"She refused to be bored, chiefly because she wasn't boring." Zelda Fitzgerald

Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Being Aunted Into Calm

 It was a slow day today, full of laundry on laundry, slow sifting through the camping boxes, ferreting out the sand and stray dirty socks and dead batteries and putting everything slowly back where it ought to be, neatly folded and washed. It feels incredibly good to just keep the washing machine on a continuous hum and spend all day with my arms buried deep in warm, fresh clothes. Everyone is shifting sizes again so there is more than just a massive amount of dirties to catch up with, there's all kinds of hand-me-down business that needs doing too. I've been back and forth to the storage boxes for each size in the garage and I am also accumulating a box for my sister, Foxy that will go sailing off to Michigan to the littler cousins.

 My aunt and I shared a Face Time chat this morning after breakfast over hot tea for me and coffee for her. What a beautiful thing it is to have technology and also those who love us deeply. I took her on a little mini-tour of the rose garden outside my front door and told her all about the angst of being a wuss camper. She was her usual bubbly self and listened to all the things that tie me up in knots and smiled effusively and told me that it was of no eternal account. And the strange thing about it is that being loved, and listened too meant that her dismissal lifted the tangled net off my shoulders. By the time I hung up I was laughing more and freer, able to shift the guilt and weight of my To Do List and my personal division. Isn't it great what perspective, wisdom and a little well placed love can do?God bless the aunties of the world....


There isn't a lot left to this week and I am almost through with the nesting back into our life. Next I must sit down and begin madly planning things for the school year. Our schedule is a writhing mass, waiting to be addressed but for now, the Schedule Beast can quietly growl. I have had tea and aunting and I on my way to the garden for a ripe fig from our tree with my man....we shall step gently over the two tents that are still spread out, airing in the backyard, between the tipped over tricycle and the two hockey sticks and upended lawn furniture.
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Saturday, July 16, 2016

Poetry Friday: A Poem About When They Met

Happy Poetry Friday! Man, has it ever been a long time! I am sharing a small,original poem today about a couple I know, first finding each other. Love is no respecter of schedules or personal reservations, that's partly what is so wonderful about it. It has this capacity to sweep us out of our limits and logic and there is a great beauty and power there.

Here's to those who love us and love each other....

Smitten In Northern Michigan

He had hair like last summer's beach grass,
Pale, joy-pinched blue eyes and skin
Like the warm sweep of a sand dune.
He wore flannels and worn jeans and
A smile like the unclouded sun.
He drove a pick-up with doors that fell off.
And she wondered why she felt like a living meteor.


Happy Weekend friends! Hope Saturday finds you with a tall iced coffee and a lazy morning start so that you can head over to our host site, A Year Of Reading, for Poetry Friday and check out all the other contributions this week. People share all kinds of stuff, their thoughts on new poems they just found, favorite poems they admire and also original work (which is my personal goal). To read the rest of my poems from previous Poetry Fridays....check out the tab at the top of the page labeled "Original Verse" and have a gander through the accumulating pile.

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Wednesday, September 3, 2014

I Was Wrong About Homeschooling

Can I confess something? I was wrong about homeschooling. I don't mean that I am going to stop or that I think its bad. I just feel guilty of a bad attitude about it. Just like so many parenting choices (natural birth, traditional vaccination, no spanking, giving an allowance) I think I've been too polar built myself a temple of superiority. Homeschooling works for us, its what we're doing right now. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by it and sometimes I feel super empowered and like I have the world by a string. But truth...its still just real life and real parenthood and real school.
A peek into my childhood. There's my artist grandmother, my mama and papa, myself in the center, and my next two sisters...just halfway done with the family. I must have been around 5 or 6.
The trick is, I think I was wrong about the way I talked to my kids about school at first. I started out really us/them and very self justifying. I was excited and wanted homeschool to be amaaaaazing, and wanted so badly to be right (as we all do) and I was scared by my children and everyone else around me questioning my choices and demanding justification for schooling in some alternative way. I think the truth is, I have no perfect answers. I don't KNOW that this is the best thing ever, sometimes I do feel like my kids won't listen to me, sometimes I feel like its all too much to handle. I'm not homeschooling because its perfect or even because it is objectively the best choice ever. (Who can know that?!?) I'm homeschooling because, at the moment it seems like the best thing for us to be trying and because there are lots of wins for our lifestyle and family philosophy. I need to make no promises for the future and I need to tell myself, other people and my children that there are lovely, lovely people who come out of all the methods of schooling that exist.

When Ru got old enough to realize that all his little friends were starting to enroll in school he started asking me questions: "When will I go to school Mom? When do I get to ride the bus? Why don't I know my new teacher's name? etc." Its scary to look your little kid in the eye, listen to a thing they want and consider to be normal and tell them you have planned to do something else. Its scary when its owning Barbies or having giant lush birthday parties or eating junk foods daily or going to Disney World and its scary when its school. I don't want him to miss out and I don't want him to be sad and I don't want to choose crazy, pale, vapid things for my kids. I'm doing the best I can. I'm choosing what I think will be good. I also know how it feels to have your judgement questioned or have your choices raise eyebrows and induce condescension. Its tempting to take this fear and the desire to be right and turn it into a campaign to prove your own choice making superiority. I did that. I told my kid that what we were doing was better than anyone, I told him that he was so lucky, I told him that school was horrible. I told him other people were ignorant or blind to the genius of our own path. I'm sorry now. I realize I totally annihilated that one.

This year has been full of big lessons about acceptance, learning that shame is poison, getting rid of labels and seeing humanity, searching for love and cultivating it blindly until it overwhelms me with relief, hearing what people mean to say instead of what they really said, learning to value in everything, and owning my own dark side. Homeschool superiority is part of that. I've changed my rhetoric and had long conversations with my kids about it. I tell them the thing I like and didn't like about homeschooling and public schooling, I've talked with them about how they'll become more and more involved in making their own educational choices as they get older. I've talked about how good schools make good neighborhoods and good cities and good citizens and so they always matter...even if that's not where we attend. I've talked about how its important not to be unkind to other people because they are different from us. I've talked to them and to A about putting them in school later at some point, partly so that they see the other side of the fence and have a more well-rounded understanding.  I've talked about how you can choose something that is right and good and there can still be other rights and goods.

Two other things that have fed into this realization have been my sister and a homeschooling acquaintance changing her schooling plan. My sister Lockbox, was homeschooled and public schooled by halves like I was and she came out of her experience with a pretty different perspective. I love her and respect her and she loves and respects me but she has no plans to homeschool any future children she may have, she thinks public schools are great and thinks daycare sounds perfectly acceptable when wisely chosen. Its easy to demonize the other when they aren't your own dang family, living in your own dang house, being so dang nice and normal right next to you. Another thing that go up under my skin and bothered me was watching one of the local homeschooled teens choose to go to a brick and mortar school this year, her mother is an avid unschool advocate and has been very involved in planning and strategizing for homeschool culture and community in the area. Seeing her daughter make the transition brought back so strongly all my own feelings and memories of making the switch to a highschool myself. I remember all the social pressure to forswear my previous world, "You were homeschooled? Did you hate it?!?" And the concerned questions from everyone who was watching, "Are you bored out of your mind? Do you wish you hadn't stopped home schooling?" Watching this local girl, and chatting with her for just a minute or two I realized that what I wanted to tell her was the kind of thing I should have been telling my kids and other people all along. "You'll do fine. It'll be a little scary and there will be thing that you'll miss but it'll be exciting...and in the long run, you'll be so lucky to have personal experience with both worlds. Great people come out of all the schools there are. Your school does not define who you are...you do."

So yeah...that's where I came from since last year at First Day and where I am now. From polar fortress building to acceptance and vulnerability. I feel like it was way too long in coming and I can hardly believe that was me but both parts of the story are real and important and allowed. Then Me and Now Me both have value....speaking of acceptance. So embarrassing to see your own frail ego at work and see the painful, stupid things you said and the completely wrong things you told your children. Hard to swallow and own that stuff and also not have it turn into self-hatred or denial of your own mistakes. I've been talking a lot this year to my kids too about how I'm a work in progress with a heavy need for grace and forgiveness.

I tell the boys now: "I'm doing the best I can and when I learn something better I change and I mess up sometimes, that's why I need to understand when you mess up....I do it too and we all want to do better. Lets learn together." And they're amazingly forgiving and healing to me.

"Its okay Mommy. I get it. I know how that feels."

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Friday, January 18, 2013

Poetry Friday: Marriage Advice for Myself

Happy Poetry Friday everyone!

I am writing today about a personal journey I'm having at the moment. I chose a theme word for this year to help me focus my thoughts and ideas and efforts. This is the year of "Acceptance" for me. I'm working more to accept the circumstances I am handed, to accept the problems that I am facing, to accept the people who have been put in my life, to accept myself and my flaws, to accept the good I'm given and the help and creativity and hope around me.

One of the biggest areas I'm really flexing the acceptance muscle is in my marriage. Its so easy to decide that the person we are with needs to change all of their problems, to distance ourselves from them and find ways to differentiate instead of unify, and even to wish away for refuse to acknowledge some of the truth of the current state. I'm on a quest to go to a different place: a knowing and a seeing that is not resignation but just awareness and honesty with overtones of oneness and deep compassion for him and for myself.

And then I made a poem.


If I Were Wise

If I were a wise woman
I would allow my husband to just be.
I'd let him care obsessively about
The exact time he goes to bed and the
The turning off of lights in empty rooms.
I would let him rage about slow traffic
And children who forget to put their shoes on.
I would listen to his worries about the
Dangers of caffeine and alcohol and liberals
And understand it all as his honest now.
I would live like a great warm radiator at his side,
Walking my own path and letting go of his.
I would see myself winking from his mirrored-skin
And hear his voice ripple in my exultant shout
Below the great cement arches of an over-pass. 

Go to Violet's blog this week to see all the other contributors to Poetry Friday today and read a cozy bunch of verse.

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Friday, September 7, 2012

XOXO, New York City

New York. You are a city of one million surprises. A vivid, bubbling pot of activity and culture and ideas and sights. I love taking my kids to you, slipping them into your busy stream and laughing out loud at what we encounter and learn about and wonder at.











 







 We are lucky to be neighbors, you and I, New York. I talk you up around town. I know plenty of people aren't sure that you're all you're cracked up to be. Dangerous? Overpriced? Stinky? I think you're a jungle gym of a place, all wild with the foment of hopeful, industrious, imaginative humanity. And I hope my boys feel your lovely hum in their bones in the same way I do.
 
 
 
I guess all I'm really trying to say is that I love you, New York. That's all. <3 p="p">

P.S.
New York...I think The Highline is totally bananas! One of your best inventions yet. I'm a fan.
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Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Little Moment in the Manic Rush

We just had a crazy, wild, we're-certifiably-insane kind of high speed visit to Michigan over the weekend. Baby arriving in the middle of the year will mean that we would have had a rather long time between visits with our parents this year. Not quite winter to winter but close. SO, we decided to do the ridiculous and improbable and drive madly back over the course of a weekend, across 14 hours of roads with the boosting of a four day weekend and have a quick hello.
Grandpa, helping zip up Dee's coat before we leave.
A little glance at Mom.
And a little smack for Grandpa. A well-loved man.
Sometimes you have to do crazy things. And sometimes you don't have to but it sure can be fun! I had to share my favorite photographic moment of the weekend, to share a little of the spontaneous fun. Family is a good deal.
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Friday, January 20, 2012

Poetry Friday: Married Love

Happy Poetry Friday one and all! I hope you've survived this chilly week in style and are launching into a weekend that will treat you well. I am a walking stereotype, the biggest thing I'm looking forward to is a grocery shopping trip to fortify the house with all my food cravings. Heh. That's what you get when a pregnant woman tells you about her inner life.

My Love
Image by Jennuine Captures via Flickr
Sharing a love poem today. This is only the second one I've ever written and although I aspire to emit bodies of amorous verse it doesn't come easily to me. I am very wary of mush and trite sentiment and also of untruth both of which seem more icky than sweet to me.



 Carving Our Initials

Here in our tenth year of marriage, Love has arrived
Gently swooping in to roost in the dormer over our heads.
It came when we traded totems, I saw you let go of your
Iron plans and glinting thoughts to consider and hold mine,
Smooth in my hands like beach stones, well worn and loved.
I have seen you open your mind like a creaking Dutch door,
Allowed it to sag agape, not closing out the interior glimpse.
You have seen me halved like a avocado, showing you my
Damp pit, and you have looked, open eyed on my green center.
Love has been born in our mutual loss and in the tender
Hope that grows up like a bright shoot pressed between
Two people feeling powerless in each others arms.



If you would like to sample the other contributions for this week's Poetry Friday celebration, click over to Wild Rose Reader where our host Elaine is compiling a list of participating bloggers.

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Friday, June 10, 2011

Poetry Friday: A Wedding Poem

 Happy Poetry Friday!

June is the month for weddings, it was the month of my wedding. (June 29 will be 9 years!! Whew!) And so one, perhaps naturally ends up with weddings on the brain right about now.

And I just finished reading the fascinating and lovely book Committed, by the author of Eat, Pray, Love fame, which is all about marriage and married life and getting married and staying married....etc. So, that added to the mind collection.

And  then there I was scrolling around in my notes looking for ideas I happened to have sketch scribbled in my poem scratch pad, for this poem...and the time just seemed right. It's kind of fun to play with writing a poem that is speaking in a different voice and has nothing to do with my own personal experience. Everyone seems to assume poetry is deeply personal expression, kind of a private diary in lyric verse or something. Reminds me of blogging a bit which everyone thought, at first was supposed to be some sort of journal that you share with the world. Sort of a "Here, read my high school diary!" experience. Heh heh.


Private Engagement Party

He gave her a diamond as big as
A kernal of her daddy's field corn
And that night she twirled in
Front of Great-Grandma's faded mirror
And tilted her hand to see it wink
As full of change as a plump
Springtime seed, about to be planted.



And just for kicks...I have to include this video, from one of my favorite musicals of all time, Seven Brides For Seven Brothers. The lead character Millie, who happens to be absent from this particular number, is one of my favorite female movie characters.



The Poetry Friday Round-up is over at Picture Book of the Day today, so hop on over and have a look see!


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Friday, May 6, 2011

Poetry Friday: A Mother Poem

Happy Poetry Friday everyone! Today I am covering another topic that I've wanted to for ages but found intimidating: a mother poem. Just like love poetry it is so hard to not end up sound syrupy or fake, a plastic shell of an intended sentiment instead of a personal, glinting bit of type. Happy Mother's Day to all my sisters, grandmothers, aunts, cousins, and sweet boo boo kissing friends! The thankless job we're doing everyday is the kind of thing only the beauty of tiny human lives can be created from. xoxo and "Keep on!"

My parents.

My mom, on the shores of Lake Michigan, one of her favorite places.

Maternal Society

My mother took all her children to hunt the wild blackberry
Her trick: velvet maple leaves covering the open holed corners,
Cleverly locking the heaped, glistening purple deposit within.
She could fearlessly pluck the vicious vines about the waist and swing
Them like nodding, barbed, construction cranes to hook wherever she chose.
So, we walked trustingly behind her through the briar patch, on dry land,
A wall of canes and thorns on either side that could not touch us.
As long as we closely followed the floating knot of her upswept hair.
She dug wild bluebells from the roadside to fill her barren garden
Carrying a spade in the trunk and chinking wedges of hardy native beauty
Off for herself, a bit of hope carried home in a five gallon bucket.
She plunked them into beds of hostile, red clay, gummy under the nails,
Then knowingly layered them with leaves and manure year upon year
Until the clay caved and became soft devil's food between her fingers,
The soil, host to a merry, marching army of bluebells and their kin
Tumbling eagerly as she instructed: to the very stone borders of gardendom.
She taught me how to hold a chef knife, intimately, by its silver haunches
As though I had no fear and owned its sharp power, then rocking fluidly  
The blade licking the cutting board with a steady knocking whir
The same rythmn as her sewing machine, thumping energetically along,
Her needle a miniature late night beacon in the back of our log house
Flashing updates to the moon about whatever she was lashing together
For her daughters while we slept: a dream, a dress, a doxology.
A younger version of my mom with my only brother as a tot.

Mama, winter portrait.

Visit the Poetry Friday host for more delicious poems.
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