am, but since writing that, well, it has seemed more like winter with moonless nights. For days now there has been so much cloud cover that I missed the Super Moon, in fact, I haven’t seen the moon since Thursday evening. Please don’t take this as a complaint, although, I would have immensely  enjoyed the ‘once in about every 18 year’ celestial event, as I said in my last post, every full Moon is super to me, every phase sweet Luna passes through, I adore.
Also, I found it difficult to assemble the words for Ostara, the Spring Equinox, as what I felt and still feel isn’t really what’s going on outside. Again, I’m not complaining, as I understand the maiden of Spring does, on occasion, have a frosty attitude and allows snow to fall, and while I know the promise which lays below a white blanket, my attitude has been more fixed on warmth and sunshine for her (Spring’s) opening day. From the picture below, you can see what I mean but also, that the sun is begining to emerge. So, with this in mind, I’m sure the time will come and the words for these two subjects will form, until then, I do have something else to write about.

There is a group of ladies from our little country town, who, for whatever reason, are single or alone, which get together on Monday evenings. We watch a movie, eat, laugh, chit-chat about various topics; we like keeping it so simple. Last night we gathered at my house. I decided to have an open discussion about service. Our eyes welled with tears as each of these beautiful women shared a tender story of how they were impacted by generous acts of service and what life lessons they learned from being recipients of such generosity. We acknowledged how some people provide service through their jobs as one of the ladies does through her profession of caring for the elderly. I admire her ability to help those who can no longer perform basic, needful tasks such as bathing themselves. Yet, this sweet woman, among other tasks, is able bathe her elderly patients with patience and dignity. Not everyone, including myself, is able to do such a thoughtful act. I wish I could write about the stories these women told last night, but they are not mine to tell, however, I do have one of my own.
With all the events in my life over the past 15 years I have many, many, amazing stories of selfless acts of service provided to my family and me. I’m sure over the course of this, my 49th year journey, I will write several of them for they are all worthy of journaling, but this is the one which emerged when thinking of last evening’s topic.
My maternal grandparents, while not real lovey-dovey with each other or any of us, were constant companions. Residing in Las Vegas, they enjoyed playing penny slots, eating at the buffets, or simply staying home, sipping coffee and having conversation about their 50 plus years together. The last year or so of my grandmother’s life was incredibly difficult for Grandpa. After her passing he became so  very lonely. Living next door to my parents helped and my sister and I would pop in often to check on him, but bringing our kiddos drove both Grandpa and kids kind of crazy, so we never stayed long.
One image of coming into his home, after Grandma’s death, I have imbedded in my mind, is seeing him sitting in his recliner. No television or radio on unless it was basketball season, no newspaper or magazine on his lap but a pile of them next to his recliner, the blinds almost but not quite shut; Grandpa sitting there seemingly in thought, or not. On the wall, above his recliner, was a sunburst clock. You remember the ones from 70’s. They were battery operated, brassy, over sized with narrow sharp sun beams extending out from the round clock face. This one, in particular, was quite loud. Or maybe it was the setting of Grandpa’s living room which made the clock’s sound so much more magnified. There he’d sit, the room lacking sunlight, in his recliner under the sunburst clock as if waiting, anxious for the days, the hours to tick by. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick…
Now before this becomes solidified in your mind, Grandpa also, every morning, before sitting in his recliner under the sunburst clock, would go to one of the neighborhood casinos for breakfast; every morning like clockwork (yes, pun intended). The only thing that disrupted his day of breakfast and sitting in his recliner under the clock was me.
Grandma passed away about a year prior to my accident in ’97. Grandpa once said to me, “It’s a good thing Grandma died before your accident because seeing you this way would have surely killed her.” My grandfather, from the morning following my accident, was by far, my most vigilant visitor. In the trauma unit there wasn’t much anyone could do except sit and watch me and this Grandpa did quite well.
When I was moved from the trauma unit to the burn care unit, he added to his visiting routine. Upon his arrival, while greeting me, he prepared a tray. On this tray he had a very welcoming warm washcloth, a towel, a cup of clean water, an empty cup, and my toothbrush, moistened and with the most proper amount of toothpaste. Standing alongside my bed he first offered the washcloth, which was amazingly wonderful and refreshing to my face each morning. Sometimes I’d think as I pulled the washcloth from my face that I’d wake up and none of this was real. Oh, but real it was. He’d take the washcloth from me and then hand me my toothbrush. Keep in mind I’m drugged, wonderfully drugged, so I’m kind of sloppy and slobbery but he never seemed to mind taking my disgusting toothbrush and then handing me the cup of clean water to rinse. I never had to wait for my spit cup either, which he held for me every morning. I can’t imagine; he already had my drool on him from my toothbrush, how many times did I miss the spit cup or just over sprayed onto his hand. I’ll never know and I’ll never know if this grossed him out, because he never seemed to mind, he so attentively prepared, assisted, and cleaned up; he willingly received my slobbery toothbrush and held my spit cup.
As I’m sure you can tell, Grandpa was very punctual; only one day was he late. When he arrived, I noticed he was a bit flustered, but not deterred from preparing my tray. He also had several band aids on his arms and walked with a slight limb. “What happened?” I asked.
“Oh, this damn old lady ran me over with her electric wheelchair in the casino parking lot. I had to go report her to security.” He said with agitation. He continued to mumble but the incident was all but forgotten when he came bedside, tray in hand.
I hope Grandpa knew then and knows now, today, on the other side, how grateful I am for his tender, generous, punctual act of service. I think Jeff would have been this kind of grandpa, minus the punctual part. Maybe your grandpa was to; maybe your grandpa is. If so, take a moment today and acknowledge him. Give thanks for grandpas. Or, simply just give thanks.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Super Full Moon

A Super Moon occurs once about every 18 years and tonight’s Full Moon is one of these Super Full Moons. It should be a glorious sight to see. Most people are aware of the affects of the Moon. And, undoubtedly, many have heard or read about the possible extra power packed in tonight’s Full Moon. For an interesting perspective read John Hogue’s article entitled Libya, the Japanese Quake, Tsunami, Meltdowns: Food for the Super Moon which is at his found .
In Mr. Hogue’s writing he refers to mystic George Gurdjieff. Through this article and with a slight bit of online research, my best understanding of Gurdjieff’s thought of the moon is that the Moon, being formed from parts of the Earth, continues to yearn for and requiring nourishment from Mother Earth; in a similar manner as a child does of his or her Mother.
A disciple of Gurdjieff, PD Ouspnsky, wrote this curious thought in his book, In Search of the Miraculous, “The influence of the Moon upon everything living manifests itself in all that happens on Earth. Man cannot tear himself free from the Moon. All his movements and consequently all his actions are controlled by the Moon. The mechanical part of our life is subject to the Moon. The moon at present feeds on organic life, on humanity.” (from, )

When I was discussing this with Rick he mentioned to me that during his reading of Edgar Cayce he found it interesting that Cayce had some similar thoughts of the formation of the Moon and her influence upon Earth. I wish I had those books with me to research myself. While an internet search brought up much about Edgar Cayce I didn’t find much about his thoughts of the Moon. However, as a note of interest, Edgar Cayce’s birthday was yesterday, March 18th.

As I often do, I sought what scripture had to say. Luke 21:25, “And there shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distresses of nations with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring…” How cool is that in light of world and celestial events. Not that the events are cool but the foresight of the current events. Also, I remembered from last weekend when I was bouncing in Psalms; chapter 89:37, “..the moon, the faithful witness in the sky.”

All of this stuff about the Moon is so fascinating to me as I adore the Moon throughout all of her waxing and waning phases. I believe many of us have lost our lust for sweet Luna along with admiration and respect for her power and influence. Maybe looking up at her seems too old fashioned in light of all of humanities educated, scientific knowledge. Or, has religious dogma scared us into pulling back from her mysterious and mystic ways.

Thinking of and reading about the Moon reminded me of a dream I had when I was a child. One of those dreams so powerful it becomes imbedded in memory. In the dream I was riding along with my dad in our ’66 Oldsmobile. Dad was driving east on Charleston Boulevard under the Charleston overpass (any of you familiar with Las Vegas in the 60’s and 70’s will know this location. During these years and especially to a child, this dip was really, really deep, so deep in fact it flooded with each, though few and far between, rain storm). It was dusk and as we came up from the dip I looked into the sky. The Moon had just risen and was slightly towards the south. It was a huge, red glowing orb which began to crack open. One side, the side to my left, remained vertical and the other lay horizontal. I sat watching in awe as red goo began to ooze out from the crack and plop down towards earth. I looked over at my dad who didn’t seem to notice anything odd.

This dream was long before I had any religious influence or heard or read any scripture so you can image my astonishment when I first read Revelation 6:12 in which it mentions the whole moon turning blood red. I have often thought of this dream and while Revelations is kind of scary to me I never recall being afraid in the dream. This dream certainly hasn’t been the only one I have had about the moon or the moon’s influence over individuals; I have had many over the course of my 49 years and hope to continue to have many more.

Tonight’s Full Moon is known as the Storm Moon or Sap, Worm, Crow, Fish, Crust, or Windy Moon. (These names, for the most part, are self explanatory but if you become curious please ask me.) It will also become known as a Super Moon. I don’t need to wait 18 years or so for a Moon to be super; to me every Full Moon is a super Moon. I hope you will take a few moments to silently revel at Luna’s radiant beauty tonight. I know I will, I may even allow her feed on me and I on her, knowing we both are made up of celestial dust formed by an incredible Creator.

Friday, March 18, 2011

A Morning Hawk

There are window pane doors on all four sides of my house. Early this morning, when the earth was not yet colored by the sun and while the coffee brewed; I sat looking south out the kitchen door. Across the way there is an aged, but mighty elm tree which I have come to adore. This handsome tree reminds me of a wise old man whose limbs are bent and crooked from the passing years yet he continues to grow, reaching higher, fearlessly, honoring his Creator and Mother Earth doing what he has been called to do, display the seasons with splendor.  
This morning a large hawk was perched high upon this great elm. Majestically he sat occasionally preening himself. There were several other smaller, sparrow like birds around him. I wondered if they gathered near for protection or in admiration. Maybe they, like me, felt as if we were invited to spend these few moments and respectfully watch both elm and hawk.
The hawk turned his head to the east greeting the first of the sun’s rays which stretched up over the tops of Kolob. Then, as if given permission, gracefully he flew off. A few powerful pumps of his wings was all it took for him to soar into the day.
I felt as if I’d just witnessed something so profoundly hallowed. Pulling a few books and a quick search on the web I looked up the symbolism of a hawk. What I discovered was something needful for where I am on this 49th year journey. Here is what I found:
A hawk beckons us to express our higher calling while watching our surroundings so not to be diverted from our journey’s path. The hawk symbolizes the dawn and reminds us of the fresh start each day offers. Native Americans believe the crow and the hawk created the mountains of the Southwest. There is an ancient Egyptian depiction of the moon in which the left eye is a hawk.
Very, very, awesome; wouldn’t you agree?
I am bursting with so many things to journal about such as the moon, which is why the last bit of info was so cool to me. Tomorrow is not only a full moon, the Storm Moon, but it is a Super Moon, how exciting is that. So, I must write about the moon. And, Sunday, is Ostara or the Spring Equinox. There’s much in my head to journal about this as well. Then the workshop I mentioned in my last post begins on Sunday too. Oh, I can’t wait to start this new BIG adventure. I even hear the singing of a haiku in my head. Maybe you do too or you have some thought waiting to burst from you; if so let it form and share with me. But right now, there is a whisper calling me to go outside and play in the flower bed. So check back over the next few days and until then, enjoy all of which today and the hawk have to offer you this morning.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Elixir or Cake

Elixir or cake? Both! Yes, both are necessary if traveling down, down, down the rabbit’s hole. Today I shall eat cake for I am ready to go on a BIG adventure; actually a couple of big adventures.
In this, my 49th year journey, silly as it sounds, I wonder who I am. I have mentioned this before. It’s not the givens of who I am but who I am deep within. I can’t possibly be the only one who hears the whisper from within calling, “who are you.” It is as the Psalmist wrote, “Deep calleth unto deep…” (Psalms 42:7) Deep is whispering, calling unto me to go deeper; deeper down into the rabbit hole of self. It is a whisper which has become so constant and intriguing I can no longer ignore it. I guess I could say it has made me curiousor and curiousor.
This week I met up with a new friend, an American Hero, who returned home from Afghanistan with substantial injuries, one of which includes missing his right leg above the knee. He competes in marathons using a hand trike. I have a broken down, cumbersome one which has been parked forever in my barn. He has two, light weight very fast working ones and offered to take me out; give me a few tips and ride; and ride I did. It was a most invigorating, heart pumping, awesome push, wild adventure of which I have so much about it to tell. But for now, I want to express the BIGness, the big thought of this big adventure beyond the big story it has to offer; and that is, I’d like to do a marathon. Yeah, now that’s really going deep down the rabbit’s hole for me and taking a bite of cake.
The other big adventure this week is beginning an online workshop called BIG. BIG is, well, the creator of BIG, Connie, describes it best, “BIG is part one of the FEARLESS ™Painting Adventure! This six week online adventure strengthens your intuition, teaches you to paint FEARLESSly, and guides you into a deeper discovery of yourself and your creative juicy life.” See, perfectly explained and perfectly what I’m seeking. In following Connie’s blog, I sensed her beauty which simply radiates though her, her art, and her willingness to share of herself. You can find out more about Connie, check out her online workshops, and view her artful life at . The introduction of BIG has already called me to go deep; to take a bite of cake.

The BIG part about both of these BIG adventures is commitment. I must be willing to be committed to myself, to the whisper, the calling to go deeper down the rabbit’s hole. I must be committed to expose myself, to share, to feel, to be a witness, to experience a sacred journey of heart, and maybe even venture back to places I have come over the past 49 years.  I look forward to all of what these adventures have to offer and pray I will offer of myself, physically, emotionally, and spiritually all that I have, to them; calling upon bravery and courage. And, at the same time, be open to any other big things which may come my way; to any other whispers calling me to go deep, tempting me to take a bite of cake.

I want to part today with the definition of elixir because I don’t want any reader, especially myself to think of a shrinking Alice. Yes, we do, at times, need to go small as a retreat within, but here is what an elixir is: “a substance held capable of turning metals into gold; a substance held capable of prolonging life indefinitely; cure-all; the essential principal.”

To life, LIFE BIG and life small, filled with plenty of elixir and cake and the wisdom to know when to partake.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Bouncing In Psalms

Reading from scripture is something I have always valued although my consistency wouldn’t prove it to be so.  Friday evening brought upon a waning movement for me. As often, with nothing particular in mind to read, I flipped open one of my many Bibles, and landed in Psalms. From my landing point of chapter 84, I bounced through and around to chapter 89 later bouncing about 90 and 91.
Okay, maybe I ought to keep context of the writings in mind, even the order in which the writings flow, but, again, as often happens, I truly do bounce around, taking beautifully written verses and applying them to me; my world. In doing so, they speak to me, in the now; the moment. At times I imagine I am the writer and at others, I am the observer; the reader, and still others I am the subject of the writing. In these various roles I become a loving parent, a tender, nurturing mother; a protective, teaching father, or the innocent or wandering child of such parents. I become the lover who inspires the writer or the writer who speaks of a love.
Chapter 88 is so very sad and dark, which is not a place I was Friday evening, although I have been there before, many times, which allowed me to not only feel, but experience the writer’s deep despair empathizing with him, knowing the place of his heart. “You have put me in the lowest pit in the darkest depths…my eyes are dim with grief…I cry to you for help, O Lord…why do you reject me…”
No, I was not there Friday evening. I was in the opening of chapter 84, “How lovely is your dwelling place…my soul yearns…my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God…better one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere…”
Words continued like this, bouncing from the pages into my head and heart and soul, filling my spirit. I took them to bed with me Friday night and awoke Saturday morning wanting to bounce some more. Another read and I was full of wonderful verses. “Love and faithfulness meet together; righteousness and peace kiss each other…”
Fortified with the wonder of scriptural words I headed out into the amazingly glorious morning. “…God is a sun and shield…no good thing does he withhold from those who walk blameless…(Okay this part, well, I’m not fully blameless but hey, I don’t really walk either)…blessed is the woman who trusts in you.”
Recently, a neighbor had an extra 8’ blue spruce and thoughtfully planted it for me. I had it put on the north side of my property next to two other blue spruces making my evergreen grouping perfect. “The heavens are yours, and also the earth; you founded the world and all that is in it. You created the north and south…”
Saturday provided the perfect morning to make a sacred circle of rocks around the tree just like the circles surrounding the other two. As I hauled and moved rocks from my wheelchair then flopping on the ground to place them, I sang along with my I-Pod, lifting my voice higher with each Contemporary Christian song that shuffled on. I had a captured audience of 3 trees. “I will sing of the Lord’s great love forever…satisfy me in the morning with your unfailing love that I may sing for joy and be glad all my days.”
I couldn’t stop, I didn’t want to stop. I went from placing rocks to pulling weeds, tilling planters, singing, and allowing ancient inspired words to bounce. “May the favor of the Lord rest upon me; establish the work of my hands…teach me your way…give me an undivided heart…I will glorify your name forever, for great is your love toward me…”
Magnificently exhausted, dirty and dusty, I crawled across the grass and lay back next to the sugar pear tree and under the giant cottonwood. I gazed up into the brilliantly blue sky. “The heavens praise your wonders…for who in the skies above can compare…and righteousness looks down from heaven.” I focused on the cottonwood, noticing the new buds on its limbs. I thought of all the wonderful things I would plant in my gardens soon, so very soon, “…faithfulness springs forth from the earth…the Lord will indeed give what is good, and our land will yield its harvest.”
“…I will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. He is my refuge and my fortress, my God…He will cover me with his feathers and under his wings I will find refuge…He will command His angels concerning me to guard me in all my ways…’Because you love me,’ says the Lord…” And thus I have and will continue to do so along this, my 49th year.
note: all scripture from New International Version

Friday, March 11, 2011

Bravery & Courage

'Bravery's' companion, 'courage', is now finished. These little projects may look silly but I enjoy playing with the various media and allowing them to come together. As I worked on ‘courage’, I just knew in my heart, even though these two words are interchangeable at times, that courage is a condition of the heart, mind, and spirit. However, today, I began to doubt myself and have gone back and forth; is there really a difference; yes, no, maybe, yes. What’s one to do but turn to the dictionary; so grabbing my very favorite and very old Webster’s Seventh New Collegiate Dictionary, I looked them up.

Bravery – the quality or state of being brave.
Brave – to face or endure with courage.

Well, there you have it; no difference. Then I looked up courage.

Courage – mental or moral strength to venture, persevere and withstand danger fear or difficulty…implies firmness of mind and will in the face of danger or extreme difficulty…also suggest a quality of temperament enabling one to hold one’s own…stresses firm determination to achieve one’s ends…

Okay, there you go, kind of a difference. Then I happened to glance at the root of the word courage which I found to be cuer meaning heart and the Latin cor meaning more at heart.

I thought of yesterday’s entry about my son, Garth. It took courage, a state of mind and spirit, to choose to sign up for and endure wrestling training. His courage evolved to bravery as he faced some of the tough competition at the wrestling matches.

Yes, I believe life requires both bravery and courage; however, I’m all for keeping it so simple, so I won’t get too caught up in interchanging them if I so desire.

Did this bring me closer to knowing who I am on this, my 49th year? I don’t know yet. I think what I need is a trip down the rabbit’s hole and a meeting with a hookah smoking caterpillar to ask me, “whoooo are youuuu?”

Humm, but how far down the rabbit’s hole do I dare go?
So what do you think? A difference between the two words? Do you think life requires either one of them? I just noticed something funny. Yesterday, I wrote on facebook about how I was enjoying wearing my hair in pigtails, the up high kind. Look at what I did with 'courage', she has pigtails, the down low kind. Yep kinda funny.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

On The Lighter Side-About Last Night

As we pulled into the driveway I noticed I hadn’t turned the porch light on for the dog. “Oh man, I forgot to turn a light on for Cad. I hope she’s okay…oh good she’s still standing,” I said as I saw her sausage shaped figure under the star light. I continued, “You know our baby cat was out way past dark last night.” By now it’s a given, Garth is rolling his eyes and can’t wait to get out of the vehicle. I continued any way, “I told baby cat that I want him in when the street lights come on but he’s not listening to me; he’ll be coyote snack if he doesn’t.”
Turning off the engine Garth said, “You know mom I was beginning to worry about you going crazy when I move out.”
“You were? But you’re not anymore?” I asked, even knowing what his quick response would be.
“Nope, you’re already there.” He said in his ‘smarty-farty-Garthie’ way.
“I knew you were going to say that.” I said, getting out of the truck. “Look at all those bazillions stars. I just love living here, don’t you?”
“Oh, come on, any place else you wouldn’t have all these beautiful stars to look at.”
“Yep, some place more civilized, the same stars would be over us,” he said still in his ‘smarty-farty’ tone.
“Thanks for taking me tonight.”
“I sure love you son.”
“I love you too Mom.”

About Last Night-A Journal Entry

Last evening was Garth’s wrestling banquet-senior recognition. As he and I have but one vehicle which doesn’t have hand controls and his high school is about 30 miles from our home, I don’t always get to attend such events. In fact, I missed almost all of his wrestling matches. Last evening though, he was able to speed home and pick me up for the event. How eternally grateful I am for not missing it.
The dinner, intended only for the boys, began at 6:30. The parents were invited to the recognition which began at 7:30. I anticipated sitting in the truck for the hour he was having dinner with his coaches and wrestling team. To my surprise, shortly after going into the auditorium, he came out, grabbed my wheelchair from the back of the pickup and invited me in to have dinner. He prepared a plate of spaghetti, salad, and bread for me; how very tender and sweet. “Where are we sitting?” I asked.
There were a few parents in early attendance; and as much as I wanted to sit with my son, I totally understood when he said, “I’m right over there,” pointing to a table next to the table he was setting my plate on. I was placed at a grownups table with two other parents. Sitting there, I watched my son interact with the other boys, his coaches, I took it all in. I wished his dad was there with us, sitting next to me, although I knew he was in spirit, I wanted him there in body.
I don’t believe Garth would have participated in this or any of the numerous events he has, had he and I not moved from the big city to this smaller community his junior year. The move was an arduous and painful one for him, however, he was man enough to open himself up to the adventure, the change, and along the way he grew; finding this new and often strange place had a fit for him or maybe it was he who had a fit for this new, strange place. Watching him this evening I recalled the day we took the miserable drive from the place he never wanted to leave to here, his new home.
Over the sounds of rambunctiousness high school boys I could hear my son’s infectious laugh. The sound filled me with gladness but, between another bite of spaghetti and pleasant chit chat with the other two parents at the grownups table, my mind tossed out a few memories of my boy.
One evening shortly after I had gotten home from the hospital, I heard not his distinct laugh but uncontrollable sobbing. I wheeled around following the heartbreaking sound and found him sitting at the bottom of the stairs. His little 4 year old body up against the wall, small enough to fit under the handrails, his knees pulled up and his head buried in his hands crying his tiny heart out. “Oh baby, what’s wrong?” I asked.
“Momma, I gotta know when you’re gonna die.” He managed to say between his broken up breath and tears. “Can’t you just carry me up the stairs again?”
I transferred from my wheelchair onto the first step of 14 on the stairs. There were 7steps, a landing, and 7 more steps to the top. I picked his little self up, placed him on my lap and said, “Hold on tight.” It must have taken an hour, but with him on my lap, I pulled us up one step at a time, most thankful for the rest at the landing. Finally, at the top of the stairs, out of breath, I said, “Honey, I don’t know when I’m going to die, but I don’t think it’s any time soon and look I carried you up the stairs.” Then we played.
Again, between another bite of spaghetti a bit of salad, some conversation, there was another memory. This memory was an afternoon, just over 5 years ago, when he was in middle school.
Most of our family had already gathered in the hospital waiting room outside of ICU. The elevators opened revealing my brother-in-law, my young niece, and my two youngest sons. It was my youngest of the two boys whose face I saw. He was bouncy, exuberant, and I knew what he was thinking, “Yes! After 3 long months my dad’s coming home!” Then our eyes met and Garth knew. His emotions shifted immediately; yes, he knew; Dad was going home, but not to ours.
One of the coaches whistled, the rowdy crowd settled right down and I was pulled back to the now. The coach did the usually acknowledgements and thanked all who helped throughout the wrestling season. Once all the typical formalities and comments were made and the applause for their outstanding year dimmed, the coaches began to recognize the senior boys. After about the first two recognitions, the coach said something like this, “I wish we could have had this boy for 3 more years. He worked his heart out. He wrestled hard. We put him up against some touch, guys; guys I think some would have walked away from; but not him, he never walked away. He gave his all, all season and continues to give. He never gave up…”
Yes, he faced some tough matches and he undoubtedly will face more. No, he didn’t give up, he didn’t give in, he didn’t walk away and undoubtedly, he won’t. I am so very proud of you Garth, thank you son!

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

A Simple Quote

Albert Einstein; I truly adore this man. When I see a photo of him I imagine his wacky hair is but a result of the energy from his amazing brain seeping out through his head. I don’t imagine I could ever have had an intellectual conversation with him but I sure would like to bask in his knowledge and imagination. Many of my favorite quotes are by him, but today I came across one of Einstein’s I hadn’t discovered yet. I was flipping through a magazine which I have flipped through more than several times before but, there, tucked within the pages, I came across one which is new to me. I think it’s perfect for this blog and will be added to my list of favorites. I hope you like it too!
“Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.” Albert Einstein

Monday, March 7, 2011

I Wonder

From the ordinary to the extraordinary; the mundane tasks to the blows which seem to come from out of the blue; simply and honestly, I love life. I am grateful for the understanding that loving life doesn’t necessarily mean liking everything that makes up life.
While I love life, recently, I have been deeply wondering about two things. One, How can I do life better? And, two, who am I? Now, you’d think these questions would be something I would have given more thought too before this, my 49th year, and I probably have, but not like I have recently.
The latter of the two questions has really come up since I entered into the social networks and have been unable to finish a profile on this blog spot or on facebook. Oh, there are the simple things, you know, the givens, but to describe who I am, has become most curious to me.
As a start, I believe I need to have bravery and courage. I made a simple reminder of bravery for myself, after which, I realized, she needs a companion; courage, as well. (I must create her soon)
How about you? Do you have any thoughts, ideas, and insights to doing life better? Do you know who you really are? And, if so, how did you come to the knowing? I’d love to read what you have to say, so please, leave a comment here; send me an email at or a post on facebook.

"You can't be brave if you've only had wonderful things happen to you." Mary Tyler Moore

"Bravery is believing in yourself and that thing nobody can teach you." El Cordobes

"Courage is not the absence of fear but the judgement that something else is more important than fear. The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all. For now you are traveling between the road of who you think you are and who you can be." Meg Cabot

Don't you love this last one!